Discoveries At Nineveh
by
Austen Henry Layard, Esq., D.C.L.

A Popular Account of Discoveries at Nineveh. Austen Henry Layard. J. C. Derby.
New York. 1854.

Chapter 4

The operations at Nimroud having been completely suspended until
orders could be received from Constantinople, I thought the time not inopportune
to visit Sofuk, the sheikh of the great nomad Arab tribe of Shammar, which occupies
nearly the whole of Mesopotamia. He had lately left the Khabour, and was now encamped
near the western bank of the Tigris, below its junction with the Zab, and consequently
not far from Nimroud. I had two objects in going to his tents; in the first place
I wished to obtain the friendship of the chief of a powerful tribe of Bedouins,
who would probably cross the river in the neighborhood of the excavations during
the summer, and might indulge, to my cost, in their plundering propensities; and,
at the same time, I was anxious to visit the remarkable ruins of Al Hather, which
I had only examined very hastily on my former journey.

Mr. Rassam (the vice-consul) and his wife, with several native gentlemen of
Mosul, Mussulmans and Christians, were induced to accompany me; and, as we issued
from the gates of the town, and assembled in the well-peopled burying ground opposite
the governor’s palace, I found myself at the head of a formidable party. Our tents,
obtained from the pashaw, with our provisions and necessary furniture, were carried
by a string of twelve camels. Mounted above these loads, and on donkeys, was an
army of camel-drivers, tent-pitchers, and volunteers ready for all services. There
were, moreover, a few irregular horsemen, the cawasses, the attendants
of the Mosul gentlemen, the Mosul gentlemen themselves, and our own servants,
all armed to the teeth. Ali Effendi, chief of the Mosul branch of the Omeree,
or descendants of Omar, which had furnished several pashaws to the province, was
our principal Mussulman friend. He was mounted on the Hedban, a well known white
Arab, beautiful in form and pure in blood, but then of great age. Close at his
horse’s heels followed a confidential servant; who, perched on a pack-saddle,
seemed to roll from side to side on two small barrels, the use of which might
have been an enigma, had they not emitted a very strong smell of raki. A Christian
gentleman was wrapped up in cloaks and furs, and appeared to dread the cold, although
the thermometer was at 100. The English lady was equipped in riding habit and
hat. The two Englishmen, Mr. Ross and myself, wore a striking mixture of European
and oriental raiments. Mosul ladies, in blue vails, their faces concealed by black
horsehair sieves, had been dragged to the top of piles of carpets and cushions,
under which groaned their unfortunate mules. Greyhounds in leashes were led by
Arabs on foot; while others played with strange dogs, who followed the caravan
for change of air. The horsemen galloped round and round, now dashing into the
center of the crowd, throwing their horses on their haunches when at full speed,
or discharging their guns and pistols into the air. A small flag with British
colors was fastened to the top of a spear, and confided to a cawass. Such was
the motley caravan which left Mosul by the Bab el Top, where a crowd of women
had assembled to witness the procession.

We took the road to the ruins of the monastery of Mar Elias, a place of pilgrimage
for the Christians of Mosul, which we passed after an hour’s ride. Evening set
in before we could reach the desert, and we pitched our tents for the night on
a lawn near a deserted village, about nine miles from the town.

On the following morning we soon emerged from the low limestone hills; which,
broken into a thousand rocky valleys, form a barrier between the Tigris and the
plains of Mesopotamia. We now found ourselves in the desert, or rather
wilderness; for at this time of the year, nature could not disclose a more varied
scene, or a more luxuriant vegetation. We trod on an interminable carpet, figured
by flowers of every hue. Nor was water wanting; for the abundant rains had given
reservoirs to every hollow, and to every ravine. Their contents, owing to the
nature of the soil, were brackish, but not unwholesome. Clusters of black tents
were scattered, and flocks of sheep and camels wandered, over the plain. Those
of our party who were well mounted urged their horses through the meadows, pursuing
the herds of gazelles, or the wild boar, skulking in the long grass. Although
such scenes as these may be described, the exhilaration caused by the air of the
desert in spring, and the feeling of freedom arising from the contemplation of
its boundless expanse, must have been experienced before they can be understood.
The stranger, as well as the Arab, feels the intoxication of the senses which
they produce.

