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 8
A few days after my return to Mosul from the Tiyari mountains, a
priest of the Yezidis, or, as they are commonly called, “Worshipers of the Devil,”
was sent by Sheikh Nasr, the religious chief of that remarkable sect, to invite
Mr. Rassam and myself to their great periodical feast. The vice-consul was unable
to accept the invitation; but I seized with eagerness the opportunity of being
present at ceremonies not before witnessed by an European.
The origin of my invitation proves that the Yezidis may lay claim to a virtue
which is, unfortunately, not of frequent occurrence in the East, – I mean gratitude.
When Keritli Oglu, Mohammed Pashaw, first came to Mosul, this sect was among the
objects of his cupidity and tyranny. He seized by treachery, as he supposed, their
high-priest; but Sheikh Nasr had time to escape the plot against him, and to substitute
in his place the second in authority, who was carried a prisoner to the town.
Such is the attachment shown by the Yezidis to their chief, that the deceit was
not revealed, and the substitute bore with resignation the tortures and imprisonment
inflicted upon him. Mr. Rassam having been applied to, obtained his release from the pashaw, on the advance of a considerable sum of money, which the
inhabitants of the district of Sheikhan undertook to repay, in course of time,
out of the produce of their fields. They punctually fulfilled the engagement thus
entered into, and looked to the British vice-consul as their protector.
Owing to the disturbed state of the country, and the misconduct of the late
pashaws, some years had elapsed since the Yezidis had assembled at Sheikh Adi.
The short rule of Ismail Pashaw, and the conciliatory measures of the new governor,
had so far restored confidence among persons of all sects, that the Worshipers
of the Devil had determined to celebrate their great festival with more than ordinary
solemnity and rejoicings.
I quitted Mosul, accompanied by Hodja Toma (the dragoman of the vice-consulate),
and the cawal, or priest, sent by Sheikh Nasr. We were joined on the road by several
Yezidis, who were, like ourselves, on their way to the place of meeting. We passed
the night in a small hamlet near Khorsabad, and reached Baadri early next day.
This village, the residence of Hussein Bey, the political chief of the Yezidis,
is built at the foot of the line of hills crossed in my previous journey to the
Chaldean Mountains, and about five miles to the north of Ain Sifni. We traveled
over the same dreary plain, leaving the mound of Jerrahiyah to our right.
On approaching the village I was met by Hussein Bey, followed by the priests
and principal inhabitants on foot. The chief was about eighteen years of age,
and one of the handsomest young men I ever saw. His features were regular and
delicate, his eye lustrous, and the long curls, which fell from under his variegated
turban, of the deepest black. An ample white cloak of fine texture was thrown
over his rich jacket and robes. I dismounted as he drew near, and he endeavored
to kiss my hand; but to this ceremony I decidedly objected; and we compromised
matters by embracing each other after the fashion of the country. He then insisted
upon leading my horse, which he wished me to remount, and it was with difficulty
that I at length prevailed upon him to walk with me into the village.
He led me to his salamlik, or reception room, in which carpets and cushions had
been spread. Through the center ran a stream of fresh water, derived from a neighboring
spring. The people of the place stood at the lower end of the room, and listened
in respectful silence to the conversation between their chief and myself.
Breakfast was brought to us from the harem of Hussein Bey; and the crowd having
retired after we had eaten, I was left during the heat of the day to enjoy the
cool temperature of the salamlik.
I was awakened in the afternoon by that shrill cry of the women, which generally
announces some happy event. The youthful chief entered soon afterward, followed
by a long retinue. It was evident, from the smile upon his features, that, he
had joyful news to communicate. He seated himself on my carpet, and thus addressed
me:- “O Bey, your presence has brought happiness on our house. At your hands we
receive nothing but good. We are all your servants; and, praise be to the Highest,
in this house another servant has been born to you. The child is yours: he is
our first-born, and he will grow up under your shadow. Let him receive his name
from you, and be hereafter under your protection.” The assembly joined in the
request, and protested that this event, so interesting to all the tribe, was solely
to be attributed to my fortunate visit. I was not quite aware of the nature of
the ceremony, if any, in which I might be expected to join on naming the new-born
chief. Notwithstanding my respect and esteem for the Yezidis, I could not but
admit that there were some doubts as to the propriety of their tenets and form
of worship; and I was naturally anxious to ascertain the amount of responsibility
which I might incur, in standing godfather to a devil-worshiping baby. However,
as I was assured that no other form was necessary than the mere selection of a
name (the rite of baptism being reserved for a future day, when the child could
be carried to the tomb of Sheikh Adi, and could bear immersion in its sacred waters),
I thus answered Hussein Bey:- “O Bey, I rejoice in this happy event,
for which we must return thanks to God. May this son be but the first of many
who will preserve, as their forefathers have done, the fame and honor of your
house. As you ask of me a name for this child, I could give you many, which, in
my language and country, are well sounding and honorable; but your tongue could
not utter them, and they would moreover be without meaning. Were it usual I would
call him after his father, whose virtues he will no doubt imitate; but such is
not the custom. I have not forgotten the name of his grandfather, – a name which
is dear to the Yezidis, and still brings to their memory the days of their prosperity
and happiness. Let him therefore be known as Ali Bey; and may he live to see the
Yezidis as they were in the time of him after whom he is called.” This oration,
which was accompanied by a few gold coins to be sewn to the cap of the infant,
was received with great applause; and the name of Ali Bey was unanimously adopted;
one of the chief’s relations hastening to the harem, to communicate it to the
ladies. He returned with a carpet and some embroidery, as presents from the mother,
and with an invitation to the harem to see the females of the family. I found
there the chief’s mother and his second wife; for he had already taken two. They
assured me that the lady, who had just brought joy to the house, was even more
thankful than her husband; and that her gratitude to me, as the author of her
happiness, was unbounded. They brought me honey and strings of dried figs from
the Sinjar, and entertained me with domestic histories until I thought it time
to return to the salamlik.
