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from the rays of the sun. Daughters are looked upon in the Desert
as a source of strength and advantage, from the alliances they
enable the father to make with powerful and influential chiefs, being
frequently the means of healing feuds which have existed for many
years.
Before we left the encampment Suttum led before me as a present a
handsome grey colt, which was as usual returned with a request to
take care of it until it was required, the polite way to decline a gift of
this nature.[116]
Suttum having saddled his deloul was ready to accompany us on our
journey. As he was to be for some time absent from his tents, he
asked to take his wife with him, and I willingly consented. Rathaiyah
was the sister of Suttām el Meekh, the chief of the powerful tribe of
the Abde, one of the principal divisions of the Shammar. She was a
lady of a very haughty and imperious temper, as poor Suttum had
found to his cost, for she carried matters with so high a hand that he
had been compelled, almost immediately after his marriage, to send
back a young and beautiful wife to her father’s tent. She rode on the
dromedary behind her lord, a comfortable seat having been made
for her with a rug and a coverlet.
The true Sinjar mountain ends about nine miles from Jedaila, the
high ridge suddenly subsiding into low broken hills. From all parts of
the plain it is a very beautiful object. Its limestone rocks, wooded
here and there with dwarf oak, are of a rich golden color; and the
numberless ravines, which furrow its sides, form ribs of deep purple
shadow. The western part of the Sinjar is inhabited by the Yezidi
tribe of Kherraniyah. We rode over the plain in a parallel line to the
mountain, and about seven or eight miles from it. Towards nightfall
we skirted a ridge of very low hills rising to our left: but night set in
before we could see the tents. No sound except the mournful note
of the small desert owl, which has often misled the weary wanderer,
[117] broke the deep silence, nor could we distinguish the distant
fires usually marking the site of an encampment. Suttum, however,
well knew where the Bedouins would halt, and about an hour after
dark we heard the well-known voice of Dervish, and others of my
workmen, who, anxious at our delay, had come out to seek us.
Our encampment was full of Yezidis of the Kherraniyah tribe, who
had ridden from the tents to see me, bringing presents of sheep,
flour, and figs. They were at war, both with the Bedouins and the
inhabitants of the northern side of the mountain. My large tent was
soon crowded with guests. They squatted down on the ground in
double ranks. For the last time I spoke on the advantage of peace
and union amongst themselves, and I exacted from them a solemn
promise that they would meet the assembled tribes at the next great
festival in the valley of Sheikh Adi, referring their differences in
future to the decision of Hussein Bey, Sheikh Nasr, and the Cawals,
instead of appealing to arms. I also reconciled them with the
Bedouins, Suttum entering into an engagement for his tribe, and
both parties agreeing to abstain from lifting each other’s flocks when
they should again meet in the pastures at the foot of the hills. The
inhabitants of the Sinjar are too powerful and independent to pay
kowee,[118] or black mail, to the Shammar, who, indeed, stand in
much awe of their Yezidi enemies.
The Yezidis returned to their encampment late at night, but about a
hundred of their horsemen were again with me before the tents
were struck in the morning. They promised to fulfil the engagements
entered into on the previous evening, and accompanied me for some
miles on our day’s journey. Cawal Yusuf returned with them on his
way back to Mosul. It was agreed that he should buy, at the annual
auction, the Mokhatta, or revenues of the Sinjar,[119] and save the
inhabitants from the tyranny and exactions of the Turkish tax-
gatherer. I wrote letters for him to the authorities of Mosul,
recommending such an arrangement, as equally beneficial to the
tranquillity of the mountain and the treasury of the Pasha.
After leaving Om-el-Dhiban we entered an undulating country
crossed by deep ravines, worn by the winter torrents. Four hours’
ride brought us to a scanty spring; half an hour beyond we passed a
second; and in five and a half hours pitched the tents, for the rest of
the day, near a small stream. All these springs are called Maalaga,
and rising in the gypsum or Mosul marble, have a brackish and
disagreeable taste. The Bedouins declare, that, although
unpalatable, they are exceedingly wholesome, and that even their
mares fatten on the waters of Jeraiba.