About mid-day we found ourselves in the midst of extensive herds of camels.
They belonged to the tribe of Haddedeen. The sonorous whoop of the Arab herdsmen
resounded from all sides. A few horsemen were galloping about, driving back the
stragglers, and directing the march of the leaders of the herd. Shortly after
we came up with some families moving to a new place of encampment, and at their
head I recognized my old antiquity-hunter, Mormous. He no sooner perceived us
than he gave orders to those who followed him, and of whom he was the chief, to
pitch their tents. We were now in the Wadi Ghusub, formed by a small salt stream,
forcing its sluggish way through a dense mass of reeds and water shrubs, from
which the valley has taken its name. About fifteen tents having been raised, a
sheep was slaughtered in front of the one in which we sat; large wooden bowls
of sour milk, and platters of fresh butter were placed before us; fires of camel’s
dung were lighted; decrepit old women blew up the flames; the men cut the carcass
into small pieces, and capacious caldrons soon sent forth volumes of steam.

The sheep having been boiled, the Arabs pulled the fragments out
of the caldron and laid them on the wooden platters with their fingers. We helped
ourselves after the same fashion. The servants succeeded to the dishes, which
afterward passed through the hands of the camel-drivers and tent-pitchers; and
at last, denuded of all apparently edible portions, reached a strong party of
expectant Arabs. The condition of the bones by the time they were delivered to
a crowd of hungry dogs, assembled on the occasion, may easily be imagined.

We resumed our journey in the afternoon, preceded by Mormous, who volunteered
to accompany us. As we rode over the plain, we fell in with the sheikh of the
Haddedeen mounted on a fine mare, and followed by a large concourse of Arabs,
driving their beasts of burden loaded with tents and furniture. He offered to
conduct us to a branch of the Shammar, whose encampment we could reach before
evening. We gladly accepted his offer, and he left his people to ride with us.

We had been wandering to and fro in the desert, uncertain as to the course
we should pursue. The sheikh now rode in the direction of the Tigris. Before nightfall
we came to a large encampment, and recognized in its chief one Khalaf, an Arab
who frequently came to Mosul, and whom Mr. Rassam and myself had met on our previous
journey to Al Hather. He received us with hospitality; sheep were immediately
slaughtered, and we dismounted at his tent. Even his wives, among whom was a remarkably
pretty Arab girl, came to us to gratify their curiosity by a minute examination
of the Frank lady. As the intimacy, which began to spring up, was somewhat inconvenient,
we directed our tents to be pitched at a distance from the encampment, by the
side of a small stream. It was one of those calm and pleasant evenings, which
in spring make a paradise of the desert. The breeze, bland and perfumed by the
odor of flowers, came calmly over the plain. As the sun went down, countless camels
and sheep wandered to the tents, and the melancholy call of the herdsmen rose
above the bleating of the flocks. The Arabs led their prancing mares
to the water; the colts, as they followed, played and rolled on the grass. I spread
my carpet at a distance from the group, to enjoy uninterrupted the varied scene. Rassam, now in his element, collected around him a knot of admiring Arabs, unscrewed
telescopes, exhibited various ingenious contrivances, and described the wonders
of Europe, interrupted by the exclamations of incredulous surprise, which his
marvelous stories elicited from the hearers. Ali Effendi and his Mussulman friends,
who preferred other pleasures and more definite excitement, hid themselves in
the high rushes, and handed round a small silver bowl containing fragrant ruby
colored spirits, which might have rejoiced even the heart of Hafiz. The camel-drivers
and servants hurried over the lawn, tending their animals or preparing the evening
meal.