The Yezidis were some years ago a very powerful tribe. Their principal strongholds
were in the district which I was now visiting, and in the Jebel Sinjar, a solitary
mountain rising in the center of the Mesopotamian desert to the west of Mosul.
The last independent chief of the Yezidis of Sheikhan was Ali Bey, the father
of Hussein Bey. He was beloved by his tribe, and sufficiently brave and skillful
in war to defend them, for many years, against the attacks of the Kurds and Mussulmans of the plain. The powerful Bey of Rowandiz, who had united most of
the Kurdish tribes of the surrounding mountains under his banner, and long defied
both Turks and Persians, resolved to crush the hateful sect of the Yezidis. Ali
Bey’s forces were greatly inferior in numbers to those of his persecutor. He was
defeated, and fell into the hands of the Rowandiz chief, who put him to death.
The inhabitants of Sheikan fled to Mosul. It was spring; the river had overflowed
its banks, and the bridge of boats had been removed. A few succeeded in crossing
the stream; but a vast crowd of men, women, and children were left upon the opposite
side, and congregated on the great mound of Kouyunjik. The Bey of Rowandiz followed
them. An indiscriminate slaughter ensued; and the people of Mosul beheld, from
their terraces, the murder of these unfortunate fugitives, who cried to them in
vain for help – for both Christians and Mussulmans rejoiced in the extermination
of an odious and infidel sect, and no arm was lifted in their defense. Hussein
Bey, having been carried by his mother to the mountains, escaped the general slaughter.
He was carefully brought up by the Yezidis, and from his infancy had been regarded
as their chief.
The inhabitants of the Sinjar were soon after subdued by Mehemet Reshid Pashaw,
and a second time by Hafiz Pashaw. On both occasions there was a massacre, and
the population was reduced by three fourths. The Yezidis took refuge in caves,
where they were either suffocated by fires lighted at the mouth, or destroyed
by discharges of cannon.
It will be remembered that Mohammedans, in their dealings with men of other
creeds, make a distinction between such as are believers in the sacred books,
and such as have no recognized inspired works. To the first category belong Christians
of all denominations, as receiving the two testaments; and the Jews, as followers
of the old. With Christians and Jews, therefore, they may treat, make peace, and
live; but with such as are included in the second class, the good Mussulman can
have no intercourse. No treaty nor oath, when they are concerned, is
binding. They have the choice between conversion and the sword, and it is unlawful
even to take tribute from them. The Yezidis, not being looked upon as “Masters
of a Book,” have been exposed for centuries to the persecution of the Mohammedans.
The harems of the south of Turkey have been recruited from them. Yearly expeditions
have been made by the governors of provinces into their districts; and while the
men and women were slaughtered without mercy, the children of both sexes were
carried off, and exposed for sale in the principal towns. These annual hunts were
one of the sources of revenue of Beder Khan Bey; and it was the custom of the
Pashaws of Baghdad and Mosul to let loose the irregular troops upon the ill fated
Yezidis, as an easy method of satisfying their demands for arrears of pay. This
system was still practiced to a certain extent within a very few months of my
visit; and gave rise to atrocities scarcely equaled in the better known slave-trade.
It was not unnatural that the Yezidis should revenge themselves, whenever an
opportunity might offer, upon their oppressors. They formed themselves into bands,
and were long the terror of the country. No Mussulman that fell into their hands
was spared. Caravans were plundered, and merchants murdered without mercy. Christians,
however, were not molested; for the Yezidis looked upon them as fellow-sufferers
for religion’s sake.
These acts of retaliation furnished an excuse for the invasion of the Sinjar
by Mehemet Reshid and Hafiz Pashaws. Since the great massacres which then took
place, the Yezidis have been completely subdued, and have patiently suffered under
their misfortunes. Their devotion to their religion is no less remark able than
that of the Jews; and I remember no instance of a person of full age renouncing
his faith. They invariably prefer death, and submit with resignation to the tortures
inflicted upon them.
Sheikh Nasr, the chief priest of the sect, had already left Baadri, and was
preparing for the religious ceremonies at the tomb of Sheikh Adi. I
visited his wife, and was gratified by the unaffected hospitality of my reception,
and by the cleanliness of the house and its scanty furniture. All the dwellings
which I entered appeared equally neat, and well built. Some stood in small gardens
filled with flowers, and near them were streams of running water, brought from
the abundant springs which issue from the hill above the village.
Next morning at dawn, Hussein Bey issued from his harem, armed and dressed
in his gayest robes, ready to proceed to the tomb of the saint. The principal
people of the village were soon collected, and we all started together, forming
a long procession, preceded by musicians with the tamborine and pipe. The women
were busily employed in loading their donkeys with carpets and domestic utensils.
They were to follow leisurely. Hussein Bey and I rode together, and as long as
the ground permitted, the horsemen and footmen who accompanied us, engaged in
mimic fight, discharging their fire-arms into the air, and singing their war-cry.