Suttum came to me before nightfall, somewhat downcast in look, as
if a heavy weight were on his mind. At length, after various
circumlocutions, he said that his wife would not sleep under the
white tent which I had lent her, such luxuries being, as she declared,
only worthy of city ladies, and altogether unbecoming the wife and
daughter of a Bedouin. “So determined is she,” said Suttum, “in the
matter, that, Billah! she deserted my bed last night and slept on the
grass in the open air; and now she swears she will leave me and
return on foot to her kindred, unless I save her from the indignity of
sleeping under a white tent.” It was inconvenient to humor the
fancies of the Arab lady, but as she was inexorable, I gave her a
black Arab tent, used by the servants for a kitchen. Under this sheet
of goat-hair canvass, open on all sides to the air, she said she could
breathe freely, and feel again that she was a Bedouin.
We crossed, during the following evening, a beautiful plain covered
with sweet smelling flowers and aromatic herbs, and abounding in
gazelles, hares, and bustards. We reached in about two hours the
encampments, whose smoke we had seen during the preceding
evening. They belonged to Bedouins of the Hamoud branch of the
Shammar, and had recently been plundering a government caravan
and slaughtering the soldiers guarding it. They are notorious for
treachery and cruelty, and certainly the looks of those who gathered
around us, many of them grotesquely attired in the plundered
garments of the slaughtered Turkish soldiery, did not belie their
reputation. They fingered every article of dress we had on, to learn
its texture and value.
Leaving their encampments, we rode through vast herds of camels
and flocks of sheep belonging to the tribe, and at length came in
sight of the river.
The Khabour flows through the richest pastures and meadows. Its
banks were now covered with flowers of every hue, and its windings
through the green plain were like the coils of a mighty serpent. I
never beheld a more lovely scene. An uncontrollable emotion of joy
seized all our party when they saw the end of their journey before
them. The horsemen urged their horses to full speed; the Jebours
dancing in a circle, raised their colored kerchiefs on their spears, and
shouted their war cry, Hormuzd leading the chorus; the Tiyari sang
their mountain songs and fired their muskets into the air.
The tents of Mohammed Emin, the Jebour Sheikh, were pitched
under the ruins of Arban, and on the right or northern bank of the
river, which was not at this time fordable. As we drew near to them,
after a ride of nearly two hours, the Sheikh pointed in triumph to the
sculptures, which were the principal objects of my visit. They stood a
little above the water’s edge, at the base of a mound of considerable
size. We had passed several tels and the double banks of ancient
canals, showing that we were still amidst the remains of ancient
civilisation.
At length we stopped opposite to the encampment of the Jebour
Sheikh, but it was too late to cross the river, some time being
required to make ready the rafts. We raised our tents, therefore, for
the night on the southern bank. They were soon filled by a motley
group of Boraij, Hamoud, Assaiyah, and Jebour Arabs. Moghamis,
Suttum’s uncle, came shortly after our arrival, bringing me as a
present a well-trained hawk and some bustards, the fruits of his
morning’s sport. The falcon was duly placed on his stand in the
centre of the spacious tent, and remained during the rest of my
sojourn in the East a member of my establishment. His name was
Fawaz, and he was a native of the hills of Makhhoul, near Tekrit,
celebrated for their breed of hawks. He was of the species called
“chark,” and had been given by Sadoun-el-Mustafa, the chief of the
great tribe of Obeid, to Ferhan, the Sheikh of the Shammar, who had
bestowed him in token of friendship on Moghamis.
A Sheikh of the Hamoud also brought us a wild ass-colt, scarcely two
months old, which had been caught whilst following its dam, and
had been since fed upon camel’s milk. Indeed, nearly all those who
came to my tent had some offering, either sheep, milk, curds, or
butter; even the Arab boys had caught for us the elegant jerboa,
which burrows in vast numbers on the banks of the river. Suitable
presents were made in return. Dinner was cooked for all our guests,
and we celebrated our first night on the Khabour by general
festivities.
 CHAPTER XII.
ARBAN.—OUR ENCAMPMENT.—SUTTUM
AND MOHAMMED EMIN.—WINGED
BULLS DISCOVERED.—
EXCAVATIONS COMMENCED.—
THEIR RESULTS.—DISCOVERY OF
SMALL OBJECTS—OF SECOND PAIR
OF WINGED BULLS—OF LION—OF
CHINESE BOTTLE—OF VASE—OF
EGYPTIAN SCARABS—OF TOMBS.—
THE SCENE OF THE CAPTIVITY.