We had now reached the pasture-grounds of the Shammar, and Sheikh Khalaf declared
that Sofuk’s tents could not be far distant. A few days before they had been pitched
almost among the ruins of Al Hather; but he had since left them, and it was not
known where he had encamped. We started early in the morning, and took the direction
pointed out by Khalaf. Our view was bounded to the east by a rising ground. When
we reached its summit, we looked down upon a plain, which appeared to swarm with
moving objects. We had come upon the main body of the Shammar. The scene caused
in me feelings of melancholy, for it recalled many hours, perhaps unprofitably,
though certainly happily spent; and many friends, some who now sighed in captivity
for the joyous freedom which those wandering hordes enjoyed; others who had perished
in its defense. We soon found ourselves in the midst of wide spreading flocks
of sheep and camels. As far as the eye could reach, to the right, to the left,
and in front, still the same moving crowd. Long lines of asses and bullocks laden
with black tents, huge caldrons and variegated carpets; aged women and men, no
longer able to walk, tied on the heap of domestic furniture; infants crammed into
saddle-bags, their tiny heads thrust through the narrow opening, balanced on the
animal’s back by kids or lambs tied on the opposite side; young girls
clothed only in the close-fitting Arab shirt, which displayed rather than concealed
their graceful forms; mothers with their children on their shoulders; boys driving
flocks of lambs; horsemen armed with long tufted spears, scouring the
plain on their fleet mares; riders urging their dromedaries with short hooked
sticks, and leading their high-bred steeds by the halter; colts galloping among
the throng; high-born ladies seated in the center of huge wings, which extend
like those of a butterfly from each side of the camel’s hump, and are no less
gaudy and variegated. 1 Such was the motley crowd through which
we had to wend our way for several hours. Our appearance created a lively sensation;
the women checked our horses; the horsemen assembled round us, and rode by our
side; the children yelled and ran after the Franks.

It was mid-day before we found a small party that had stopped, and were pitching
their tents. A young chestnut mare belonging to the sheikh, was one of the most
beautiful creatures I ever beheld. As she struggled to free herself from the spear
to which she was tied, she showed the lightness and elegance of the gazelle. Her
limbs were in perfect symmetry: her ears erect, slender, and transparent; her
nostrils high, dilated, and deep red; her neck gracefully arched, and her mane
and tail of the texture of silk. We all involuntarily stopped to gaze at her.
“Say Masha-Allah,” exclaimed the owner, who, seeing not without pride, that I
admired her, feared the effect of an evil eye. “That I will,” answered I, “and
with pleasure; for, O Arab, you possess the jewel of the tribe.” He brought us
a bowl of camel’s milk, and directed us to the tents of Sofuk.

We had still two hours’ ride before us, and when we reached the encampment
of the Shammar sheikh, our horses, as well as ourselves, were exhausted by the
heat of the sun, and the length of the day’s journey. The tents were pitched on
a broad lawn in a deep ravine; they were scattered in every direction,
and among them rose the white pavilions of the Turkish irregular cavalry. Ferhan,
the son of Sofuk, and a party of horsemen, rode out to meet us as we approached,
and led us to the tent of the chief, distinguished from the rest by its size,
and the spears which were driven into the ground at its entrance. Sofuk advanced
to receive us; he was followed by about three hundred Arabs, including many of
the principal sheikhs of the tribe. In person he was short and corpulent, more
like an Osmanli than an Arab; but his eye was bright and intelligent, his features
regular, well formed and expressive. His dress differed but in the quality of
the materials from that of his followers. A thick kerchief, striped with red,
yellow, and blue, and fringed with long plaited cords, was thrown over his head,
and fell down his shoulders. It was held in its place, above the brow, by a band
of spun camel’s wool, tied at intervals by silken threads of many colors. A long
white shirt, descending to the ankles, and a black and white cloak over it, completed
his attire.

