The Melek Taous,
or Copper Bird of the Yezidis.

The Cawals, who are sent yearly by Hussein Bey and Sheikh Nasr to instruct the Yezidis in their faith, and to collect the contributions forming the revenues of the great chief, and of the tomb of Sheikh Adi, were now in Redwan. The same Cawals do not take the same rounds every year. The Yezidis are parcelled out into four divisions for the purpose of these annual visitations, those of the Sinjar, of Kherzan, of the pashalic of Aleppo, and of the villages in northern Armenia, and within the Russian frontiers. The Yezidis of the Mosul districts have the Cawals always amongst them. I was aware that on the occasion of these journeys the priests carry with them the celebrated Melek Taous, or brazen peacock, as a warrant for their mission. As this was a favorable opportunity, I asked and obtained a sight of this mysterious figure. A stand of bright copper or brass, in shape like the candlesticks generally used in Mosul and Baghdad, was surmounted by the rude image of a bird in the same metal, and more like an Indian or Mexican idol than a cock or peacock. Its peculiar workmanship indicated some antiquity, but I could see no traces of inscription upon it. Before it stood a copper bowl to receive contributions, and a bag to contain the bird and stand, which takes to pieces when carried from place to place. There are four such images, one for each district visited by the Cawals. The Yezidis declare that, notwithstanding the frequent wars and massacres to which the sect has been exposed, and the plunder and murder of the priests during their journeys, no Melek Taous has ever fallen into the hands of the Mussulmans. Mr. Hormuzd Rassam was alone permitted to visit the image with me. As I have elsewhere observed,[7] it is not looked upon as an idol, but as a symbol or banner, as Sheikh Nasr termed it, of the house of Hussein Bey.

Having breakfasted at Nazi’s house we left Redwan, followed by a large company of Yezidis, whom I had great difficulty in persuading to turn back about three or four miles from the town. My party was increased by a very handsome black and tan greyhound with long silky hair, a present from old Akko, the Yezidi chief. Touar, for such was the dog’s name, soon forgot his old masters, and formed an equal attachment for his new.

Cawal Yusuf, and the Yezidi chiefs, had sent messengers even to Hussein Bey to apprise him of our coming. As they travelled along they scattered the news through the country, and I was received outside every village by its inhabitants. At Tilleh, the united waters of Bitlis, Sert, and the upper districts of Bohtan, join the western branch of the Tigris. The two streams are about equal in size, and at this time of the year both fordable in certain places. We crossed the lower, or eastern, which we found wide and exceedingly rapid, the water, however, not reaching above the saddle-girths.

The spot at which we crossed was one of peculiar interest. It was here that the Ten Thousand in their memorable retreat forded this river, called, by Xenophon, the Centritis. The Greeks having fought their way over the lofty mountains of the Carduchians, found their further progress towards Armenia arrested by a rapid stream. The ford was deep, and its passage disputed by a formidable force of Armenians, Mygdonians, and ChaldÆans, drawn up on an eminence 300 or 400 feet from the river. In this strait Xenophon dreamt that he was in chains, and that suddenly his fetters burst asunder of their own accord. His dream was fulfilled when two youths casually found a more practicable ford, by which the army, after a skilful stratagem on the part of their commander, safely reached the opposite bank.[8]

The sun had set before our baggage had been crossed, and we sought, by the light of the moon, the difficult track along the Tigris, where the river forces its way to the low country of Assyria, through a long, narrow, and deep gorge. Huge rocks rose perpendicularly on either side, broken into many fantastic shapes, and throwing their dark shadows over the water. In some places they scarcely left room for the river to pursue its course; and then a footpath, hardly wide enough to admit the loaded mules, was carried along a mere ledge overhanging the gurgling stream. The gradual deepening of this outlet during countless centuries is strikingly shown by the ledges which jutt out like a succession of cornices from the sides of the cliffs. The last ledge left by the retiring waters formed our pathway.

We found no village until we reached Chellek. The place had been deserted by its inhabitants for the Yilaks, or mountain pastures.