We soon reached the foot of a very precipitous ascent, up which ran a steep and
difficult pathway. The horsemen now rode on in single file, and we were frequently
compelled to dismount and drag our horses over the rocks. We gained the summit
of the pass in about an hour, and looked down into the richly wooded valley of
Sheikh Adi. As soon as the white spire of the tomb appeared above the trees, all
our party discharged their guns. The echoes had scarcely died away, when our signal
was answered by similar discharges from below. As we descended through the thick
wood of oaks, we passed many pilgrims on their way, like ourselves. to the tomb;
the women seated under the trees, relieving themselves awhile from their infant
burdens; the men readjusting the loads which the rapid descent had displaced.
As each new body of travelers caught sight of the object of their journey, they
fired their guns, and shouted the cry of the tribe to those below.
At some distance from the tomb we were met by Sheikh Nasr and a crowd of priests
and armed men. The sheikh was dressed in the purest white linen, as were the principal
members of the priesthood. His age could scarcely have exceeded forty;
his manners were most mild and pleasing; he welcomed me with warmth; and it was
evident that my visit had made a very favorable impression upon all present. After
I had embraced the chief, and exchanged salutations with his followers, we walked
together toward the sacred precincts. The outer court, as well as the avenue which
led to it, was filled with people; but they made way for us as we approached,
and every one eagerly endeavored to kiss my hand.
The Yezidis always enter the inner court of the tomb bare-footed. I followed
the custom, and leaving my shoes at the entrance, seated myself, with Sheikh Nasr
and Hussein Bey, upon carpets spread under an arbor, formed by a wide spreading
vine. The sheikhs and cawals, two of the principal orders of the priesthood, alone
entered with us, and squatted around the yard against the walls. The trees, which
grew among and around the buildings, threw an agreeable shade over the whole assembly.
The tomb of Sheikh Adi is in a narrow valley, or rather ravine, which has only
one outlet, as the rocks rise precipitously on all sides, except where a small
stream forces its way into a larger valley beyond. It stands in a court-yard,
and is surrounded by a few buildings, inhabited by the guardians and servants
of the sanctuary. The interior is divided into a large hall partitioned in the
center by a row of columns and arches, and having at the upper end a reservoir
filled by an abundant spring issuing from the rock; and two smaller apartments,
in which are the tombs of the saint, and of some inferior personage. The water
of the reservoir is regarded with peculiar veneration, and is believed to be derived
from the holy well of Zemzem. In it children are baptized, and it is used for
other sacred purposes. The tomb is covered by a large square case, made of clay
and plastered, over which is thrown an embroidered green cloth. It is in the inner
room, which is dimly lighted by a small lamp. On it is written the chapter of
the Koran, called the Ayat el Courci. It is thus made to resemble as
nearly as possible the tomb of a Mussulman saint, to preserve it from profanation
by the Kurds.
In the principal hall a few lamps are generally burning, and at sunset lights
are placed in niches scattered over the walls.
Two white spires, rising above the building, form a pleasing contrast with
the rich foliage by which they are surrounded. They are topped by gilt ornaments,
and their sides are fashioned into many angles, causing an agreeable variety of
light and shade. On the wall near the doorway are rudely carved a lion, a snake,
a hatchet, a man, and a comb. The snake, painted black, is particularly conspicuous.
Although it might be suspected that these figures were emblematical, I could obtain
no other explanation from Sheikh Nasr, than that they had been cut by the Christian
mason who repaired the tomb some years ago, as ornaments suggested by his mere
fancy. I observed the hatchet, comb, and a hooked stick, such as is generally
carried in the country, carved on many stones in the building, but was assured
that they were only marks placed upon them at the request of those who had furnished
money toward the restoration of the building, or had assisted in the work.
In the center of the inner court, and under the vine, is a square plaster case,
in which is a small recess filled with balls of clay taken from the tomb of the
saint. These are sold or distributed to pilgrims, and regarded as very sacred
relics – useful against diseases and evil spirits, and to be buried with the dead.
Certain members of the priesthood and their families alone inhabit the surrounding
buildings. They are chosen to watch over the sacred precincts, and are supported
and supplied with provisions by the tribe.
The outer court is inclosed by low buildings, with recesses similar to those
in an Eastern bazar. They are intended for the accommodation of pilgrims, and
for the stalls of pedlers, during the celebration of the festival. Several gigantic
trees throw their shade over the open space, and streams of fresh water are led
round the buildings.
Around the tomb, and beneath the trees which grow on the sides of
the mountain, are numerous rudely constructed edifices, each belonging to a Yezidi
district or tribe. The pilgrims, according to the place from which they come,
reside in them during the time of the feast; so that each portion of the valley
is known by the name of the country, or tribe, of those who resort there.
I sat till nearly mid-day with the assembly, at the door of the tomb. Sheikh
Nasr then rose, and I followed him into the outer court, which was filled by a
busy crowd of pilgrims. In the recesses and on the ground were spread the stores
of the pedlers, who, on such occasions, repair to the valley. Many-colored handkerchiefs,
and cotton stuffs, hung from the branches of the trees; dried figs from the Sinjar,
raisins from Amadiyah, dates from Busrah, and walnuts from the mountains, were
displayed in heaps upon the pavement. Around these tempting treasures were gathered
groups of boys and young girls. Men and women were engaged on all sides in animated
conversation, and the hum of human voices was heard through the valley. All respectfully
saluted the sheikh, and made way for us as we approached. We issued from the precincts
of the principal building, and seated ourselves on the edge of a fountain built
by the road side, and at the end of the avenue of trees leading to the tombs.