He led Rassam and myself to the top of the tent, where we seated ourselves
on well-worn carpets. When all the party had found places, the words of welcome,
which had been exchanged before we dismounted, were repeated. “Peace be with you,
O Bey! upon my head you are welcome: my house is your house,” exclaimed the sheikh,
addressing the stranger nearest to him. “Peace be with you, O Sofuk! may God protect
you!” was the answer, and similar compliments were made to every guest, and by
every person, present. While this ceremony, which took nearly half an hour, was
going on, I had leisure to examine those who had assembled to meet us. Nearest
to me was Ferhan, the sheikh’s eldest son, a young man of handsome appearance
and intelligent countenance, although the expression was neither agreeable nor
attractive. His dress resembled that of his father; but from beneath the kerchief
thrown over his head hung his long black tresses plaited into many tails. His
teeth were white as ivory, like those of most Arabs. Beyond him sat
a crowd of men of the most ferocious and forbidding exterior – warriors who had
passed their lives in war and rapine, looking upon those who did not belong to
their tribe as natural enemies, and preferring their wild freedom to all the riches
of the earth.

Mrs. Rassam had been ushered into this crowded assembly. The scrutinizing glance
with which she was examined from head to foot, by all present, not being agreeable,
we requested that she might be taken to the tent of the women. Sofuk called two
black slaves, who led her to the harem, scarcely a stone’s throw distant.

The compliments having been at length finished, we conversed upon general topics.
Coffee, highly drugged with odoriferous herbs found in the desert, and with spices,
a mixture for which Sofuk was celebrated, was handed round before we retired to
our own tents.

Sofuk’s name was so well known in the desert, and he so long played a conspicuous
part in the politics of Mesopotamia, that a few words on his history may not be
uninteresting. He was descended from the sheikhs, who brought the tribe from Nedjd
in Arabia Proper. At the commencement of his career he had shared the chiefship
with his uncle, after whose death he became the great Sheikh of the Shammar. From
an early period he had been troublesome to the Turkish governors of the provinces
on the Tigris and Euphrates; but gained the confidence of the Porte by a spirited
attack upon the camp of Mohammed Ali Mirza, son of Feth Ali Shah, and governor
of Kirmanshah, when that prince was marching upon Baghdad and Mosul. After this
exploit, to which was mainly attributed the safety of the Turkish cities, Sofuk
was invested as Sheikh of the Shammar. At times, however, when he had to complain
of ill treatment from the Pashaw of Baghdad, or could not control those under
him, his tribes were accustomed to indulge their love of plunder, to sack villages
and pillage caravans. He thus became formidable to the Turks, and was known as
the King of the Desert. When Mehemet Reshid Pashaw led his successful
expedition into Kurdistan and Mesopotamia, Sofuk was among the chiefs whose power
he sought to destroy. He knew that it would be useless to attempt it by force,
and he consequently invited the sheikh to his camp on the pretense of investing
him with the customary robe of honor. He was seized and sent a prisoner to Constantinople.
There he remained some months, until deceived by his promises, the Porte permitted
him to return to the tribe. From that time his Arabs had been the terror of the
pashawlics of Mosul and Baghdad, and had even carried their depredations to the
east of the Tigris. However, Nejris, the son of Sofuk’s uncle, had appeared as
his rival, and many branches of the Shammar had declared for the new sheikh. This
led to dissensions in the tribe; and, at the time of our visit, Sofuk, who had
forfeited his popularity by many acts of treachery, was almost deserted by the
Arabs. In this dilemma he had applied to the pashaw of Mosul, and had promised
to serve the Porte, and to control the Bedouins, if he were assisted in re-establishing
his authority. This state of things accounted for the presence of the white tents
of the hytas in the midst of his encampment.

