We could not come to an understanding, but we parted the best of friends.[143]
As for the Christian villagers, they of course welcomed the arrival of what promised protection, and refused to believe any disclaimers of political power and aims. “Now we shall be able to send out our sheep to the far pastures,” they proclaimed. To do so previously would have been a mere invitation to cattle-raiders, which they would not have been slow to accept!
The person who was most to be pitied in the whole matter was the unfortunate Governor of Amadia. He had to veil under a decent show of politeness the disgust that he must have felt over the advent of a nuisance whom he was bound to protect; and a critic whom he could not turn out, or[{325}] altogether disregard. Further, all his Kurdish neighbours who desired the removal of the foreigner were sure that the governor could do it if he would; and that he would have done so, had he not been bribed in a contrary sense.
One can spare some pity for a poor man who finds himself losing his popularity with his friends for not doing what he would give his ears to do, if only he were able. Constant petitions were made to him to expel the foreigner; and when in a weak moment he tried to purchase peace by issuing an order to that effect, the impracticable Englishman not only refused to obey it, but appealed to his Consul; and so brought down on him a sharp reprimand from the Vali, and a reminder of the existence of the “Capitulations” and foreign privileges under them. Yet how was he to get that fact into a Kurd’s understanding?
Finding that the poor kaimákam was not to be moved, the neighbours thought of taking action themselves. A syndicate of them actually suggested a reward of £1000 to anyone who would abate the nuisance by removing the foreigner finally and absolutely from this world. Sundry gentlemen were willing to undertake the job; so at least local informants assured us. Maybe their fears spoke, but the thing has been done with British officers since. This syndicate, however, declined to produce the money till the job was done; and negotiations broke down on that point, leaving the Englishman with the satisfaction of feeling that he was at least rated quite decently high. It would have been a blow to his natural self-esteem had the price put on his head been a low one; but £1000 elevates one into an aristocratic circle, to a fellowship with Claude Duval, Ned Kelly the Australian, “the man Charles Stuart” and “the Nigger General who almost ruined old Virginny.”
Meantime, the British Consul in Mosul felt a little natural anxiety at these proposals concerning one of his charges, and communicated with a friend on the matter. This friend was that Abdi Agha of the Sindiguli Kurds mentioned earlier in this chapter, who was on the most amicable terms with all English, because his daughter had just been cured in the English hospital in Mosul. The Consul’s suggestion ran[{326}] much as follows. “See here my friend; you know those men of Amadia are talking wildly and making petitions. Could you, who have influence with them, give them a hint that they are knocking their heads against a stone wall? You know we none of us want to have trouble; but I shall be obliged to take serious notice if they go too far.”
“Certainly Bey, on my head and eyes be it,” said the obliging Agha; and this was the form in which the “hint” arrived. “O you men of Amadia! Dogs that you are, I hear that you are barking against my English friends. Know now that if you do not cease from this forthwith, I will rob every caravan of yours that goes down to Mosul!”
Application had been made at Constantinople for a firmān for the building of a mission house, and this business was proceeding with the leisureliness characteristic of Ottoman rule. A curious episode occurred during its progress. The British Consul of Mosul, having naturally left that oven during the summer, had come up to Amadia; and was there staying with the writer on the site of the future house, when a Servian gipsy appeared in the land. This was an old woman, who was unable to speak any one of the numerous languages current in Kurdistan, and communicated with the natives by signs only. The Consul’s kavass, however, was a Montenegrin, and through him we were able to communicate with her. She professed herself a skilled fortune-teller, and accordingly, more by way of challenge than anything else, she was asked to show her skill. She asked for anything that the Consul had worn, and having been given a fragment of an old neck-tie, cut it into shreds, strewed these on the surface of some water, and presently, after studying the signs, gave her verdict. “You have come up hither about the building of a large house on this spot, and there has been a great deal of opposition to it. However, you need not be afraid, for you have overcome it, and the house will be built and will abide.” About six weeks later came the news that the issue of the firmān for the purpose was practically secured.
Another curious instance of clairvoyance came to the knowledge of the writer in the same village. A child was[{327}] lost, and after searching for it in vain, the parents applied to a certain aged qashâ, renowned for his skill in kharashutha (magic) of all kinds. His method was to take a pebble from a running stream, and grind it to powder with certain prayers. Then a long series of names of localities was written on slips of paper, and these and the dust together were strewn on a basin of water taken from the running stream. Again prayers were recited, ending with the invocation, “give a perfect lot;” and the slip of paper that first floated to the side was taken. The place it named seemed impossible; for it was a pass between two high mountains, very difficult of access. Still the parents went up to search; and there sure enough was found the dead body of the child, who, in obedience to the mysterious law observed in several such cases, had climbed from height to height, when lost, till he sank exhausted.
A better position than Amadia for getting unusual knowledge as to the ways of life and thought in this remote land could hardly be imagined; particularly when, as was the case with us, medical practice was added to educational work. This was done partly out of philanthropy, partly because nothing is so efficient as dosing to take away prejudice! Weird complaints came to us for doctoring, as will readily be understood; and possibly the treatment they received would have been considered even weirder from a real doctor’s point of view.[144] Thus the village idiot came up one day to beg for a cure. He knew that he was mad, and he also knew the reason; namely that long ago an unscrupulous foe had put a donkey’s brains into his soup, and he had eaten them unwittingly, and had naturally gone crazy.