On the morning after our arrival in front of the encampment of
Sheikh Mohammed Emin, we crossed the Khabour on a small raft,
and pitched our tents on its right, or northern, bank. I found the
ruins to consist of a large artificial mound of irregular shape,
washed, and indeed partly carried away by the river, which was
gradually undermining the perpendicular cliff left by the falling earth.
The Jebours were encamped to the west of it. I chose for our tents a
recess, like an amphitheatre, facing the stream. We were thus
surrounded and protected on all sides. Behind us and to the east
rose the mound, and to the west were the family and dependents of
Mohammed Emin. In the Desert, beyond the ruins, were scattered
far and wide the tents of the Jebours, and of several Arab tribes who
had placed themselves under their protection; the Sherabeen,
wandering keepers of herds of buffaloes; the Buggara, driven by the
incursions of the Aneyza from their pasture grounds at Ras-al-Ain
(the source of the Khabour); and some families of the Jays, a large
clan residing in the district of Orfa, whose sheikh having quarrelled
with his brother chiefs had now joined Mohammed Emin. From the
top of the mound the eye ranged over a level country bright with
flowers, and spotted with black tents, and innumerable flocks of
sheep and camels. During our stay at Arban the color of these great
plains was undergoing a continual change. After being for some days
of a golden yellow, a new family of flowers would spring up, and it
would turn almost in a night to a bright scarlet, which would again
as suddenly give way to the deepest blue. Then the meadows would
be mottled with various hues, or would put on the emerald green of
the most luxuriant of pastures. The glowing descriptions I had so
frequently received from the Bedouins of the beauty and fertility of
the banks of the Khabour were more than realised.
In the extreme distance, to the east of us, rose a solitary conical
elevation, called by the Arabs, Koukab. In front, to the south, was
the beautiful hill of the Sinjar, ever varying in color and in outline as
the declining sun left fresh shadows on its furrowed sides. Behind
us, and not far distant, was the low, wooded range of Abd-ul-Azeez.
Artificial mounds, smaller in size than Arban, rose here and there
above the thin belt of trees and shrubs skirting the river bank.
I had brought with me a tent large enough to hold full two hundred
persons, and intended as a “museef,” or place of reception, always
open to the wayfarer and the Arab visitor; for the first duty of a
traveller wishing to mix with true Bedouins, and to gain an influence
over them, is the exercise of hospitality. This great pavilion was
pitched in the centre of my encampment, with its entrance facing
the river. To the right were the tents of the Cawass and servants;
one fitted up expressly for the Doctor to receive patients, of whom
there was no lack at all times, and the black Arab tent of Rathaiyah,
who would not mix with the Jebours. To the left were those of my
fellow travellers, and about two hundred yards beyond, near the
excavations, my own private tent, to which I retired during the day,
when wishing to be undisturbed, and to which the Arabs were not
admitted. In it, also, we usually breakfasted and dined, except when
there were any Arab guests of distinction with whom it was
necessary to eat bread. In front of our encampment, and between it
and the river, was a small lawn, on which were picketed our horses.
Suttum and Mohammed Emin usually eat with us, and soon became
perfectly reconciled to knives and forks, and the other restraints of
civilised life. Suttum’s tact and intelligence were indeed remarkable.
Nothing escaped his hawk-like eye. A few hours had enabled him to
form a correct estimate of the character of each one of the party,
and he had detected peculiarities which might have escaped the
notice of the most observant European. The most polished Turk
would have been far less at home in the society of ladies, and during
the whole of our journey he never committed a breach of manners,
only acquired after a few hours’ residence with us. As a companion
he was delightful,—full of anecdote, of unclouded spirits, acquainted
with the history of every Bedouin tribe, their politics and their wars,
and intimate with every part of the Desert, its productions and its
inhabitants. Many happy hours I spent with him, seated, after the
sun went down, on a mound overlooking the great plain and the
winding river, listening to the rich flow of his graceful Bedouin
dialect, to his eloquent stories of Arab life, and to his animated
descriptions of forays, wars, and single combats.