For three hours during the following morning we followed the bold and majestic ravine of the Tigris, scenes rivalling each other in grandeur and beauty opening at every turn. Leaving the river, where it makes a sudden bend to the northward, we commenced a steep ascent, and in an hour and a half reached the Christian village of Khouara. We rested during the heat of the day under the grateful shade of a grove of trees, and in the afternoon we stood on the brink of the great platform of Central Asia. Beneath us were the vast plains of Mesopotamia, lost in the hazy distance, the undulating land between them and the Taurus confounded, from so great a height, with the plains themselves; the hills of the Sinjar and of Zakko, like ridges on an embossed map; the Tigris and the Khabour, winding through the low country to their place of junction at Dereboun; to the right, facing the setting sun, and catching its last rays, the high cone of Mardin; behind, a confused mass of peaks, some snow-capped, all rugged and broken, of the lofty mountains of Bohtan and Malataiyah; between them and the northern range of Taurus, the deep ravine of the river and the valley of Redwan. I watched the shadows as they lengthened over the plain, melting one by one into the general gloom, and then descended to the large Kurdish village of Funduk, whose inhabitants, during the rule of Beder Khan Bey, were notorious amongst even the savage tribes of Bohtan for their hatred and insolence to Christians.

Although we had now nothing to fear, I preferred seeking another spot for our night’s halt, but this was not permitted by Resoul Kiayah, who sent after us, and was so urgent in his hospitality that we were compelled to pass the night in the village. The Kurds of Funduk wear the Bohtan dress in its full perfection, a turban nearly three feet in diameter, shalwars or trowsers of enormous width, loose embroidered jackets, and shirt sleeves sweeping the ground; all being striped deep dull red and black, except the under-linen and one kerchief tied diagonally across the turban, which is generally of bright yellow. They are armed, too, to the teeth, and as they crouched round the fires on the housetops, their savage countenances peering through the gloom, my London companion, unused to such scenes, might well have fancied himself in a den of thieves. The Kiayah, notwithstanding his bad reputation, was exact in all the duties of hospitality; the supper was abundant, the coffee flowed perpetually, and he satisfied my curiosity upon many points of revenue, internal administration, tribe-history, and local curiosities.

We passed the night on the roof without any adventure, and resumed our journey before dawn on the following morning, to the great relief of Mr. C., who rejoiced to feel himself well out of the hands of such dangerous hosts. Crossing a mountain wooded with dwarf oaks, by a very difficult pathway, carried along and over rocks containing many excavated tombs, we descended to Fynyk, a village on the Tigris supposed to occupy the site of an ancient town (Phoenica).[9]

After we had breakfasted, some Kurds who had gathered round us, offered to take me to a rock, sculptured, they said, with unknown Frank figures. We rode up a narrow and shady ravine, through which leapt a brawling torrent, watering fruit trees and melon beds. The rocks on both sides were honeycombed with tombs. The bas-relief is somewhat above the line of cultivation, and is surrounded by excavated chambers. It consists of two figures, dressed in loose vests and trowsers, one apparently resting his hand on the shoulder of the other. There are the remains of an inscription, but too much weather-worn to be copied with any accuracy. The costume of the figures, and the forms of the characters, as far as they can be distinguished, prove that the tablet belongs to the Parthian period.

We quitted Fynyk in the afternoon. Accompanied by Cawal Yusuf and Mr. C., I left the caravan to examine some rock-sculptures, in a valley leading from Jezireh to Derghileh, the former stronghold of Beder Khan Bey. The sculptures are about two miles from the high road, near a small fort built by Mir Saif-ed-din, and now occupied by a garrison of Arnaouts. There are two tablets, one above the other; the upper contains a warrior on horseback, the lower a single figure. Although no traces of inscription remain, the bas-reliefs may confidently be assigned to the same period as that at Fynyk.

We found the caravan at Mansouriyah, where they had established themselves for the night. This is one of the very few Nestorian ChaldÆan villages of the plains which has not gone over to the Roman Catholic faith. It contains a church, and supports a priest. The inhabitants complained much of oppression, and unfortunately, chiefly from brother Christians formerly of their own creed. I was much struck with the intelligence and beauty of the children; one boy, scarcely twelve years of age, was already a shamasha, or deacon, and could read with ease the Scriptures and the commentaries.