His intercourse with the Turkish authorities, who must be conciliated by adequate
presents before assistance can be expected from them, and the famine, which for
the last two years had prevailed in the countries surrounding the desert, were
not favorable to the domestic prosperity of Sofuk. The wealth and display, for
which he was once renowned among the Arabs, had disappeared. A few months before,
he had even sent to Mosul the silver ankle-rings of his favorite wife – the last
resource – to be exchanged for corn. The furred cloaks, and embroidered robe,
which he once wore, had not been replaced. The only carpet in his tent was the
rag on which sat his principal guests; the rest squatted on the grass, or on the
bare ground. He led the life of a pure Bedouin, from the commonest of whom he
was only distinguished by the extent of his female establishment – always a weak
point with the sheikh. But even in his days of greatest prosperity, the meanest
Arab looked upon him as his equal, addressed him as “Sofuk,” and seated
himself unbidden in his presence. The system of patriarchal government, faithfully
described by Burckhardt, still exists, as it has done for 4000 years, in the desert.

The usual Arab meal was brought to us soon after our arrival – large wooden
bowls and platters filled with boiled fragments of mutton swimming in melted butter,
and sour milk; and when we had eaten, Sofuk came to our tents, and remained with
us the greater part of the day. He was dejected and sad. He bewailed his poverty,
inveighed against the Turks, to whom he attributed his ruin, and confessed, with
tears, that his tribe was fast deserting him. While conversing on these subjects,
two sheikhs rode into the encampment, and hearing that the chief was with us,
they fastened their high-bred mares at the door of our tent, and seated themselves
on our carpets. They had been among the tribes to ascertain the feeling of the
Shammar toward Sofuk, of whom they were the devoted adherents. One was a man of
forty, blackened by long exposure to the desert sun, and of a savage and sanguinary
countenance. His companion was a youth, whose features were so delicate and feminine,
and eyes so bright, that he might have been taken for a woman; a profusion of
black hair which fell, plaited into numerous tresses, on his breast and shoulders,
added to his feminine appearance. An animated discussion took place as to the
desertion of the Nejm, a large branch of the Shammar tribe. The young man’s enthusiasm
and devotedness knew no bounds. He threw himself upon Sofuk, and clinging to his
neck, covered his cheek and beard with kisses. When the chief had disengaged himself,
his follower seized the edge of his garment, and sobbed violently as he held it
to his lips. “I entreat thee, O Sofuk!” he exclaimed, “say but the word; by thine
eyes, by thy beard, by the Prophet, order it, and this sword shall find the heart
of Nejris, whether he escape into the farthest corner of the desert, or be surrounded
by all the warriors of the tribe.” But it was too late, and Sofuk saw that his
influence was fast declining.

I must endeavor to convey to the reader some idea of the domestic
establishment of a great Arab sheikh. Sofuk, at the time of our visit, was the
husband of three wives, who were considered to have special claims to his affection
and his constant protection; for it was one of Sofuk’s weaknesses, arising either
from a desire to impress the Arabs with a notion of his greatness and power, or
from a partiality to the first stage of married life, to take a new partner nearly
every month; and at the end of that period to divorce her, and marry her to one
of his attendants. The happy man thus lived in a continual honeymoon. Of the three
ladies now forming his harem, the chief was Amsha, a lady celebrated in the song
of every Arab of the desert for her beauty and noble blood. She was the daughter
of Hassan, Sheikh of the Tai, a tribe tracing its origin from the remotest antiquity,
and one of whose chiefs, Hatem, her ancestor, is a hero of Eastern romance. Sofuk
had carried her away by force from her father; but had always treated her with
great respect. From her rank and beauty, she had earned the title of “Queen of
the Desert.” Her form, traceable through the thin shirt which she wore like other
Arab women, was well proportioned and graceful. She was tall in stature, and fair
in complexion. Her features were regular, and her eyes large, dark, and brilliant.
She had undoubtedly claims to more than ordinary beauty; to the Arabs she was
perfection, for all the resources of their art had been exhausted to complete
what nature had begun. Her lips were dyed deep blue, her eyebrows were continued
in indigo until they united over the nose, her cheeks and forehead were spotted
with beauty-marks, her eyelashes darkened by kohl; and on her legs and bosom could
be seen the tattooed ends of flowers and fanciful ornaments, which were carried
in festoons and network over her whole body. Hanging from each ear, and reaching
to her waist, was an enormous ear-ring of gold, terminating in a tablet of the
same material, carved and ornamented with four turquoises. Her nose was also adorned
with a prodigious gold ring, set with jewels, of such ample dimensions
that it covered her mouth, and had to be removed when she ate. Ponderous rows
of strung beads, Assyrian cylinders, fragments of coral, agates, and party-colored
stones, hung from her neck; silver rings encircled her wrists and ankles, making
a loud jingling as she walked. Over her blue shirt was thrown, when she issued
from-her tent, a coarse striped cloak, and a common black kerchief was bound loosely
round her temples by a rope of twisted camel’s hair.