Mohammed Emin, the Sheikh of the Jebours, was a good-natured
portly Arab, in intelligence inferior to Suttum, and wanting many of
the qualities of the pure Bedouin. During our intercourse I had every
reason to be satisfied with his hospitality and the cordial aid he
afforded me. The Jebour chief was a complete patriarch in his tribe,
having no less than sixteen children, of whom six sons were
horsemen and the owners of mares. The youngest, a boy of four
years old, named Sultan, was as handsome and dirty as the best of
Arab children. His mother, who had recently died, was the beautiful
sister of Abd-rubbou. I chanced to be her brother’s guest when the
news of her death was brought to him. An Arab of the tribe, weary
and wayworn, entered the tent and seated himself without giving
the usual salutation; all present knew that he had come from the
Khabour and from distant friends. His silence argued evil tidings. By
an indirect remark, immediately understood, he told his errand to
one who sat next him, and who in turn whispered it to Sheikh
Ibrahim, the chief’s uncle. The old man said aloud, with a sigh, “It is
the will and mercy of God; she is not dead but released!” Abd-
rubbou at once understood of whom he spake. He arose and went
forth, and the wailing of the mother and of the women soon issued
from the inner recesses of the tent.
My first care, after crossing to Arban, was to examine the sculptures
described by the Arabs. The river having gradually worn away the
mound had, during the recent floods, left uncovered a pair of
winged human-headed bulls, some six feet above the water’s edge,
and full fifty beneath the level of the ruin. Only the forepart of these
figures had been exposed to view, and Mohammed Emin would not
allow any of the soil to be removed before my arrival. The earth was
soon cleared away, and I found them to be of a coarse limestone,
not exceeding 5½ feet in height by 4½ in length. Between them
was a pavement slab of the same material. They resembled in
general form the well-known winged bulls of Nineveh, but in the
style of art they differed considerably from them. The outline and
treatment was bold and angular, with an archaic feeling conveying
the impression of great antiquity. They bore the same relation to the
more delicately finished and highly ornamented sculptures of
Nimroud, as the earliest remains of Greek art do to the exquisite
monuments of Phidias and Praxiteles. The human features were
unfortunately much injured, but such parts as remained were
sufficient to show that the countenance had a peculiar character,
differing from the Assyrian type. The sockets of the eyes were
deeply sunk, probably to receive the white and the ball of the eye in
ivory or glass. The nose was flat and large, and the lips thick and
overhanging like those of a negro. Human ears were attached to the
head, and bull’s ears to the horned cap, which was low and square
at the top, not high and ornamented like those of Khorsabad and
Kouyunjik, nor rounded like those of Nimroud. The hair was
elaborately curled, as in the pure Assyrian sculptures, though more
rudely carved. The wings were small in proportion to the size of the
body, and had not the majestic spread of those of the bulls that
adorned the palaces of Nineveh.
It would appear from them that the sculptures belonged to the
palace of a king whose name has been found on no other
monument. No titles are attached to it, not even that of “king;” nor
is the country over which he reigned mentioned; so that some doubt
may exist as to whether it really be a royal name.
The great accumulation of earth above these sculptures proves that,
since the destruction of the edifice in which they stood, other
habitations have been raised on its ruins. Arban, indeed, is
mentioned by the Arab geographers as a flourishing city, in a
singularly fertile district of the Khabour. Part of a minaret, whose
walls were cased with colored tiles, and ornamented with cufic
inscriptions in relief, like that of the Sinjar, and the foundations of
buildings, are still seen on the mound; and at its foot; on the
western side, are the remains of a bridge which once spanned the
stream. But the river has changed its course. The piers, adorned
with elegantly shaped arabesque characters, are now on the dry
land.
I will describe, at once, the results of the excavations carried on
during the three weeks our tents were pitched at Arban. To please
the Jebour Sheikh, and to keep around our encampment, for greater
security, a body of armed men, when the tribe changed their
pastures, I hired about fifty of Mohammed Emin’s Arabs, and placed
them in parties with the workmen who had accompanied me from
Mosul. Tunnels were opened behind the bulls already uncovered,
and in various parts of the ruins on the same level. Trenches were
also dug into the surface of the mound.