We left Mansouriyah at four in the morning, passing Jezireh about dawn, its towers and walls just visible through the haze on the opposite bank of the Tigris. Shortly after we were unexpectedly met by a number of Yezidi horsemen, from whom we learnt that the country was in a very disturbed state, on account of the incursions of the Desert Arabs; but as a strong party was waiting to accompany us to Semil, I determined upon taking the shorter, though more dangerous and less frequented, road by Dereboun. This road, impracticable to caravans except when the river Khabour is fordable, winds round the spur of the Zakko hills, and thus avoids a difficult and precipitous pass. Dereboun is a large Yezidi village standing on the western spur of the Zakko range. Numerous springs burst from the surrounding rocks, and irrigate extensive rice-grounds. Below is the large Christian village of Feshapoor, where there is a ferry across the Tigris. We were most hospitably entertained by the Yezidi chief, one of the horsemen who had met us near Jezireh.

We mounted our horses as the moon rose, and resumed our journey, accompanied by a strong escort, which left us when we were within five or six miles of Semil. It was late in the forenoon before we reached our halting-place, after a dreary and fatiguing ride. We were now fairly in the Assyrian plains; the heat was intense—that heavy heat, which seems to paralyse all nature, causing the very air itself to vibrate. The high artificial mound of the Yezidi village, crowned by a modern mud-built castle, had been visible in the distance long before we reached it, miraged into double its real size, and into an imposing group of towers and fortifications. Almost overcome with weariness, we toiled up to it, and found its owner, Abde Agha, the Yezidi chieftain, seated in the gate, a vaulted entrance with deep recesses on both sides, used as places of assembly for business during the day,[10] and as places of rest for guests during the night. He was of a tall, commanding figure, with the deepest and most powerful voice I ever heard. We arrived earlier than he had expected, our forced march from Dereboun having saved us some hours, and he apologised for not having ridden out to meet us. His reception was most hospitable; the lamb was slain and the feast prepared. But a sudden attack by the Bedouin on a neighbouring village obliged him reluctantly to leave us, and be absent during our stay. Being urged to depart, through apprehension of the Bedouin, we pushed forward, when suddenly a large body of horsemen appeared on a rising ground to the east of us. We could scarcely expect Arabs from that quarter; however, all our party made ready for an attack. Cawal Yusuf and myself, being the best mounted, rode towards them to reconnoitre. Then one or two horsemen advanced warily from the opposite party. We neared each other. Yusuf spied the well-known black turban, dashed forward with a shout of joy, and in a moment we were surrounded, and in the embrace of friends. Hussein Bey and Sheikh Nasr, with the Cawals and Yezidi elders, had ridden nearly forty miles through the night to meet and escort me, if needful, to Mosul! Their delight at seeing us knew no bounds; nor was I less touched by a display of gratitude and good feeling, equally unexpected and sincere.

They rode with us as far as Tel Eskoff, where the danger from the Arabs ceased; and I was now once more with old friends. In the afternoon, as we rode towards Tel Kef, I left the high road with Hormuzd to drink water at some Arab tents. As we approached we were greeted with exclamations of joy, and were soon in the midst of a crowd of men and women, kissing our knees, and exhibiting other tokens of welcome. They were Jebours, who had been employed in the excavations. Hearing that we were again going to dig after old stones, they at once set about striking their tents to join us at Mosul or Nimroud.

