They now grew distinctly assiduous in the payment of a series of return calls upon their lately exulting Kurdish enemies. Sutu Agha’s stronghold at Oramar was captured and sacked; and this victory regained for them quite a lot of the plunder of Jilu. Chal fell to a well-planned raid under David, the Patriarch’s brother; and the summer camps of the nomad Heriki[164] yielded quite a rich booty of sheep. These forays were conducted in much more gentlemanly fashion than the harrying of the Christian valleys in the autumn of 1915. The son of the Agha of Chal for instance, was captured at the fall of that fastness, and was at once released on a verbal promise that he would arrange an exchange of prisoners—a promise which (to the Kurds’ credit) was for once loyally redeemed. “Grass soon grows over blood that has been shed in fair fight”; and if these courtesies were more often reciprocated by the Moslems we might entertain some hope of eventual peace in Kurdistan.
These diversions had at least the effect of immobilising a good number of Kurdish levies, who might otherwise have caused annoyance on the flank of the Russian advance to Erzerum; and the Russians rewarded this service by a lavish distribution of decorations which were immensely appreciated and universally worn. Mar Shimun himself received a personal letter of congratulation from the Tsar, and was welcomed with high distinction at Tiflis by the Grand Duke Nicholas.
Thus matters continued prosperous till the autumn of 1917, when the outlook again became fearfully overclouded by omens of Russian collapse. The munitions of war had never before been so plentiful as they were at this period in eastern Asia Minor. The arsenals of England, France, and America had been pouring material into the country to equip the armies of Russia. But the men for whom it was intended had no longer spirit to use it; and an Allied Commission had been despatched in hot haste to the Caucasus to try[{378}] and rake together a few substitutes to replace their exhausted protagonist.
There was plenty of fighting spirit still to be found among the Assyrians and a certain dour gloomy inveteracy among some Armenian units further north. Between these lay the territory of Simco (i.e., Ismail) Agha of the Shekak Kurds; and the allied liaison officers conceived the notion that these three elements might be combined into a coherent line of defence.
Simco was the Agha whom we mentioned on page 228 as anxious to acquire a British consul’s Mannlicher rifle at the price of his newly married wife. At Kotur he held a position of high strategic importance; and he commanded a considerable following, comprising some 2000 horse. He had participated two years previously in the combined attack on the Assyrians; but it was thought he would feel no scruples about changing sides, if it could be shown that it was worth his while. And certainly he had no cause to love the Persians; for his own brother (and predecessor in the chieftainship) was that same Jaffar who had been so foully assassinated at Tabriz by the ex-Shah when he was Vali Ahd.[165]
The scheme on the whole was a good one and its advantages were obvious. But it had one fatal objection—the connecting link was a Kurd. Hanpartsunian, the Armenian leader, was most reluctant to admit him to the league; and when Mar Shimun heard the proposal he shared his reluctance to the full. But in those days British officers were rather inclined to assume that Kurds were “indifferent honest.” It is believed that after four years’ experience of administration in Mesopotamia they would now vote this theory obsolete.
Despite their rooted prejudices to the contrary, the Armenian and Assyrian chieftains allowed themselves to be over-persuaded, and the plan won acquiescence from their followers. Simco embraced it with enthusiasm, and swore upon the Koran to keep faith with his Christian associates, protesting (somewhat anomalously) that he[{379}] regarded the Assyrian Patriarch as “the Religious Head of Kurdistan.”
This ill-assorted alliance was soon to be crucially tested. Some Russian assistance had been counted upon, and 250 Russian officers were to have undertaken the organisation of the combined force. But the officers never arrived; and what Russian force still remained in the district gradually melted away to nothing. Russia was no longer only a falling wall whose collapse might be averted by buttressing. The very bricks of which it was built had disintegrated, and resolved into the mud from which they had been made.
It was now February, 1918—not yet quite the darkest hour upon the Western Front, but already very nearly so. And in the East the collapse of Russia had completely convinced all waverers that Germany and her allies had virtually won the war. The all-conquering Mackensen was rumoured to be already on his way to assume the command at Mosul, and to besom the British out of Mesopotamia; and Ijlal el Mulk plucked up heart of grace, and issued a grandiose proclamation ordering the Assyrians to lay down their arms.
Mar Shimun wrote a letter of protest to Mukht-i-Shems, the Persian Governor of Tabriz, reiterating that his people were merely refugees, and carried arms solely for their own protection. But these were facts of which the Persians had, of course, been fully aware for two years and more. They did not want an apology—only a pretext for falling on their unwelcome guests.