Her menage combined, if the old song be true, the domestic and the queenly,
and was carried on with a nice appreciation of economy. The immense sheet of black
goat-hair canvas, which formed the tent, was supported by twelve or fourteen stout
poles, and was completely open on one side. Being entirely set apart for the women,
it had no partitions, like the tent of the common Arab, who is obliged to reserve
a corner for the reception of his guests. Between the center poles were placed,
upright and close to one another, large goat-hair sacks, filled with rice, corn,
barley, coffee, and other household stuff; their mouths being, of course, upward.
Upon them were spread carpets and cushions, on which Amsha reclined. Around her,
squatted on the ground, were some fifty handmaidens, tending the wide caldrons,
baking bread on the iron plates heated over the ashes, or shaking between them
the skins suspended from three stakes, and filled with milk to be thus churned
into butter. It is the privilege of the head wife to prepare in her tent the dinners
of the sheikh’s guests. Fires, lighted on all sides, sent forth a cloud of smoke,
which hung heavily under the folds of the tent, and would have long before dimmed
any eyes less bright than those of Amsha. As supplies were asked for by the women,
she lifted the corner of her carpet, untied the mouths of the sacks, and distributed
their contents. Every thing passed through her hands. To show her authority and
rank, she poured continually upon her attendants a torrent of abuse, and honored
them with epithets, of which I may be excused attempting to give a translation;
her vocabulary equaling, if not exceeding, in richness, that of the highly-educated
lady of the city. 2 The combination of the domestic
and authoritative was thus complete. Her children, three naked little urchins,
black with sun and mud, and adorned with long tails of plaited hair hanging from
the crown of their heads, rolled in the ashes, or on the grass.

Amsha, as I have observed, shared the affections, though not the tent of Sofuk
– for each establishment had a tent of its own – with two other ladies: Atouia,
an Arab not much inferior to her rival in personal appearance; and Ferrah, originally
a Yezidi slave, who had no pretensions to beauty. Amsha, however, always maintained
her sway, and the others could not sit, without her leave, in her presence. To
her alone were confided the keys of the larder – supposing Sofuk to have had either
keys or larder – and there was no appeal from her authority on all subjects of
domestic economy.

Mrs. Rassam was received with great ceremony by the ladies. To show the rank
and luxurious habits of her husband, Amsha offered her guest a glass of “eau sucree,”
which Mrs. Rassam, who is over-nice, assured me she could not drink, as it was
mixed by a particularly dirty negro, in the absence of a spoon, with his fingers,
which he sucked continually during the process.

In the evening, Amsha and Ferrah returned Mrs. Rassam’s visit; Sofuk having,
however, first obtained a distinct promise that they were to be received in a
tent from which gentlemen were to be excluded. They were very inquisitive, and
their discreet curiosity could with difficulty be satisfied.

Sofuk was the owner of a mare of matchless beauty, called, as if the property
of the tribe, the Shammeriyah. Her dam, who died about ten years ago, was the
celebrated Kubleh, whose renown extended from the sources of the Khabour to the
end of the Arabian promontory, and the day of whose death is an epoch
from which the Arabs of Mesopotamia date events concerning their tribe. Mohammed-Emin,
sheikh of the Jebours, assured me that he had seen Sofuk ride down the wild ass
of the Sinjar on her back, and the most marvelous stories are current in the desert
of her fleetness and powers of endurance. Sofuk esteemed her and her daughter
above all the riches of the tribe; for her he would have forfeited all his wealth,
and even Amsha herself. Owing to the visit of the irregular troops, the best horses
of the sheikh and his followers were concealed in a secluded ravine at some distance
from the tents.