Behind the bulls were found various Assyrian relics; amongst them a
copper bell, like those from Nimroud, and fragments of bricks with
arrow-headed characters painted yellow with white outlines, upon a
pale green ground. In other parts of the mound were discovered
glass and pottery, some Assyrian, others of a more doubtful
character. Several fragments of earthenware, ornamented with
flowers and scrollwork, and highly glazed, had assumed the brilliant
and varied iridescence of ancient glass.[120]
It was natural to conclude, from the usual architectural arrangement
of Assyrian edifices, that the two bulls described stood at an
entrance to a hall or chamber. We searched in vain for the remains
of walls, although digging for three days to the right and left of the
sculptures, a work of considerable difficulty in consequence of the
immense heap of superincumbent earth. I then directed a tunnel to
be carried towards the centre of the mound, hoping to find a
corresponding doorway opposite. I was not disappointed. On the
fifth day a similar pair of winged bulls were discovered. They were of
the same size, and inscribed with the same characters. A part of one
having been originally broken off, either in carving the sculpture or in
moving it, a fresh piece of stone had been carefully fitted into its
place. I also dug to the right and left of these sculptures for remains
of walls, but without success, and then resumed the tunnelling
towards the centre of the mound. In a few days a lion, with
extended jaws, sculptured in the same coarse limestone, and in the
same bold archaic style as the bulls, was discovered. It had five legs,
and the tail had the claw at the end, as in the Nineveh bas-reliefs. In
height it was nearly the same as the bulls. I searched in vain for the
one which must have formed the opposite side of the doorway.
 Lion discovered at Arban.

With the exception of these sculptures, no remains of building were

found in this part of the mound. In another tunnel, opened at some
distance from the bulls, half of a human figure in relief was
discovered.[121] The face was in full. One hand grasped a sword or
dagger; the other held some object to the breast. The hair and
beard were long and flowing, and ornamented with a profusion of
curls as in the Assyrian bas-reliefs. The head-dress appeared to
consist of a kind of circular helmet, ending in a sharp point. The
treatment and style marked the sculpture to be of the same period
as the bull and lion.
Such were the sculptures discovered in the mound of Arban.
Amongst smaller objects of different periods were some of
considerable interest, jars, vases, funeral urns, highly-glazed pottery,
and fragments of glass. In a trench, on the south side of the ruin,
was found a small green and white bottle, inscribed with Chinese
characters.
A jar, about four feet high, in coarse half-baked clay, was dug out of
the centre of the mound. The handles were formed by rudely-
designed human figures, and the sides covered with grotesque
representations of men and animals, and arabesque ornaments in
relief.
Vases of the same material, ornamented with figures, are frequently
discovered in digging the foundations of houses in the modern town
of Mosul. They appear to belong to a comparatively recent period,
later probably than the Christian era, but previous to the Arab
occupation. As they have upon them human figures, dressed in a
peculiar costume, consisting of a high cap and embroidered robes, I
should attribute them to the Persians. A vase similar in size and
shape to that of Arban, and also covered with grotesque
representations of monstrous animals, the finest specimen I have
seen of this class of antiquities, was found beneath the foundations
of the very ancient Chaldæan church of Meskinta at Mosul, when
that edifice was pulled down and rebuilt two years ago. It was given
to me by the Catholic Chaldæan Patriarch, to whom it belonged as
chief of the community, but was unfortunately destroyed, with other
interesting relics, by the Arabs, who plundered a raft laden with
antiquities, on its way to Baghdad, after my return to Europe.
Amongst other relics discovered at Arban were, a large copper ring,
apparently Assyrian; an ornament in earthenware, resembling the
pine-cone of the Assyrian sculptures; a bull’s head in terracotta;
fragments of painted bricks, probably of the same period; and
several Egyptian scarabæi. It is singular that engraved stones and
scarabs bearing Egyptian devices, and in some instances even royal
cartouches, should have been found on the banks of the Khabour.
Similar objects were subsequently dug up at Nimroud, and brought
to me by the Arabs from various ruins in Assyria.
It may be well for the reader to observe in this connection, that
most of the Egyptian relics discovered in the Assyrian ruins are of
the time of the 18th Egyptian dynasty, or of the 15th century before
Christ; a period when, as we learn from Egyptian monuments, there
was a close connection between Assyria and Egypt.