As we neared Tel Kef we found groups of my old superintendents and workmen by the roadside. There were fat Toma, Mansour, Behnan, and Hannah, joyful at meeting me once more, and at the prospect of fresh service. In the village we found Mr. Rassam (the vice-consul) and Khodja Toma, his dragoman, who had made ready the feast for us at the house of the ChaldÆan bishop. Next morning, as we rode the three last hours of our journey, we met fresh groups of familiar faces. Then as we ascend an eminence midway, walls, towers, minarets, and domes rise boldly from the margin of the broad river, cheating us into the belief, too soon to be dispelled, that Mosul is still a not unworthy representative of the great Nineveh. As we draw near, the long line of lofty mounds, the only remains of mighty bulwarks and spacious gates, detach themselves from the low undulating hills; now the vast mound of Kouyunjik overtops the surrounding heaps: then above it peers the white cone of the tomb of the prophet Jonah; many other well-remembered spots follow in rapid succession; but we cannot linger. Hastening over the creaking bridge of boats, we force our way through the crowded bazars, and alight at the house I had left two years ago. Old servants take their places as a matter of course, and, uninvited, pursue their regular occupations as if they had never been interrupted. Indeed it seemed as if we had but returned from a summer’s ride: two years had passed away like a dream.

I may in this place add a few words on part of the route pursued by Xenophon and the Ten Thousand during their memorable retreat, the identification of which had been one of my principal objects during our journey. I have, in the course of my narrative, already pointed out one or two spots signalled by remarkable events on their march.

I must first state my conviction that the parasang, like its representative, the modern farsang or farsakh of Persia, was not a measure of distance very accurately determined, but rather indicated a certain amount of time employed in traversing a given space. That Xenophon reckoned by the common mode of computation of the country is evident, by his employing, almost always, the Persian “parasang,” instead of the Greek stadium; and that the parasang was the same as the modern hour, we find by the distance between Larissa (Nimroud) and Mespila (Kouyunjik) being given as six parasangs, corresponding exactly with the number of hours assigned by the present inhabitants of the country, and by the authorities of the Turkish post, to the same road. The six hours in this instance are equal to about eighteen English miles.

The ford, by which the Greeks crossed the Great Zab (Zabates) may, I think, be accurately determined. It is still the principal ford in this part of the river, and must, from the nature of the bed of the stream, have been so from the earliest periods. It is about twenty-five miles from the confluence of the Zab and Tigris.[11] The Greeks could not have crossed the Zab above the spot I have indicated, as the bed of the river is deep, and confined within high rocky banks. They might have done so below the junction of the Ghazir, and a ravine worn by winter rains may correspond with the valley mentioned by Xenophon, but I think the Ghazir far more likely to have been the torrent bed viewed with so much alarm by the Greek commander, and the passage of which Mithridates might have disputed with some prospect of success.[12]

That Larissa and Mespila are represented by the ruins of Nimroud and Kouyunjik no one can reasonably doubt. Xenophon’s description corresponds most accurately with the ruins and with the distance between them.

From Mespila the Greeks marched four parasangs, and probably halted near the modern village of Batnai, between Tel Kef and Tel Eskof, an ancient site exactly four hours, by the usual caravan road, from Kouyunjik. Instead of fording the Khabour near its junction with the Tigris, and thus avoiding the hills, they crossed them by a precipitous pass to the site of the modern Zakko. They reached this range in four days, traversing it on the fifth, probably by the modern caravan road. They were probably much retarded during the last day, by having to fight their way over three distinct mountain ridges. It is remarkable that Xenophon does not mention the Khahour, although he must have crossed that river either by a ford or by a bridge[13] before reaching the plain. Yet the stream is broad and rapid, and the fords at all times deep. Nor does he allude to the Hazel, a confluent of the Khabour, to which he came during his first day’s march, after leaving Zakko. These omissions prove that he does not give an accurate itinerary of his route.

Four days’ march, the first of only sixty stadia, or about seven miles,[14] brought the Greeks to the high mountains of Kurdistan, which, meeting the Tigris, shut out all further advance, except by difficult and precipitous passes, already occupied by the Persians. Xenophon, having dislodged the enemy from the first ridge, returned to the main body of the army, which had remained in the plain. This must have been near Fynyk, where the very foot of the Kurdish mountains is first washed by the river. The spot agrees accurately with Xenophon’s description, as it does with the distance. “The Greeks,” says he, “came to a place where the river Tigris is, both from its depth and breadth, absolutely impassable; no road appeared, the craggy mountains of the Carduchians hanging over the river.” Xenophon preferred the route across the mountains of Kurdistan, as it led into Armenia, a country from which they might choose their own road to the sea, and which abounded in villages and the necessaries of life.