Al Hather was about eighteen miles from Sofuk’s encampment. He gave us two
well-known horsemen to accompany us to the ruins. Their names were Dathan and
Abiram. The former was a black slave, to whom the sheikh had given his liberty
and a wife – two things, it may be observed, which are in the desert perfectly
consistent. He was the most faithful and brave of all the adherents of Sofuk,
and the fame of his exploits had spread through the tribes of Arabia. As we rode
along, I endeavored to obtain from him some information concerning his people,
but he would only speak on one subject. “Ya Bej,” 3 said he,
“the Arab only thinks of two things, war and love: war, Ya Bej, every one understands;
let us, therefore, talk of love.”

As we rode to Al Hather, we passed large bodies of the Shammar moving with
their tents, flocks, and families. On all sides appeared the huge expanding wings
of the ladies’ camel-saddle, looking, as it rose above the horizon, like some
stupendous butterfly skimming slowly over the plain. Dathan was known to all.
As the horsemen approached, they dismounted and embraced him, kissing him, as
is customary, on both cheeks, and holding him by the hand until many compliments
had been exchanged.

A dark thunder-cloud rose behind the time-worn ruins of Al Hather
as we approached them. The sun, still throwing its rays upon the walls, lighted
up the yellow stones until they shone like gold. 4 Mr. Ross and
myself, accompanied by an Arab, urged our horses onward, that we might escape
the coming storm; but it burst upon us in its fury ere we reached the palace.
The lightning played through the vast buildings, the thunder re-echoed through
its deserted halls, and the hail compelled us to rein up our horses, and turn
our backs to the tempest. It was a fit moment to enter such ruins as these. They
rose in solitary grandeur in the midst of a desert, “in media solitudine positae,”
as they stood fifteen centuries before, when described by the Roman historian.
5 On my previous visit, the first view I obtained of Al Hather
was perhaps no less striking. We had been wandering for three days in the wilderness
without seeing one human habitation. On the fourth morning a thick mist hung over
the place. We had given up the search when the vapors were drawn up like a curtain,
and we saw the ruins before us. At that time within the walls were the tents of
some Shammar Arabs, but now as we crossed the confused heaps of fragments, forming
a circle round the city, we saw that the place was tenantless. Flocks on a neighboring
rising ground showed, however, that Arabs were not distant.

We pitched our tents in the great court-yard, in front of the palace, and near
the entrance to the inner inclosure. During the three days we remained among the
ruins I had ample time to take accurate measurements, and to make plans of the
various buildings still partly standing within the walls. As Al Hather has already
been described by others, and as the information I was able to collect has been
placed before the public, 6 I need not detain the reader
with a detailed account of the place. Suffice it to mention, that the walls of
the city, flanked by numerous towers, form almost a complete circle, in the center
of which rises the palace, an edifice of great magnificence, solidly constructed
of squared stones, and elaborately sculptured with figures and ornaments. It dates
probably from the reign of one of the Sassanian Kings of Persia, certainly not
prior to the Arsacian dynasty, although the city itself was, I have little doubt,
founded at a very early period, being one of the great caravan stations, like
Palmyra, connecting the cities of Syria with those on the banks of the Tigris.
The singular marks upon the stones, which appear to be either a builder’s sign
or to have reference to some religious observance, are found in most of the buildings
of Sassanian origin in Persia, Babylonia, and Susiana.

With the exception of occasional alarms in the night, caused by thieves attempting
to steal our horses, we were not disturbed during our visit. The Arabs from the
tents in the neighborhood brought us milk, butter, and sheep. We drank the water
of the Thathar, which is, however, rather salt; and our servants and camel-drivers
filled during the day many baskets with truffles.