Several tombs were also found in the ruins, consisting principally of
boxes, or sarcophagi, of earthenware, like those existing above the
Assyrian palaces near Mosul. Some, however, were formed by two
large earthen jars, like the common Eastern vessel for holding oil,
laid horizontally, and joined mouth to mouth. These terracotta
coffins appear to be of the same period as those found in all the
great ruins on the banks of the rivers of Mesopotamia, and are not
Assyrian. They contained human remains turned to dust, with the
exception of the skull and a few of the larger bones, and generally
three or four urns of highly-glazed blue pottery.
Fewer remains and objects of antiquity were discovered in the
mounds on the Khabour than I had anticipated. They were sufficient,
however, to prove that the ruins are, on the whole, of the same
character as those on the banks of the Tigris. That the Assyrian
empire at one time embraced the whole of Mesopotamia, including
the country watered by the Khabour, there can be no doubt, as
indeed is shown by the inscriptions on the monuments of Nineveh.
Whether the sculptures at Arban belong to the period of Assyrian
domination, or to a distinct nation afterwards conquered, or whether
they may be looked upon as cotemporary with, or more ancient
than, the bas-reliefs of Nimroud, are questions not so easily
answered. The archaic character of the treatment and design, the
peculiar form of the features, the rude though forcible delineation of
the muscles, and the simplicity of the details, certainly convey the
impression of greater antiquity than any monuments hitherto
discovered in Assyria Proper.[122]
A deep interest, at the same time, attaches to these remains from
the site they occupy. To the Chebar were transported by the Assyrian
king, after the destruction of Samaria, the captive children of Israel,
and on its banks “the heavens were opened” to Ezekiel, and “he saw
visions of God,” and spake his prophecies to his brother exiles.[123]
Around Arban may have been pitched the tents of the sorrowing
Jews, as those of the Arabs were during my visit. To the same
pastures they led their sheep, and they drank of the same waters.
Then the banks of the river were covered with towns and villages,
and a palace-temple still stood on the mound, reflected in the
transparent stream. We have, however, but one name connected
with the Khabour recorded in Scripture, that of Tel-Abib, “the mound
of Abib, or, of the heaps of ears of corn,” but whether it applies to a
town, or to a simple artificial elevation, such as still abound, and are
still called “tels,” is a matter of doubt. I sought in vain for some trace
of the word amongst the names now given by the wandering Arab to
the various ruins on the Khabour and its confluents.[124]
We know that Jews still lingered in the cities of the Khabour until
long after the Arab invasion; and we may perhaps recognise in the
Jewish communities of Ras-al-Ain, at the sources of the river, and of
Karkisia, or Carchemish, at its confluence with the Euphrates, visited
and described by Benjamin of Tudela, in the latter end of the twelfth
century of the Christian æra, the descendants of the captive
Israelites.
But the hand of time has long since swept even this remnant away,
with the busy crowds which thronged the banks of the river. From its
mouth to its source, from Carchemish to Ras-al-Ain, there is now no
single permanent human habitation on the Khabour. Its rich
meadows and its deserted ruins are alike become the encamping
places of the wandering Arab.
 CHAPTER XIII.
RESIDENCE AT ARBAN.—MOHAMMED
EMIN’S TENT.—THE AGAYDAT.—OUR
TENTS.—BREAD-BAKING.—FOOD OF
THE BEDOUINS.—THIN BREAD.—
THE PRODUCE OF THEIR FLOCKS.—
DISEASES AMONGST THEM.—THEIR
REMEDIES.—THE DELOUL OR
DROMEDARY.—BEDOUIN WARFARE.
—SUTTUM’S FIRST WIFE.—A
STORM.—TURTLES.—LIONS.—A
BEDOUIN ROBBER.—BEAVERS.—
RIDE TO LEDJMIYAT.—A
PLUNDERING EXPEDITION.—LOSS
OF A HAWK.—RUINS OF
SHEMSHANI.—RETURN TO ARBAN.
—VISIT TO MOGHAMIS.