The slabs surrounding the basin are to some extent looked upon as sacred; and
at this time only Hussein Bey, Sheikh Nasr, and myself were permitted to place
ourselves upon them. Even on other occasions the Yezidis are unwilling to see
them polluted by Mussulmans, who usually choose this spot, well adapted for repose,
to spread their carpets. The water of the fountain is carefully preserved from
impurities, and is drank by those who congregate in the valley. Women were now
hastening to and fro with their pitchers, and making merry as they waited their
turn to dip them into the reservoir. The principal sheikhs and cawals sat in a
circle round the spring, and listened to the music of pipes and tamborines.
I never beheld a more picturesque or animated scene. Long lines
of pilgrims toiled up the avenue. There was the swarthy inhabitant of the Sinjar,
with his long black locks, his piercing eye and regular features – his white robe
floating in the wind, and his unwieldy matchlock thrown over his shoulder. Then
followed the more wealthy families of the Kochers, – the wandering tribes who
live in tents in the plains, and among the hills of ancient Adiabene; the men
in gay jackets and variegated turbans, with fantastic arms in their girdles; the
women richly clad in silk antaris; their hair, braided in many tresses, falling
down their backs, and adorned with wild flowers; their foreheads almost concealed
by gold and silver coins; and huge strings of glass beads, coins, and engraved
stones hanging round their necks. Next would appear a poverty-stricken family
from a village of the Mosul district; the women clad in white, pale and care-worn,
bending under the weight of their children; the men urging on the heavily-laden
donkey. Similar groups descended from the hills. Repeated discharges of fire arms,
and a well known signal, announced to those below the arrival of every new party.
All turned to the fountain before proceeding to their allotted stations, and
laying their arms on the ground, kissed the hands of Hussein Bey, Sheikh Nasr,
and myself. After saluting the assembled priests they continued their way up the
sides of the mountains, and chose a wide spreading oak, or the roof of a building,
for a resting-place during their sojourn in the valley. They then spread their
carpets, and, lighting fires with dry branches and twigs, busied themselves in
preparing their food. Such groups were scattered in every direction. There was
scarcely a tree without its colony.
All, before entering the sacred valley, washed themselves and their clothes
in the stream issuing from it. They came thus purified to the feast. I never before
saw so much assembled cleanliness in the East. Their garments, generally white,
were spotless.
During the afternoon, dances were performed before the bey and myself. They
resembled the Arab Debke, and the Kurdish Tchopee. As many young men
as could crowd into the small open space in front of the fountain joined in them.
Others sang in chorus with the music. Every place, from which a sight could be
obtained of the dancers, was occupied by curious spectators. Even the branches
above our heads were bending under the clusters of boys who had discovered that,
from them, they could get a full view of what was going on below. The manoeuvers
of one of these urchins gave rise to a somewhat amusing incident, which illustrates
the singular superstitions of this sect. He had forced himself to the very end
of a weak bough, which was immediately above me, and threatened every moment to
break under the weight. As I looked up I saw the impending danger, and made an
effort, by an appeal to the chief, to avert it. “If that young Sheit – “I exclaimed,
about to use an epithet generally given in the East to such adventurous youths:
1 I checked myself immediately; but it was already too late;
half the dreaded word had escaped. The effect was instantaneous: a look of horror
seized those who were near enough to overhear me; it was quickly communicated
to those beyond. The pleasant smile, which usually played upon the fine features
of the young bey, gave way to a serious and angry expression. I lamented that
I had thus unwillingly wounded the feelings of my hosts, and was at a loss to
know how I could make atonement for my indiscretion – doubting whether an apology
to the Evil principle or to the chief was expected. I endeavored, however, to
make them understand, without venturing upon any observations which might have
brought me into greater difficulties, that I regretted what had passed; but it
was some time ere the group resumed their composure, and indulged in their previous
merriment.
My carpets had been spread on the roof of a building of some size, belonging
to the people of Semil. Around me, but at a convenient distance, were scattered
groups of pilgrims from that district. Men, women, and children were
congregated round their caldrons, preparing their evening meal; or were stretched
upon their coarse carpets, resting after the long march of the day. Near me was
the chief, whose mud castle crowns the mound of the village of Semil. He was a
stern-looking man, gayly dressed, and well armed. He received me with every demonstration
of civility, and I sat for some time with him and his wives; one of whom was young
and pretty, and had been recently selected from the Kochers, or wanderers. Her
hair was profusely adorned with flowers and gold coins. They had sacrificed a
sheep, and all (including the chief, whose arms, bare to the shoulder, were reeking
with blood) gathered round the carcass; and, tearing the limbs, distributed morsels
to the poor who had been collected to receive them.
At some distance from the people of Semil were the wife and family of Sheikh
Nasr, who had also slain a sheep. The sheikh himself resided in the sacred building,
and was occupied during the day in receiving the pilgrims, and performing various
duties imposed upon him on the occasion. I visited his harem; his wife spread
fruit and honey before me, and entertained me with a long account of her domestic
employments.
Below the cluster of buildings assigned to the people of Semil is a small white
spire, springing from a low edifice, neatly constructed, and, like all the sacred
places of the Yezidis, kept as pure as repeated coats of whitewash can make it.
It is called the sanctuary of Sheikh Shems, or the Sun; and is so placed, that
the first rays of that luminary should as frequently as possible fall upon it.