On our return we crossed the desert, reaching Wadi Ghusub the first night,
and Mosul on the following morning. Dathan and Abiram, who had both distinguished
themselves in recent forays, and had consequently accounts to settle with the
respectable merchants of the place, the balance being very much against them,
could not be prevailed upon to enter the town, where they were generally known.
We had provided ourselves with two or three dresses of Damascus silk, and we invested
our guides as a mark of satisfaction for their services. Dathan grinned a melancholy
smile as he received his reward. “Ya Bej,” he exclaimed, as he turned his mare
toward the desert; “may God give you peace! Wallah! your camels shall be as the
camels of the Shammar. Be they laden with gold, they shall pass through our tents,
and our people shall not touch them.”

A year after our visit the career of Sofuk was brought to its close.
I have mentioned that Nejris, his rival, had obtained the support of nearly the
whole tribe of Shammar. In a month Sofuk found himself nearly alone. His relations
and immediate adherents, among whom were Dathan and Abiram, still pitched their
tents with him; but he feared the attacks of his enemies, and retreated for safety
into the territory of Beder Khan Bey, to the east of the Tigris, near Jezirah.
He then sought the support of Nejib Pashaw of Baghdad, under whose authority the
Shammar were supposed to be, and having succeeded in bringing back a considerable
part of the tribe, proposed to Nejris, that they should meet at his tents, forget
their differences, and share equally the sheikhship of the Shammar. The unfortunate
sheikh was induced by Ferhan, the son of Sofuk, to enter the encampment of his
rival, where he was perfidiously murdered, in violation of those laws of hospitality
which are so much respected by the Arabs. The Shammar were amazed and disgusted
by an act of perjury which brought disgrace upon the tribe. They withdrew a second
time from Sofuk, and placed themselves under a new leader, a relation of the murdered
sheikh. Sofuk again appealed to Nejib Pashaw, justifying his conduct by the dissensions
which would have led to constant disorders in Mesopotamia had there still been
rival candidates for the sheikhship. Nejib pretended to be satisfied, and agreed
to send out a party of irregular troops to assist Sofuk in enforcing his authority
throughout the desert.

The commander of the troops sent by Nejib was joyfully received by Sofuk, who
immediately marched against the tribe. But he had scarcely left his tent, when
he found that he had fallen into a snare such as he had more than once set for
others. In a few hours after, his head was in the palace of the Pashaw of Baghdad.

Such was the end of one whose name will long be remembered in the wilds of
Arabia; who, from his power and wealth, received the title of “the King of the
Desert,” and led the great tribe of Shammar from the banks of the Khabour to the
ruins of Babylon. The tale of the Arab will turn for many years to come on the
exploits and magnificence of Sofuk.

1 These wings are formed by a light frame-work of cane
varying from sixteen to twenty feet in length, covered with parchment and ornamented,
as is also the body and neck of the camel with tassels and fringes of worsted
of every hue, and with strings of glass beads and shells. The lady sits in the
center in a kind of pavilion, covered with gay carpets, by which she is shaded
from the sun. This singular contrivance sways from side to side, and the motion
is very disagreeable to one not accustomed to it.
2 It may not perhaps be known that the fair inmate of
the harem whom we picture to ourselves conversing with her lover in language too
delicate and refined to be expressed by any thing but flowers, uses ordinarily
words which would shock the ears of even the most depraved among us.
3 “O my Lord:” he so prefaced every sentence. The Shammar
Arabs pronounce the word Beg, which the Constantinopolitans soften into Bey, Bej.
4 The rich golden tint of the limestone, of which the
great monuments of Syria are built, is known to every traveler in that country.
The ruins of Al Hather have the same bright color; they look as if they had been
steeped in the sunbeams.
5 Ammianus Marcellinus, lib. xxv. cap. 8.
6 See Dr. Ross’s Memoir in the Geographical Society’s
Journal, and Dr. Ainsworth’s Travels. A memoir on the place by me, accompanied
by plans, , was read before the Institute of British Architects.