In the preceding chapter I have given an account of the discoveries
made in the ruins of Arban, I will now add a few notes of our
residence on the Khabour. A sketch of Arab life, and a description of
a country not previously visited by European travellers, may be new
and not uninteresting to my readers.
During the time we dwelt at Arban, we were the guests and under
the protection of Mohammed Emin, the Sheikh of the Jebours. On
the day we crossed the river, he celebrated our arrival by a feast
after the Arab fashion, to which the notables of the tribe were
invited. Sheep, as usual, were boiled and served up piecemeal in
large wooden bowls, with a mass of butter and bread soaked in the
gravy. The chief’s tent was spacious, though poorly furnished. It was
the general resort of those who chanced to wander, either on
business or for pleasure, to the Khabour, and was, consequently,
never without a goodly array of guests; from a company of
Shammar horsemen out on a foray to the solitary Bedouin who was
seeking to become a warrior in his tribe, by first stealing a mare
from some hostile encampment.
Amongst the strangers partaking, at the time of our visit, of the
Sheikh’s hospitality, were Serhan, a chief of the Agaydat, and
Dervish Agha, the hereditary Lord of Nisibin, the ancient Nisibis. The
tents of the former were at the junction of the Khabour and
Euphrates, near Karkisia (the ancient Carchemish), or, as it is more
generally called by the Arabs, Abou-Psera. The fertile meadows near
the confluence of the two rivers formerly belonged to the Jebours,
who occupied the banks of the Khabour throughout nearly the whole
of its course. An old feud kept them at continual war with the great
tribe of the Aneyza. They long successfully struggled with their
enemies, but having at length been overcome they sought refuge in
the neighborhood of Mosul. Having returned to the Khabour, they
claimed their former rights, and Mohammed Emin was invited by
Serhan to settle the contending claims; but it was to no effect.
Dervish Agha, of Kurdish descent, was the representative of an
ancient family, and had come to persuade the Jebour Sheikh to
assist Ferhan in recovering the plundered treasure from the
Hamoud. My own large tent was no less a place of resort than that
of Mohammed Emin, and as we were objects of curiosity, Bedouins
from all parts flocked to see us. With some of them I was already
acquainted, having either received them as my guests at Mosul, or
met them during excursions in the Desert. They generally passed
one night with us, and then returned to their own tents. A sheep
was always slain for them, and boiled with rice, or prepared wheat,
in the Arab way: if there were not strangers enough to consume the
whole, the rest was given to the workmen or to the needy, as it is
considered derogatory to the character of a truly hospitable and
generous man to keep meat until the following day, or to serve it up
a second time when cold. Even the poorest Bedouin who kills a
sheep, invites all his friends and neighbours to the repast, and if
there be still any remnants, distributes them amongst the poor and
the hungry, although he should himself want on the morrow.
The wandering Arabs have no other means of grinding their corn
than by handmills, which they carry with them wherever they go.
They are always worked by the women, for it is considered unworthy
of a man to engage in any domestic occupation. These handmills are
simply two circular flat stones, generally about eighteen inches in
diameter, the upper turning loosely upon a wooden pivot, and
moved quickly round by a wooden handle. The grain is poured
through the hole of the pivot, and the flour is collected in a cloth
spread under the mill. It is then mixed with water, kneaded in a
wooden bowl, and pressed by the hand into round balls ready for
baking. During these processes, the women are usually seated on
the bare ground: hence, in Isaiah (xlvii. 1, 2), is the daughter of
Babylon told to sit in the dust and on the ground, and “to take the
mill-stones to grind meal.”
The tribes who are always moving from place to place bake their
bread on a slightly convex iron plate, called a sadj, moderately
heated over a low fire of brushwood or camels’ dung. The lumps of
dough are rolled, on a wooden platter, into thin cakes, a foot or
more in diameter, and laid by means of the roller upon the iron.
They are baked in a very short time, and should be eaten hot. The
Kurds, whose flour is far whiter and more carefully prepared than
that of the Arabs, roll the dough into large cakes, scarcely thicker
than a sheet of paper. When carefully baked by the same process, it
becomes crisp and exceedingly agreeable to the taste. All Arab bread
is unleavened.
