They have been regarded from earliest times with execration by Musulman and Christian alike, and have lived ever at hostility with all their neighbours. At one time they possessed some numerical strength, and harassed their enemies very seriously, but a Kurdish chief subdued them and broke their power by a wholesale massacre. Since then they live here and there among the Christians and Kurds, a certain number still inhabiting the Sinjar range of hills, which stretches in a westerly direction from Mosul. They also exist in the Caucasus, near Tiflis and Bayazid.
Since Layard’s time they have suffered further persecution from Turk, Kurd, and Christian, and at present are in a miserable state of poverty. Except for the fact that they do not wear blue, they are indistinguishable from the population of Kurd, Turkoman, and Chaldean among whom they live, except by those little marks only a native or a dweller in the land can discern.
South of the range that we passed that second day out of Mosul, and beyond the River Ghazar, they do not exist now. This river we crossed, trending to the east of our morning course, and had great difficulty in passing its ford, the mules several times tottering, rendering the rider’s balance doubly insecure. The river is an affluent of the Greater Zab, and flows into it very near the place we passed. In fact, our course, which was towards the Greater Zab River, lay across the point of land, a few miles wide, between the two. We reached the high banks of this historical stream in the afternoon at the same time as the rain, and finding our way half-way down its cliffs by a little path, threw our loads upon a ledge some ten feet wide, and sheltered under a projecting rock.
Across the river we saw the flat plain of the ancient province known as Adiabene to the Parthians and Medes, the most sought-after, the most fertile of all the lands of Assyria, itself Assyria proper. At this time of the year, it was a carpet of rolling green.
Below us, the river, in spring flood, roared around the rocks strewing its broad course, and looking upstream we could see the white peaks of Kurdistan tearing the ragged clouds. Opposite was the village of Zailan, inhabited by a curious sub-tribe of Kurds in Arab dress, of a savage and wild habit and speech. Here, at the same spot that has seen the fording of the armies of the Assyrians, Persians, and Romans, lay the old road from Nineveh to Arbela, which was the sacred city of Assyria, and upon this road the conquering kings of that mighty nation returned to do homage and render thanks and sacrifice to Her of Arbela, the Goddess of Victory. Upon this ancient way we were taking our humble course, and like many of our great predecessors, were stopped at the ferry by the flood. In our times a tiny ferry bark, like those described on the Euphrates, takes passengers across, but it was just loading as we arrived, with some donkeys, and the owners had no intention of attempting another crossing in the storm. While they were employed thus I received a call under my rock, from the chief of the place, an individual in a white hairy cloak. He tried me in Turkish and Arabic, and we conversed in the former for a time, during which he told me that, flood or slack, storm or calm, ferry or no ferry, the village had to pay 600 liras a year to the Government of Mosul as the tax upon that part of their revenue. Moreover, did the natives refuse to work at a scheme so often unprofitable, they were chastised by soldiery. Consequently the price exacted for passengers, two and four footed, was excessive, a donkey paying 1s. 8d. and a mule 3s. These considerations did not seem to affect the Kurds, for in the manner of their kind, they worked like fierce demons, steering and rowing their unwieldy craft with shrieks and laughter. Though called Kurds, and displaying some resemblance to the race, I should think there is a strong Arab mixture amongst them.
AT THE ZAB
We collected a heap of sticks, and sat round a blazing fire, shivering. Sunset was accompanied by renewed wind and rain, so no sooner was it dark than we covered ourselves with everything we possessed, and lay down upon the soppy turf to sleep. The mules were tethered on the ledge, and every now and then one of us would awake suddenly to find a huge nostril purring inquiring breaths into his face, or to save a quilt or coat being stamped into the earth by his odoriferous neighbours.
FOOTNOTES TO CHAPTER V:
[11] David Fraser, The Short Cut to India.
[12] Jonah iii. 3.