The handling and moving of the ponderous blocks habitually employed by the ancients would tax even modern[{123}] constructors, with all the resources of machinery and steam power which nowadays they have at command. But the Assyrians (like the Romans after them) could avail themselves of a limitless amount of dirt-cheap labour. The hordes of captives taken in their wars had to be used somehow; and no one raised any objection if they were rather rapidly used up. Men cost less than oxen or asses, and their strength could be applied more effectively. They could be drilled to keep step, and to give their tugs in unison. Moreover the old Oriental task-masters possessed an asset which we have lost—a supreme scorn for being unduly hurried. They could well afford to spend a generation or so on buildings which were designed to endure for centuries, and which might have endured for millennia if only they had been left alone.
But even their works of utility have been no more spared by posterity than the tablets which recorded their learning, or the palaces which were the trophies of their pride. And such a work also had its source at the quarries in the Gomel valley; one of those splendid irrigating channels which used to feed the desert with the waters of life.[74] Its course can be traced for some distance alongside the banks of the river; where for yards upon yards the ample conduit is hewn through spurs of solid rock. Werda had seen further remains of it far away on the plains to the southward; “and the villagers were carrying off the stone facing of the embankments to use in building their huts.” It was “only the work of infidels,” and consequently fair loot for anyone. Now European engineers are labouring to re-establish what might have been so easily preserved.
The “Pictures of Bavian” are at least exempt from the fate which has befallen most pictures. They are fixed for ever immovably in the position for which they were designed. They are like some forgotten “Old Master” which still hangs tarnished and ill-lit above the altar where it was dedicated; and which shows there far more nobly than[{124}] when restored and exhibited in a brand-new gilded frame on a glaring gallery wall. There are far finer Assyrian sculptures in the Louvre and the British Museum than the grim, gaunt, battered sentinels that keep watch over the Gomel vale. But ranged along a Bloomsbury corridor they are obviously mere graven images; while enthroned amid the solitudes of their own eerie mountains they seem to be the very gods themselves.
There are several similar bas-reliefs scattered here and there about the mountains—some fairly well preserved like those at Malthaiyah between Dohuk and Alkosh, some now almost obliterated like that by the gate of Amadia. The great king seems to have delighted in setting his seal upon any conspicuous point that was reached by his conquering armies: and to this day that instinct re-asserts itself in the behaviour of Private Atkins, who delights to carve the badge of his regiment upon any conspicuous precipice in Afghanistan.
A caravan moves but slowly, but it generally wants to keep moving, and the novice who is travelling with it finds that he is allowed few lengthy halts. The old stagers always seem thinking of some point a little way ahead which they would much prefer to have behind them. Sometimes it is a bad bit of road which can only be traversed in broad daylight; sometimes a river which may suddenly be rendered unfordable by the intervention of an unforeseen spate. On this stage the unknown factor was the conduct of the Khozr river, a much more considerable stream than the Gomel, which lay some four hours further east; and whose behaviour on the present occasion was more problematical than usual because the dark clouds to the northward might imply heavy rain in the hills.
“Rabbi Mr. Wigram” had lively recollections of his last experiences with the Khozr. He had been kept for three days on the banks of it, waiting for the floods to subside. And he had forded it at last “in his birthday suit,” with the water over his horse’s withers, and his clothes slung over his shoulders to keep them out of the wet. We are wont to deride the rustic who expectat dum defluat amnis;[{125}] but our derision only shows our own ignorance as much as his expectancy showed his. The rustic was quite well acquainted with the behaviour of his own mountain rivers, and knew that when they were in spate there was simply nothing else to be done.
And our chances of passing the Khozr were rendered additionally dubious by the fact that none of our party knew the right road to take for the fords. The zaptiehs had never been in this district and could offer us no assistance. The Rabbi Effendi had approached the river from a different direction, and that some years before. We caught a guide in one of the villages; but as his first step was to ask the way himself at the very next village that we came to, we grew distrustful of his capacity and dismissed him again to his home. Few of the inhabitants ever stray beyond the bounds of their own village, and on a more extended excursion they are often hopelessly at sea.
Thus thrown on our own resources we took a bee-line across the moorland, steering our course by the light of nature and by a very small scale map. And fortune so far favoured us that we found the river in its very mildest mood; and though we had struck it at none of the recognized fording-places, there was no difficulty in getting across.
But safe on the further bank our perplexities recommenced again. The dusk was falling rapidly, and we needed a lodging for the night. By now we should have been at Khalilka, a prosperous and desirable village, which is part of the private estate of the ex-Sultan Abdul Hamid, and which on that account enjoys immunity from taxes and conscription and raids.[75] But of course in missing the fords we had also missed Khalilka, and not knowing whether it were above or below us, were uncertain which way to turn. However, it was tolerably obvious that if we followed the river either way we should presently find a village of some sort; and a little distance down the left bank we alighted[{126}] upon a straggling hamlet of miserable Kurdish hovels, which we unanimously accepted as being “Hobson’s choice.”
Of course no khan is to be looked for in any of these outlying villages, and it is customary for the traveller to quarter himself upon the rais or head man. He will obtain fire and shelter, and liberty to eat his own provisions, and possibly (if he is fortunate) will be able to purchase bread. Such entertainment should be requited, if mine host is poor, in money; if he is a person of importance, by some kind of trifling gift. Hospitality is hardly ever refused even to the humblest wayfarer, and public opinion quite backs a man who enforces it if it is denied.