Near the door an invocation to Sheikh Shems is carved on a slab; and one or two
votive tablets, raised by the father of Hussein Bey, and other chiefs of the Yezidis,
are built into the walls. The interior, which is a very holy place, is lighted
by a few small lamps. At sunset, as I sat in the alcove in front of the entrance,
a herdsman led into a pen, attached to the building, a drove of white oxen. I
asked a cawal, who was near me, to whom the beasts belonged. “They
are dedicated,” he said, “to Sheikh Shems, and are never slain except on great
festivals, when their flesh is distributed among the poor.” 2
This unexpected answer gave rise to an agreeable musing, and I sat, almost unconscious
of the scene around me, until darkness stole over the valley.
As the twilight faded, the fakirs, or lower order of priests, dressed in brown
garments of coarse cloth, closely fitting to their bodies, and wearing black turbans
on their heads, issued from the tomb, each bearing a light in one hand, and a
pot of oil, with a bundle of cotton wicks, in the other. They filled and trimmed
lamps placed in niches in the walls of the courtyard, and scattered over the buildings
on the sides of the valley, and even on isolated rocks and in the hollow trunks
of trees. Innumerable stars appeared to glitter on the black sides of the mountain,
and in the dark recesses of the forest. As the priests made their way through
the crowd, to perform their task, men and women passed their right hands through
the flame, and then devoutly carried them to their lips, after rubbing the right
eyebrow with the part which had been purified by the sacred element. Some, who
bore children in their arms, anointed them in like manner, while others held out
their hands to be touched by those who, less fortunate than themselves, could
not reach the flame.
The lamps are votive offerings from pilgrims, or from those who have appealed
to Sheikh Adi in times of danger or disease, and a yearly sum is given to the
guardians of the tomb for oil, and for the support of the priests. They are lighted
every evening as long as the supplies last. In the daytime the smoked walls mark
where they are placed; and I have observed the Yezidis devoutly kissing the blackened
stones.
About an hour after sunset the fakirs, who are the servants of the tomb, appeared
with platters of boiled rice, roast meat, and fruit. They had been sent to me
from the kitchen of the holy edifice. The wife of Sheikh Nasr also
contributed some dishes toward the repast.
As night advanced, those who had assembled – they must now have amounted to
nearly five thousand person – lighted torches, which they carried with them as
they wandered through the forest. The effect was magical; the varied groups could
be faintly distinguished through the darkness; men hurrying to and fro; women,
with their children, seated on the house-tops; and crowds gathering round the
pedlers who exposed their wares for sale in the court-yard. Thousands of lights
were reflected in the fountains and streams, glimmered among the foliage of the
trees, and danced in the distance. As I was gazing on this extraordinary scene,
the hum of human voices was suddenly hushed, and a strain, solemn and melancholy,
arose from the valley. It resembled some majestic chant which years before I had
listened to in the cathedral of a distant land. Music so pathetic and so sweet
I had never before heard in the East. The voices of men and women were blended
in harmony with the soft notes of many flutes. At measured intervals the song
was broken by the loud clash of cymbals and tamborines; and those who were without
the precincts of the tomb then joined in the melody.
I hastened to the sanctuary, and found Sheikh Nasr, surrounded by the priests,
seated in the inner court. The place was illuminated by torches and lamps, which
threw a soft light over the white-walls of the tomb and green foliage of the arbor.
The sheikhs, in their white turbans and robes, all venerable men with long gray
beards, were ranged on one side; on the opposite, seated on the stones, were about
thirty cawals in their motley dresses of black and white – each performing on
a tamborine or a flute. Around stood the fakirs in their dark garments, and the
women of the orders of the priesthood arrayed in pure white. No others were admitted
within the walls of the court.
The same slow and solemn strain, occasionally varied in the melody, lasted
for nearly an hour; a part of it was called “Makam Azerat Esau,” or
the song of the Lord Jesus. It was sung by the sheikhs, the cawals, and the women;
and occasionally by those without. I could not catch the words; nor could I prevail
upon any of those present to repeat them to me. They were in Arabic; and as few
of the Yezidis can speak or pronounce that language, they were not intelligible,
even to the experienced ear of Hodja Toma, who accompanied me: The tamborines
only interrupted at intervals the song of the priests. As the time quickened they
broke in more frequently. The chant gradually gave way to a lively melody, which,
increasing in measure, was finally lost in a confusion of sounds. The tamborines
were beaten with extraordinary energy; the flutes poured forth a rapid flood of
notes; the voices were raised to their highest pitch; the men outside joined in
the cry; while the women made the rocks resound with the shrill tahlehl. The musicians,
giving way to the excitement, threw their instruments into the air, and strained
their limbs into every contortion, until they fell exhausted to the ground. I
never heard a more frightful yell than that which rose in the valley. It was midnight.
The time and place were well suited to the occasion; and I gazed with wonder upon
the extraordinary scene around me. I did not marvel that such wild ceremonies
had given rise to those stories of unhallowed rites, and obscene mysteries, which
have rendered the name of Yezidi an abomination in the East. Notwithstanding the
uncontrollable excitement which appeared to prevail among all present, there were
no indecent gestures nor unseemly ceremonies. When the musicians and singers were
exhausted, the noise suddenly died away; the various groups resumed their previous
cheerfulness, and again wandered through the valley, or seated themselves under
the trees.
