THE valley in which Barzan lies is a great fold in the earth’s surface, running due east and west from Jezireh on the Tigris past Amadia to the mountains on the Persian frontier; a distance of about 120 miles. It forms a sort of huge natural moat to the mountain citadel of Hakkiari; and the counterscarp is represented by the series of lower parallel ridges which rise behind Akra, Sheikh Adi and Rabban Hormizd, overlooking Mosul plain.
This great trench appears continuous, but is, in fact, occupied successively by four distinct rivers which break into it from the northern mountains, run for some little distance along it, and then break out again towards the south. The Zab takes possession at about mid-distance and runs eastward for thirty-five miles or so, its section thus roughly coinciding with the jurisdiction of his Holiness of Barzan: and the extreme eastern section is occupied by the Neri river, which descends from the Persian mountains to unite its waters with the Zab.
Our road does not get any easier as we enter the Neri valley. All travel in fact is impossible anywhere in the neighbourhood of the stream. The track keeps high up on the slope of the Sat range, crossing one tributary gorge after another, and the incessant ascents and descents are formidably rugged and steep. The path is exceedingly narrow, and the slope not far short of precipitous: and the traveller feels rather as if he were riding along the gutter of a steep-pitched roof.
We had companions on the way; for the Heriki Kurds[{159}] were in the act of conducting their usual migration from Mosul plain to the upland pasture of Tergawar.[96] Thus we were constantly passing their large flocks of sheep, and parties of their well-armed men-folk; a feat that was sometimes made ticklish by the exceeding narrowness of the road. As far as we were concerned, they were harmless companions enough. The “Boy of the Belt” whom the Sheikh of Barzan had sent with us was ample security against any attempt being made on our mightinesses; and they seemed as pleasant and jolly a set of brigands as a man need wish to meet. It is true that we had a slight misunderstanding with one particular shepherd; but that was misapprehension pure and simple, and brought about no evil results. The lad was so picturesque an object as he strode up the pass in front of his sheep, clad in his rough cloak with long gun, shepherd’s crook, and pipe all complete, that we begged him to do us the favour of standing still for a moment, in order that we might secure his portrait. Our friend, however, was new to the camera, and (very pardonably) thought that it was a lethal weapon. He fled like a hare to the cover of the nearest rocks, and prepared to shoot us thence; nor could any blandishments make him relax his attitude of suspicion. Recent events had made him distrustful of anything that looked Governmental.
If, however, the Heriki were just friendly travelling companions for us, they were regarded much in the light of an annual migration of wolves by all the villages on the road. These were all standing to arms till the danger should have passed—the sheep penned in folds close to the houses, the women all within doors, and the men with guns in hand, much inclined to shoot at the stranger first and ask whether he did not mean mischief after. A little yourt[97] that we purchased at one place was only handed out to us through one loop-hole while the master of the house kept us covered with a gun from another. Albeit when we had duly handed[{160}] over coin of the realm in payment, that gentleman became effusively friendly and apologetic—through his closed and barred door.
Really, these precautions were not uncalled for. The Heriki carry off everything that happens to fall in their way, as incidents already recorded to testify, and “stealis and reifis” with as much impunity as the “common thiefis of Liddisdail” in old Sir R. Maitland’s day.
They plainly throw the country rydis,
I trow the mekil deil thame gydis!
Quhair thay onset,
Ay in thair gait,
Thair is na yet nor dor thame bydis.
Poor fellows, they were rather out of humour too, because things had not been going quite well with them. Hitherto, it had been easy to avoid all the attentions of the tax-collector by a proper timing of their migrations, coupled with a little bakhshish to officials; and at the worst they could always go over the border to Persia out of the jurisdiction. Now, however, their condition had greatly deteriorated. Persia had gone so much farther off owing to recent changes, and Ottoman officials were to be found even in the summer pastures which had been free of them before. Thus does a “rectification of frontier,” such as Turkey was then carrying out at the expense of Persia,[98] bring unmerited trouble upon quiet folk.
We stayed for one night in the village of Sat, which gives its name to the whole range. The place is Christian (Nestorian), but its inhabitants have a name for quarrelsomeness and love of intrigue that makes them a proverb among their not very peaceful nation. Such at least is the description given of their character by their own Patriarch, who is, we suppose, the highest authority possible on such a matter; and we give the legend illustrative of the fact, as current among the nation and recounted to us by his Grace himself.
A woman of Sat was once on a journey, near to a Nestorian[{161}] village unnamed, when she met an old acquaintance on the road outside. This was no less a person than Satana himself, who was sitting on a stone, weeping bitterly.