If a Bedouin tribe be moving in great haste before an enemy, and
should be unable to stop for many hours, or be making a forced
march to avoid pursuit over a desert where the wells are very distant
from each other, the women sometimes prepare bread whilst riding
on camels. The fire is then lighted in an earthen vessel. One woman
kneads the flour, a second rolls out the dough, and a third bakes,
boys or women on foot passing the materials, as required, from one
to the other. But it is very rare that the Bedouins are obliged to have
recourse to this process, and I have only once witnessed it.
The fuel used by the Arabs consists chiefly of the dwarf shrubs,
growing in most parts of the Desert, of dry grass and of camels’
dung. They frequently carry bags of the latter with them when in
summer they march over very arid tracts. On the banks of the great
rivers of Mesopotamia, the tamarisk and other trees furnish them
with abundant firewood. They are entirely dependent for their
supplies of wheat upon the villages on the borders of the Desert, or
on the sedentary Arabs, who, whilst living in tents, cultivate the soil.
The Bedouins usually draw near to the towns and cultivated districts
soon after the harvest, to lay in their stock of grain. A party of men
and women, chosen by their companions, then take with them
money, or objects for sale or exchange, and drive the camels to the
villages, where they load them and return to their tents.
Nearly the whole revenue of an Arab Sheikh, whatever it may be, is
laid out in corn, rice and other provisions. The quantity of food
consumed in the tents of some of the great chiefs of the Bedouins is
very considerable. The common Bedouin can rarely get meat. His
food consists almost exclusively of wheaten bread with truffles,
which are found in great abundance during the spring, a few wild
herbs, such as asparagus, onions, and garlic, fresh butter, curds, and
sour milk. But, at certain seasons, even these luxuries cannot be
obtained; for months together he often eats bread alone. Roasted
meat is very rarely seen in a Bedouin tent. Rice is only eaten by the
Sheikhs, except amongst the tribes who encamp in the marshes of
Southern Mesopotamia, where rice of an inferior quality is very
largely cultivated. There it is boiled with meat and made into pilaws.
The Bedouins do not make cheese. The milk of their sheep and
goats is shaken into butter or turned into curds: it is rarely or never
drank fresh, new milk being thought very unwholesome, as by
experience I soon found it to be, in the Desert. The sour milk, or
sheneena, an universal beverage amongst the Arabs, is either
buttermilk pure and diluted, or curds mixed with water. Camel’s milk
is drank fresh. It is pleasant to the taste, rich, and exceedingly
nourishing. It is given in large quantities to the horses. The
Shammar and Aneyza Bedouins have no cows or oxen, those
animals being looked upon as the peculiar property of tribes who
have forgotten their independence, and degraded themselves by the
cultivation of land. The sheep are milked at dawn, or even before
daybreak, and again in the evening on their return from the
pastures. The milk is immediately turned into leben, or boiled to be
shaken into butter. Amongst the Bedouins and Jebours it is
considered derogatory to the character of a man to milk a cow or a
sheep, but not to milk a camel.
The Sheikhs occasionally obtain dates from the cities. They are
either eaten dry with bread and leben, or fried in butter, a very
favorite dish of the Bedouin.[125]
To this spare and simple dish the Bedouins owe their freedom from
sickness, and their extraordinary power of bearing fatigue. Diseases
are rare amongst them; and the epidemics, which rage in the cities,
seldom reach their tents. The cholera, which has of late visited
Mosul and Baghdad with fearful severity, has not yet struck the
Bedouins, and they have frequently escaped the plague, when the
settlements on the borders of the Desert have been nearly
depopulated by it. The small pox, however, occasionally makes great
havoc amongst them, vaccination being still unknown to the
Shammar, and intermittent fever prevails in the autumn, particularly
when the tribes encamp near the marshes in Southern Mesopotamia.
Rheumatism prevails somewhat, and Ophthalmia is common in the
Desert as well as in all other parts of the East, and may be
attributed as much to dirt and neglect as to any other cause.
The Bedouins are acquainted with few medicines. The Desert yields
some valuable simples, which are, however, rarely used. Dr.
Sandwith hearing from Suttum that the Arabs had no opiates, asked
what they did with one who could not sleep. “Do!” answered the
Sheikh, “why, we make use of him, and set him to watch the
camels.” If a Bedouin be ill, or have received a wound, he sometimes