Some ceremony took place before I joined the assembly at the tomb, at which
no stranger can be present, nor could I learn its nature from the cawals. Sheikh
Nasr gave me to understand that their holy symbol, the Melek Taous, was then exhibited
to the priests, and he declared that, as far as he was concerned, he
had no objection to my witnessing the whole of their rites; but that many of the
sheikhs were averse to it, and he did not wish to create any ill-feeling in the
tribe. Indeed, I found him frank and communicative on all subjects.
After the ceremonies in the inner yard had ceased, I returned with the sheikh
and Hussein Bey to the fountain in the avenue. Around it were grouped men and
women with torches, which flung their red gleams upon the water. Several of the
cawals accompanied us to the spot, and sang and played on their flutes and tamborines
until nearly dawn.
Daylight had begun to appear before the pilgrims sought repose. Silence reigned
through the valley until mid-day, when new parties of travelers reached the tomb
and again awakened the echoes by their cries and the discharge of fire arms. Toward
the evening about seven thousand persons must have assembled. The festival was
more numerously attended than it had been for many years, and Sheikh Nasr rejoiced
in the prospect of times of prosperity for his people. At night the ceremonies
of the previous evening were repeated. New melodies were introduced; but the singing
ended in the same rapid measure and violent excitement that I have described.
During the three days I remained at Sheikh Adi, I wandered over the valley and
surrounding mountains; visiting the various groups of pilgrims, talking with them
of their dwelling-place, and listening to their tales of oppression and bloodshed.
From all I received the same simple courtesy and kindness; nor had I any cause
to change the good opinion I had already formed of the Yezidis. There were no
Mohammedans present, not any Christians, except those who were with me, and a
poor woman who had lived long with the sect, and was a privileged guest at their
festivals. Unrestrained by the presence of strangers, the women forgot their usual
timidity, and roved unvailed over the mountains. As I sat beneath the trees, laughing
girls gathered round me, examined my dress, or asked me questions. Some, more
bold than the rest, would bring me the strings of beads and engraved stones hanging
round their necks, and permit me to examine the Assyrian relics thus
collected together; while others, more fearful, though not ignorant of the impression
which their charms would create, stood at a distance, and weaved wild flowers
into their hair.
The men assembled in groups round the fountains and about the tomb. They talked
and made merry; but no dissension or angry words disturbed the general good-humor.
The sound of music and of song rose from all sides above the hum of voices. The
priests and sheikhs walked among the people, or sat with the families assembled
under nearly every tree.
The Yezidis recognize one Supreme Being; but, as far as I could learn, they
do not offer up any direct prayer or sacrifice to him. Sheikh Nasr endeavored
to evade my questions on this subject; and appeared to shun, with superstitious
awe, every topic connected with the existence and attributes of the Deity. The
common Mohammedan forms of expression – half oath, half ejaculation – are nevertheless
frequently in the mouths of the people, but probably from mere habit. The name
of the Evil spirit is, however, never mentioned; and any allusion to it by others
so vexes and irritates them, that it is said they have put to death persons who
have wantonly outraged their feelings by its use. So far is their dread of offending
the Evil principle carried, that they carefully avoid every expression which may
resemble in sound the name of Satan, or the Arabic word for “accursed.”
When they speak of the Devil, they do so with reverence, as Melek el Kout,
the mighty angel. Sheikh Nasr distinct]y admitted that they possessed a bronze
or copper figure of a bird, which, however, he was careful in explaining was only
looked upon as a symbol, and not as an idol. There are several of these figures
– one always remains with the great sheikh, and is carried with him wherever he
may journey. When deputies are sent to any distance to collect money for the support
of the tomb and the priests, they are furnished with one of these images, which
is shown to those among whom they go, as an authority for their mission. This symbol is called the Melek Taous, and is held in great reverence. Much
doubt has prevailed among travelers as to its existence; but Sheikh Nasr, when
I had an opportunity of speaking to him in private, so frankly admitted it, that
I consider the question as completely set at rest. The admission of the sheikh
is moreover confirmed, by the answer of the guardian of the tomb, to a question
which I put to him on my first visit, when he was completely off his guard.
3
They believe Satan to be the chief of the Angelic host, now suffering punishment
for his rebellion against the divine will; but still all-powerful, and to be restored
hereafter to his high estate in the celestial hierarchy. He must be conciliated
and reverenced, they say; for as he now has the means of doing evil to mankind,
so will he hereafter have the power of rewarding them. Next to Satan, but inferior
to him in might and wisdom, are seven archangels 4 who exercise
a great influence over the world; – they are Gabrail, Michail, Raphail, Azrail,
Dedrail, Azrapheel, and Shemkeel. Christ, according to them, was also a great
angel, who had taken the form of man. He did not die on the cross, but ascended
to heaven.
They hold the Old Testament in great reverence, and believe in the cosmogony
of Genesis, the Deluge, and other events recorded in the Bible. They do not reject
the New Testament, nor the Koran; but consider them less entitled to their veneration.
Still they always select passages from the latter for their tombs, and holy places.
Mohammed they look upon as a prophet; as they do Abraham, and the patriarchs.
They expect the second coming of Christ, as well as the reappearance
of Imaum Mehdi, giving credence to the Mussulman fables relating to him.
Sheikh Adi is their great saint; but I could not learn any particulars relating
to him; indeed the epoch of his existence seemed doubtful; and on one occasion
Sheikh Nasr asserted that he lived before Mohammed.
