We have even heard of such things as the commandeering of the beasts of an English traveller “for Government service.” The act implies that the beasts and their owner are marched off with military baggage or something equivalent, for an unknown distance and time. The horses (which are the owner’s livelihood) are usually not released[{183}] till they are broken down with overwork, and are never paid for. “Government does not pay.”
In the case referred to, the English traveller appealed, of course, to the kaimakam; and received a courteous apology, and an assurance that the soldiers should be ordered to return the animals. But the sergeant in charge of the party, while admitting that he had received the order, declared that he would see the kaimakam hanged before obeying it; so matters did not seem to be appreciably advanced. On the following morning, however, the traveller’s servant turned up, with the horses, and a broad grin.
“Well done, Yukhanan! How did you get them?” said the traveller.
“Why, Rabbi, I found that my enemy Ratu the Kurd was in the town with three mules. So I just said to the soldiers, ‘there are much better beasts down there; and no one will mind if you take them, while there’s bound to be a row if you take these.’”
So all ended well; though the Englishman, who thought he had carried matters with quite a properly high hand, was humiliated on hearing his servant observe to the universe at large, “Nevertheless, had Rabbi Mr. X. been here, he would have thrashed those soldiers as they deserved long before this.”[104]
The plain of Gawar is apparently rather a favourite haunt of those whom the Oriental will speak of (very rarely, and nervously) as “the Good People”—the Jann of the “Arabian Nights.” One cave in particular, in the hills that border the plain, is notoriously teeming with them; and any man who enters there usually comes out mad, if he ever emerges at all. Once, a few years ago, a party of thirty Kurds undertook its exploration, and went in well armed. They did not penetrate far, however, for presently one of the leaders saw, or thought he saw, something;[{184}] and superstitious panic being one of the most infectious things under the sun, the whole party bolted instantly. Being rather ashamed of themselves when they reached the open air, they impressed an unfortunate Christian to go and see what it was that they had run away from; and when he (not unnaturally) demurred at going alone to investigate that which had just put thirty armed men to flight, they simply gave him the choice between doing that and being shot incontinent.
Under this pressure he entered, and vanished for some hours; at the end of which time he crawled out—mad as his predecessors had been. In time, however, he recovered more or less, and told a marvellous tale; though how far the poor fellow really believed it, and how far he was giving his tyrants their money’s worth, so to speak, is a problem past our solving.
He told how he had followed the cave till it widened out into a spacious meadow, down the middle of which meandered the stream that flowed from its mouth. On either side of the river stood stately palaces of marble (? stalactite formation), and in front of these, on thrones of gold set with jewels, sat all the kings of the Jann, attended by their houris and their vassals. They summoned the intruder before their diwan, and sentenced him to instant death for having violated their privacy: but on his plea of strong compulsion, he was reprieved and released; though awful warnings were uttered against any other profane person who should presume to enter this their sanctuary.
Such is the story told to us by the Patriarch of the Nestorian Church; a gentleman who is sufficiently educated to smile at the superstitions of his fathers—at least during the day, and in European company. And anyone who will take magnesium wire and penetrate into the cavern, will certainly gain much local kudos, and may possibly have an interesting experience.
“Will you come with us, your Grace, and see what is really in the cave?” we asked of the Patriarch when he had finished his story.[{185}]