I sent forth a dove, and it left. The dove went and turned;
A resting-place it did not find, and it returned.
I sent forth a swallow, and it left. The swallow went and turned; and
A resting-place it did not find, and it returned.
I sent forth a raven, and it left. The raven went, and the decrease of waters it saw, and
It did eat, it swam, and wandered away, and did not return.”
There could be no mistake about it. This was evidently a portion of a cuneiform inscription which gave an Assyrian version of the history of the Deluge. Could he pick out, from among the thousands and thousands of fragments, great and small, around him in the collection, the other pieces of the same tablet, so as to have the whole? or were they still lying buried in the mound of Kouyunjik, whence Layard had brought the fragment he is reading? That was the question before Mr.
Smith. He set himself to the task of practically answering it. Month after month was spent in the labor of scrutinizing, matching, and deciphering fragments. Success rewarded this perseverance, almost beyond his expectation. In December he was able to electrify the literary world of London. He lectured on the “Chaldean Account of the Deluge,” and was able to present to his audience the greater portion of the cuneiform text. It corresponded wonderfully not only in the main points, but sometimes even in details, with the account of Genesis. It differed from it chiefly by the introduction of poetic and mythological imagery, and in a few minor details—such details as men will naturally vary in, while they retain the substance and general truth of an account.
About this time the New York Herald had attained a world-wide and well-deserved celebrity by having sent Stanley on a bold and successful mission to find Livingstone in the heart of Africa. Other papers naturally wished to imitate, if not to rival, the great deed. The London Daily Telegraph saw its opportunity, seized it at once, and sent out Mr. Smith to Mesopotamia, to make further excavations in the mound of Kouyunjik and elsewhere, and to obtain more of those interesting fragments. This he strove to do, though under many embarrassments from the opposition or the petulance of ignorant and arbitrary Turkish officials. He was forced to bring his work to a close just when he felt that he had entered well into it. The results, however, of that trip have since turned out to be greater and more important than he then thought. He soon went out again to resume and continue the work under the auspices
of the British Museum, and he succeeded in obtaining for its collection still another large instalment of the much-coveted fragments, together with many other valuable articles. Since his return to England in June, 1874, he has given himself up almost entirely to the study of those fragments, classifying, comparing, and uniting them where possible, and deciphering the inscriptions.[137] In the work before us[138] he gives to the public some special results attained by a little over one year’s labor. We catch the words—if only the muttered and broken words—of this early Assyrian literature, yet words of highest importance, because they bear directly on the topics narrated in the earliest chapters of the Holy Scriptures. As we read them, we feel like one standing by the bedside of a sick man, and listening to his fitful and feverish utterances. You catch a word here and a word there, perhaps scarcely enough to guide you. Now and then a sentence is spoken out with startling distinctness, to be followed only by low, almost unintelligible murmurings. Still, if you know what the patient is speaking of, you may follow his train of thought, at least after a fashion.