As to the origin of their name, it is well known that the Mussulmans trace
it to the celebrated Ommiade caliph, Yezid, who figures as the persecutor of the
family of Ali in their own religious history; but there is reason to believe that
it must be sought for elsewhere, as it was used long before the introduction of
Mohammedanism, and is not without connection with the early Persian appellation
of the Supreme Being. 5 It is difficult to trace their ceremonies
to any particular source. They baptize in water, like the Christians; if possible,
within seven days after birth. They circumcise at the same age, and in the same
manner as the Mohammedans; and reverence the sun, and have many customs in common
with the Sabaeans. All these ceremonies and observances may indeed have had a
common origin, or may have been grafted at different times on their original creed.
They may have adopted circumcision to avoid detection by their Mussulman oppressors;
and may have selected passages from the Koran, to carve upon their tombs and sacred
places, because, as suggested to me by Sheikh Nasr, they corresponded with their
opinions, and were best suited to a country in which Arabic was the spoken language.
They have more in common with the Sabaeans than with any other sect. I have already
alluded to their reverence for the sun, and have described the temple and the
oxen dedicated to that luminary. 6 They are accustomed to kiss
the object on which its first beams fall; and I have frequently when traveling in their company at sunrise, observed them perform this ceremony. For
fire, as symbolical, they have nearly the same reverence; they never spit into
it, but frequently pass their hands through the flame, kiss them, and rub them
over their right eyebrow, or sometimes over the whole face. 7
The color blue, to them, as to the Sabaeans, is an abomination; and never to be
worn in dress, or to be used in their houses. Their Kubleh, or the place to which
they look while performing their holy ceremonies, is that part of the heavens
in which the sun rises, and toward it they turn the faces of their dead.
8 In their fondness for white linen, in their cleanliness of
habits, and in their frequent ablutions, they also resemble the Sabaeans.
The lettuce, the bamiyah, 9 and some other vegetables, are
never eaten by them. Pork is unlawful; but not wine, which is drunk by all. Although
they assert that meat should not be eaten, unless the animal has been slain according
to the Mosaic and Mohammedan law, they do not object to partake of the food of
Christians.
I could not learn that there were any religious observances on marriage. I
was informed by the cawals that the men and women merely presented themselves
to a sheikh, who ascertains that there is mutual consent. A ring is then given
to the bride, or sometimes money instead. A day is fixed for rejoicings, on which
they drink sherbet, and dance, but have no religious ceremonies. The
number of wives is limited to one, but the chief has the power to transgress the
law.
Their year begins with that of the Eastern Christians, whom they follow also
in the order and names of their months. Some fast three days at the commencement
of the year; but this is not considered necessary. They do not observe the Mohammedan
Ramazan. Wednesday is their holyday, and although some always fast on that day,
yet they do not abstain from work on it, as the Christians do on the Sabbath.
Sheikh Nasr informed me that they had a date of their own, and that he believed
we were then, according to their account, in the year 1550. This suggested some
connection with Manes; but neither by direct nor indirect questions could I ascertain
that they were acquainted with his name, or recognized him in anywise as the originator
of their peculiar doctrines with regard to the Evil principle.
Their names, both male and female, are generally those used by Mohammedans
and Christians or such as are common among the Kurds, and not strictly of Mussulman
origin. The name of Goorgis (George) is, however, objectionable; and is never,
I believe, given to a Yezidi.
They have four orders of priesthood, the Pirs, the Sheikhs, the Cawals, and
the Fakirs; and, what is very remarkable, and, I believe, unexampled in the East,
these offices are hereditary, and descend to females, who, when enjoying them,
are treated with the same respect and consideration as the men.
The Pirs, 10 or saints, are most reverenced after the great
sheikh, or religious head of the sect. They are believed to have the power, not
only of interceding for the people, but of curing disease and insanity. They are
expected to lead a life of great sanctity and honesty; and are looked up to with
great reverence. They are not confined, I believe, to any particular fashion of
dress. The only pir I knew was one Sino, who was recognized as the deputy of Sheikh
Nasr, and had suffered imprisonment in his stead.
The Sheikhs are next in rank. They are acquainted with the hymns,
and are expected to know something of Arabic, the language in which the hymns
are written. Their dress should be entirely white, except the skull-cap beneath
the turban, which is black. As servants of Sheikh Adi, they are the guardians
of his tomb, keep up the holy fires, and bring provisions and fuel to those who
dwell within its precincts, and to pilgrims of distinction. They always wear round
their bodies a band of red and black, or red and orange plaid, as the mark of
their office; with it they bind together the wood, and other supplies which they
bring to the sacred edifice. The women carry the same badge, and are employed
in the same services. There are always several sheikhs residing in the valley
of Sheikh Adi. They watch over the tomb, and receive pilgrims; taking charge in
rotation of the offerings that may be brought, or selling the clay balls and other
relics.
The Cawals, or preachers, appear to be the most active members of the priesthood.
They are sent by Hussein Bey and Sheikh Nasr on missions, going from village to
village with the symbol of the bird as teachers of the doctrines of the sect.
They alone are the performers on the flute and tamborine; both instruments being
looked upon, to a certain extent, as sacred. I observed that before, and after,
using the tamborine they frequently kissed it, and then held it to those near
them, to be similarly saluted. They are taught singing at a very early age, are
skillful musicians, and dance occasionally at festivals. They usually know a little
Arabic, but barely more than necessary to get through their chants and hymns.
Their robes are generally white, although colored stuffs are not forbidden; but
their turbans, unlike those of the sheikhs, are black, as are also their skull-caps.
