The town surgeon had paid for his funeral out of the various almost worthless odds and ends he had possessed, together with his clothing, so that all that remained of the estate of the old Mustafa Beg was the four liras he had entrusted to my care. These I guarded, and would take to Bagdad, whence I could send them safely by postal remittance to Tripoli, and be reasonably certain of their getting to their proper destination.
The few of us who had seen the body buried were much affected by the death of the old man, though he was neither of our race nor countries; he was a stranger, and his horrible death in a place where he had lived an unhappy and lonely life, showed at once in a vivid manner the insecurity, and brought home to both Matti and the master of the School the danger in which they lived, and made them compare involuntarily their own positions in the town with that of Mustafa Beg. For though they were nothing like so friendless, they were equally unprotected, and above all they were strangers in the land. The sympathy of the Kurd and the people of Persia and Kurdistan generally for the stranger is a lively one; in these lands, to be away from home means more than in countries where communication is rapid and intercourse between distant points is frequent. The native place is very dear indeed to the Turk, Persian, and Kurd. It is an innocent enthusiasm that prompts the dweller in a pestilential and fever-ridden village with salt water, to extol it as little less than Paradise itself, for the discomforts of life in a strange land, far from his own language or dialect, make the place he left appear far superior, and distance lends an enchantment to his view that leads him to make the most flattering descriptions of his native place. How often had old Mustafa Beg told of the beauties of his Tripoli, its fruits, its busy sea-coast, its climate, the hospitable nature of its inhabitants; and how often had he sighed to go back, and counted the months to the time when he should have sufficient money to return; and all his eulogies had ended with a hope, expressed fervently, that at least he might die among his own people; but here we were burying his remains in a land which he hated, whose people he hated, and of whose language he knew not two words.
And as we saw the last shovelfuls of earth placed upon his grave, the watchers on the hill-top cried out to us to get away to town quickly, for over the valley came a small party of horsemen, the Hamavands, shooting at targets as they galloped; and we had to hasten back lest the living should follow the new-buried dead.
At the house I found Hama, looking wretched. He had not succeeded in finding the stolen “run,” and had called in the police, who were more disposed to work up a case against him than help; for they heard whose servant he was, and had some hope of getting out of this business what they failed to get out of the passport affair—some money. I am afraid I did not care much, for I was resolved to leave very soon, and knew that it would be impossible to get satisfaction. But as he urged, I went to the acting Mutasarrif, whom I found in a little garden, surrounded by several colonels, all drinking coffee. Once more I had to go through the nuisance of introducing myself, hearing the same comments upon Persia, and answering the same questions regarding my native country, my travels, trade, and aims. Three or four spoke Persian, and were glad of the opportunity to display their knowledge to their more ignorant fellows, so with a few compliments upon their knowledge, I became friendly with them. In the middle of it the police commissaire came in, and seeing me upon the right hand of the deputy-governor, approached with smiles and compliments. The usual course of such things followed. The deputy-governor gave orders in a fierce voice that the stolen property should be immediately forthcoming. The commissaire assured him that that was the only aim in life of his four men, all at work on the affair, and bowed himself out to complete their operations. A soldier was sent to the scene of action, in town, “to make sure the stuff was produced immediately,” and I took my leave perfectly satisfied that nothing would be done—as it most surely was not.
PREPARATIONS TO LEAVE
During the next two or three days I began to think how I could get away, and had almost settled a contract with a Shuan Kurd to go by donkey through the villages, and by making a detour to the Zab River, come at Kirkuk from the north. But hardly had I provisionally settled with him, than news and a caravan came direct from Kirkuk. The Hamavands had moved south, across the Bagdad road, and the Turks, who had not dared to come out of Chemchemal while they still remained in their country, were now scouring Bazian and its hills, and for the first time since March the road was passable; it was now the end of July.
The caravan was to go back in a day or two to bring some of the merchandise that had accumulated during the four months of insecurity. So I made haste to avail myself of this opportunity, and arranged to hire a mule from one Salih, a long-limbed Turkoman of Kirkuk. I paid the rent of my little house, and bade farewell to the various people with whom I had made friends. Asima Khan, the lady who had been instrumental in ridding me of the trouble caused by Sayyid Nuri, came with a number of the other neighbours’ wives, and made the occasion of a call upon the old house-dame an opportunity for bidding me good-bye.
I was sorry to part from Gulchin, for she was the freest, most frank, and candid character of all, and her light-hearted ways and open sincerity had done a great deal to make the life in Sulaimania pleasant. She was looking very serious to-day in the company of her aunt Asima Khan, and presented the subdued and humble appearance due from a divorced girl in the presence of her seniors and superiors. So, since it would not be etiquette, even in free Kurdistan, to have held long conversation with the assembled company of women, I returned their farewell compliments and retired again to the house where I was settling with Hama, who tried to induce me by every means in his power to take him. But this I did not wish, for I intended, once clear of Sulaimania, to declare myself Christian, and see how one of that religion fared among the people of these parts, and Hama’s attachment to me was greatly due to my piousness as a Musulman. Besides, he had sworn to my orthodoxy before Uthman Pasha and the assembled company, so I could not undeceive him, quite apart from the fact that did I ever return, I hoped to be welcomed again as Mirza Ghulam Husain.
In the custom of Sulaimania, we were to leave in the afternoon; not like the Persian habit, which enjoins rising in the cold, dark dawn. I had therefore to buy some food to last at least three days, for we were not going to Chemchemal, and between Sulaimania and our first inhabited stopping-place it might be three days. Gulchin had made me some road bread, sheets the size of a sheet of brown paper, and little thicker, of white, crisp bread. This with some pears was all I took, and all that would be considered necessary by any ordinary person in these parts. A little bowl for drinking-water completed the road outfit, with the exception of a cotton quilt, which served both for a cover at night and a softener over the hard pack-saddle.
DEPARTURE FROM SULAIMANIA