With the Persian Expedition

by Martin Henry Donohoe

Up to the moment of the Turkish collapse, towards the end of October, many of the notables of Bijar were inclined to be dubious concerning our possibility of success. These cautious individuals shaped their conduct accordingly. They "hedged" very carefully, to use a sporting phrase, and, in order to avoid all risks, backed both sides. One wealthy Persian resident whom I particularly remember was lavish of lip-service. He would call round to the Mission Headquarters at least twice a week to assure us of his ever-enduring devotion, and of his hopes of success for British arms. About the same time he would be sending off a courier to the Turkish commander in our front telling him that he was his devoted servitor and that it would be a blessed day for all True Believers when the Infidel British were driven out of Persian Kurdistan. So much for Persian duplicity. Our "friend" was a confirmed "pulophile," which is an impromptu Perso-Greek expression for "money-lover," and, while awaiting our military downfall, he had no conscientious objections to seeking to rob us right and left in wheat transactions.

On the whole the various Kurdish chiefs kept their peace pact with the British, and for a time strove hard to walk in the path of honesty and to cease from annexing their neighbours' flocks and herds. But occasionally temptation proved too strong to be resisted, and there would come a recrudescence of pillaging and violence. The Mandumis and the Galbaghis were the chief offenders. Their subtle imagination was never at a loss for a plausible pretext to condone their lawlessness. Once, when Mandumi tribesmen attacked a British post at an outlying village called Nadari, a certain Mustafa Khan, the chief of the guilty raiders, sent a very apologetic letter pleading for forgiveness, and pointing out that the regrettable occurrence arose through a "misunderstanding" on the part of his tribesmen who possessed an inordinate love of well-conditioned sheep. Times were hard, and if the poor Kurds were not to be allowed to replenish their larders by the time-honoured method of pilfering, then, in the name of Allah, he asked, what was to become of them? This curious and essentially Kurdish plea of "extenuating circumstances" was backed up by a letter from the tribal Mujtahid, or priest, who wrote that he was a simple man of God saying his prayers regularly and knowing little of secular affairs. His tribesmen had evidently been maligned by their enemies—"May the Evil One pluck their beards!" He had always exhorted his people to remain friendly with the British, and would continue to do so.

On this occasion Mustafa Khan escaped with a fine and a reprimand, but he was obviously looking for trouble, and it soon overtook him. He became very insolent. Some of his men stopped and robbed the British native courier, and the Chief sent a message that he would soon come and raid Bijar itself. There was nothing to do except to teach Mustafa Khan a much-needed lesson. However, before the salutary drubbing could be administered, Mustafa and his men, throwing discretion to the winds, and forgetful of their oft-repeated promises to be of good behaviour, got completely out of hand, cleaned out several Persian villages, and indulged in a veritable orgy of lawlessness.

Then Mustafa, with consummate skill, having no case of his own, set about abusing the other side. He blamed the hapless villagers, and accused them of having killed two of his Sowars who had gone into the Persian village to "purchase" corn. The villagers in question, he remarked, were liars, and the sons of the Father of Lies—"May perdition be their lot!" But this time his defence of provocation was found to be unjustifiable; a richly deserved punishment was meted out to him, and for long afterwards he led an exemplary life.

Nabi Khan was another Kurdish freebooter who gave considerable trouble before he was finally subdued and made to see the error of his ways. From the point of view of stature and general physique he was one of the finest looking men I have ever seen. He stood a good 6 feet 4 inches in his socks, belying the prevailing idea that the Kurds are of small stature. In an evil moment for himself, he threw in his lot with the Turks, and for a brief period made things right merry for the British. He fought like an enraged tiger in defence of his village stronghold, but was put to flight after suffering severe loss. He thought the thing out for a couple of weeks, and then, like the old sportsman that he was, came in and surrendered, saying that he had lost, and was ready to pay the full price. It is easy to be generous to a chivalrous foe, and Nabi had been all that, so he found that he had not thrown himself upon our mercy in vain.

I well remember the morning that Nabi surrendered. His name and his fame had preceded him to Bijar, and, as he strode down the Bazaar with a belt full of lethal weapons, his very appearance inspired terror in the breasts of the pusillanimous Persian traders, and they bolted for cover like so many scared animals. In addition to his stature, Nabi was a man of handsome appearance. He had a bold, open countenance, and was brief and blunt of speech. Brushing past the startled Persian janitor, whom he disdained to notice, he made a dramatic entry into the Political Office at Bijar. Flinging his weapons on the table, he exclaimed, "I have been foolish; aye, misguided by evil counsellors; I have lost, and am here to pay the price. Do with me what you will. But you may tell your Shah that I regret the past and am willing to make amends." Peace was arranged with Nabi Khan, and the pact he kept very faithfully, becoming one of our most ardent partisans in the difficult country and amongst the turbulent folk over whom he held sway. He policed his district, and did it very thoroughly, proving a veritable terror to evildoers; and he suppressed Turkish propaganda with a vigour that demonstrated his real earnestness in the British cause.