Beyond the Carduchian mountains there were, according to the prisoners, two roads into Armenia, one crossing the head waters of the principal branch of the Tigris, the other going round them; that is, leaving them to the left. These are the roads to this day followed by caravans, one crossing the plains of Kherzan to Diarbekir, and thence, by well-known mountain-passes to Kharput, the other passing through Bitlis. Xenophon chose the latter. The villages in the valleys and recesses of the mountains are still found around Funduk; and, on their first day’s march over the Carduchian hills, the Greeks probably reached the neighbourhood of this village. There now remained about ten parasangs to the plain through which flows the eastern branch of the Tigris; but the country was difficult, and at this time of the year (nearly midwinter)[15], the lower road along the river was impassable. The Greeks had, therefore, to force their way over a series of difficult passes, all stoutly defended by warlike tribes. They were consequently four days in reaching the Centritis, or eastern Tigris, the united waters of the rivers of Bitlis, Sert, and Bohtan. It was impossible to cross the river at this spot in the face of the enemy. At length, a ford was discovered higher up, and Xenophon, by skilful strategy, effected the passage. This must have been at a short distance from Tilleh, as the river, narrowed between rocky banks, is no longer fordable higher up.

Owing to the frequent incursions of the Carduchi, the villages along the banks of the Bitlis had been abandoned, and the Greeks were compelled to turn to the westward, to find provisions and habitations. Still there was no road into Armenia, particularly at this time of year, for an army encumbered with baggage, except that through the Bitlis valley. The remains of an ancient causeway are even now to be traced, and this probably has always been the great thoroughfare between western Armenia and the Assyrian plains. Xenophon consequently made nearly the same detour as I had made on my way from Constantinople.

Six marches, of five parasangs each, brought them to the small river Teleboas, which I believe to have been the river of Bitlis. After crossing the low country of Kherzan, well described by Xenophon as “a plain varied by hills of an easy ascent,” the Greeks must necessarily have turned slightly to the eastward to reach the Bitlis valley, as inaccessible mountains stopped all further progress. My caravan was thirty-three hours in journeying from Bitlis to Tilleh, corresponding exactly with the six days’ march of the Greeks. They probably came to the river somewhat below the site of the modern town, where it well deserves the epithet of “beautiful.” It may have then had, as at this day, many villages near its banks. It will be observed that Xenophon says that they came to, not that they crossed, the Teleboas.

From this river they reached the Euphrates in six marches, making, as usual, five parasangs each day; in all, thirty parasangs, or hours. I believe, therefore, that, after issuing from the valley of Bitlis, Xenophon turned to the westward, leaving the lake of Wan a little to the right, though completely concealed from him by a range of low hills.[16] Skirting the western foot of the Nimroud Dagh range, he passed through a plain thickly inhabited, abounding in well-provisioned villages, and crossed here and there by ranges of hills. This country still tallies precisely with Xenophon’s description.

We have not, I conceive, sufficient data in Xenophon’s narrative to identify with any degree of certainty his route after crossing the Euphrates. We know that about twenty parasangs from that river the Greeks encamped near a hot spring, and this spring might be recognised in one of the many which abound in the country. It is most probable that the Greeks took the road still used by caravans through the plains of Hinnis and Hassan-Kalah, as offering the fewest difficulties. But what rivers are we to identify with the Phasis and Harpasus, the distance between the Euphrates and Phasis being seventy parasangs, and between the Phasis and Harpasus ninety-five, and the Harpasus being the larger of the two rivers? I am on the whole inclined to believe, that either the Greeks took a very tortuous course after leaving the Euphrates, making daily but little actual progress towards the great end of their arduous journey, the sea-coast, or that there is a considerable error in the amount of parasangs given by Xenophon; that the Harpasus must be the Tcherouk, and the Phasis either the Araxes or the Kur[17]; and that Mount Theches, the holy mountain from which the Greeks beheld the sea, was between Batoun and Trebizond, the army having followed the valley of the Tcherouk, but leaving it before reaching the site of the modern port on the Black Sea.

Subterranean Excavations at Kouyunjik.