After the manner of his kind, as a further evidence of his good faith, and in order to set a time-enduring seal upon his treaty of friendship, he was anxious to negotiate a Kurdish-British matrimonial alliance. After a good deal of preliminary verbal manoeuvring, he definitely broached the project, and suggested the giving in marriage of his daughter, a very comely damsel, to the Political Officer. The latter was completely taken aback and, not being a Moslem, had visions of all sorts of unpleasant legal complications should he ever set foot in England with a supplementary wife. However, he faced the trying situation with commendable fortitude, and cast about for a means whereby he might be enabled to retreat with honour, and without offending Kurdish susceptibilities. Nabi was tactfully informed that, while the offer was much appreciated, the acceptance of a Kurdish bride would entail no end of complications for at least one of the parties concerned, as an unsympathetic British law had long set its face against bigamy. In fact, isolated enthusiasts in khaki who, as a relief from the tedium of trench life, had sought to popularize plural marriages in England had been rewarded by a term of imprisonment. This was news indeed for the benevolent-minded Nabi, but he did not insist further, and the incident terminated happily.

The Kurds are in many respects as simple as European children of tender age. They had heard much about the wonderful flying machines of Faringistan, and, never having seen an aeroplane, were inclined to be sceptical, and to treat reputed aerial adventures as so many "travellers' tales." A Kurdish chief came to call on me one day seeking enlightenment. He had seen automobiles, and admitted that they puzzled his primitive brain. "Why," he asked honestly enough, "is the horse put inside the box, and why does this strange creature prefer petrol to barley by way of food?" It took a long time to knock into his head some primitive notion of motor traction. Then he inquired, "Is it true that in Faringistan, as currently reported, men make themselves into birds and soar in the air like eagles?" The reply, as they say in Parliament, was in the affirmative, but the Kurdish seeker for knowledge remained frankly incredulous. A few days after the conversation, a youthful Scottish aviator, who was familiarly known as "Little Willie McKay," arrived by air from Hamadan in order to give Bijar and the Kurdistan hill-folk a taste of his quality. It was a day of days, and inaugurated a new era in the local Mohammedan calendar, for it marked the flight of the terror-stricken Faithful towards a place of safety away from the aerial monster that, appearing from out of a clear sunlight sky, swooped down on the town. The youthful McKay was a noted aerial stunt artist, and he executed an extensive and varied programme for the edification of those of the astonished onlookers who had steeled their courage to the point of sticking it out. The houses are flat-roofed, and here the spectators assembled to watch the show. As the aviator nose-dived occasionally, it was amusing to see the celerity with which they dropped flat on their faces, fearing lest they should be caught by the talons of the "man-bird" and carried off heaven knew where. Later on, at the local aerodrome, the people came, timidly enough at first, to peep at the monster; but they did their sightseeing cautiously from a respectful distance, and it was only necessary for the engine to throb once or twice fretfully, and for the propeller to revolve, to bring about an instantaneous stampede. Thenceforth no one ever doubted that the British were miracle workers, and had at their disposal an unlimited supply of magic to assist in the overthrowing of their enemies.

The Moharran, or anniversary of the death of Hossain the Martyr, is an occasion for the display of great religious fervour by the Shi'ite Moslems. It fell on October 17th, and the Bijar Bazaar was closed and the houses draped in mourning. It is perhaps the only day in the year when the average Persian looks in deadly earnest, and when his fanaticism is aroused to such a pitch as to make him at all dangerous to persons of other creeds. There was a procession through the streets, and the chief incidents of the martyrdom were re-enacted by a devoted band of Shias. The "body" of the Sainted One was carried on a bier and, in order that the finishing touch of realism should not be lacking, the covering of the bier was plentifully bedaubed with blood, while the head of the "corpse" was enveloped in gory bandages. The mise en scène was completed by the addition of a local troupe representing Hossain's wives and adherents who, according to legend, were also put to death by the hated rival sect, the Sunnis. The followers in the procession, in a burst of religious frenzy, gashed their faces or bodies with swords or knives, and, with blood streaming from the self-inflicted wounds, were not exactly a pleasant spectacle to look upon. A Persian youth employed at the British Headquarters was one of those who achieved religious merit and local distinction on the occasion. Having volunteered for the role of follower, he had his head cut open by a local barber, and off he went to join in the quasi-religious ceremony. In the afternoon he was back at his job with his poor damaged head swathed in bandages and feeling very proud indeed of his exploit.

Bijar was very excited by the intelligence that arrived on November 1st. We received an official notification that an armistice had been concluded with Turkey, at the request of the latter Power, and that hostilities were to cease at once. The Governor made an official call to offer his felicitations, and to congratulate the British on their triumph over another of their enemies. He dissimulated his real feelings with great artfulness, for while openly professing joy at our victory he was sorrowing in secret that a Moslem Power should have been overthrown by an Infidel. Still, he made the best of it, and candidly told some of his intimates who were inclined to be tearful because their religious pride had been wounded by the success of our arms, that the British, after all, had shown more real humanity and compassion in dealing with the oppressed Persians than ever had their coreligionists, the Turks.