The Fakirs are the lowest in the priesthood. They wear coarse dresses of black,
or dark brown cloth, or canvas, descending to the knee and fitting tightly to
the person; and a black turban, across which is generally tied a red kerchief. They perform all menial offices connected with the tomb, trim and light
the votive lamps, and keep clean the sacred buildings.
While each tribe and district of Yezidis has its own chief, and Hussein Bey
is really both political and religious head of the whole sect, Sheikh Nasr is
looked up to as the high-priest, and is treated with great reverence and respect.
His office is hereditary; but the Yezidis frequently chose, without reference
to priority of claim, the one among the descendants of the last sheikh most qualified,
by his knowledge and character, to succeed him. The father of Sheikh Nasr held
the office for some years; and no one better suited to it than the son could have
been chosen to fill his place.
The language in general use among all the Yezidis is a Kurdish dialect, and
very few, except the sheikhs and cawals, are acquainted with Arabic. The chants
and hymns, – the only form of prayer, which, as far as I could ascertain, they
possess, – are, as I have already stated, in Arabic. They have, I believe, a sacred
volume, containing their traditions, their hymns, directions for the performance
of their rites, and other matters connected with their religion. It is preserved
either at Baazini or Baasheikha, and is regarded with so much superstitious reverence
that I failed in every endeavor to obtain a copy, or even to see it. This I much
regretted, as its contents would probably throw new light upon the origin and
history of this remarkable sect, and would clear up many doubts which still hang
over their tenets. It is considered unlawful to know how to read and write. There
are only one or two persons among the Yezidis who can do either: even Sheikh Nasr
is unacquainted with the alphabet. Those who know how to read have only been taught
in order that they may preserve the sacred book, and may refer to it for the doctrines
and ceremonies of the sect.
The Yezidis have a tradition that they originally came from Busrah, and from
the country watered by the lower part of the Euphrates; and that, after their
emigration, they first settled in Syria, and subsequently took possession of the
Sinjar hill, and the districts they now inhabit in Kurdistan. This
tradition, with the peculiar nature of their tenets and ceremonies, points to
a Sabaean or Chaldean origin. With the scanty materials which we possess regarding
their history, and owing to the ignorance prevailing among the people themselves,
– for I believe that even the priests, including Sheikh Nasr, have but a very
vague idea of what they profess, and of the meaning of their religious forms,
– it is difficult to come to any conclusion as to the source of their peculiar
opinions and observances. There is in them a strange mixture of Sabaeanism, Christianity,
and Mohammedanism, with a tincture of the doctrines of the Gnostics and Manicheans.
Sabaeanism, however, appears to be the prevailing feature; and it is not improbable
that the sect may be a remnant of the ancient Chaldees, who have, at various times,
outwardly adopted the forms and tenets of the ruling people, to save themselves
from persecution and oppression: and have gradually, through ignorance, confounded
them with their own belief and mode of worship. Such has been the case with a
no less remarkable sect than the Sabaeans or Mendai (the Christians of St. John,
as they are commonly called), who still inhabit the banks of the Euphrates, and
the districts of ancient Susiana.
The Yezidis are known among themselves by the name of the district or tribe
to which they respectively belong. Those who inhabit the country near the foot
of the Kurdish Hills, are called Dasni or Daseni, most probably from the ancient
name of a province. 11 Tribes of Yezidis are found in the north
of Syria, in Northern Kurdistan, Georgia (where they have migrated), Gebel Tour,
Bohtan, Sheikhan, and Missouri. In the plains, their principal settlements are
in the villages of Baazani, Baasheikha, and Semil.
Having spent three days at Sheikh Adi, and witnessed all the ceremonies at
which a stranger could be present, I prepared to return to Mosul. Hussein Bey,
Sheikh Nasr, and the principal sheikhs and cawals, insisted upon accompanying
me about three miles down the valley; as I preferred this road to the precipitous
pathway over the mountains. After parting with me, the chiefs returned to the
tomb to finish their festival. I made my way to the village of Ain Sifni, and
reached Mosul early in the afternoon.
Tahyar Pashaw had for some time been planning an expedition to the Sinjar,
not with any hostile intention, but for the purpose of examining the state of
the country; which had been ruined by the vexatious extortions, and cruelty of
the late governor of Mosul. He had previously sent an agent to inquire into the
condition of the villages; and a deputation of the inhabitants had returned with
him to petition for a diminution of taxes, which, from the destitute state of
the district, they were unable to pay.
His excellency had invited me to accompany him on this expedition, the arrangements
for which, after numerous delays, were completed on the 8th of October. Three
o’clock of that day was declared to be the fortunate hour for leaving the town.
The principal inhabitants, with the cadi and mufti at their head, were collected
in the large square opposite the palace and without the walls, ready to accompany
the pashaw, as a mark of respect, some distance from the gates. It was with difficulty
that I made my way to the apartments of the governor, through the crowd of irregular
troops, and servants which thronged the court-yard of the serai. The attendants
of his Excellency were hurrying to and fro, laden with every variety of utensil
and instrument; some carrying gigantic telescopes, or huge bowls in leathern cases;
others laboring under bundles of pipe sticks, or bending under the weight of calico
bags crammed with state documents. The gray headed kiayah had inserted his boots
into a pair of capacious boots, leaving room enough for almost any number of intruders.
Round his fez, and the lower part of his face, were wound endless folds of white
linen, which gave him the appearance of a patient emerging from a hospital; and
he carried furs and cloaks enough to keep out the cold of the frigid
zone. The Divan Effendesi, although a man of the pen, strutted about with sword
and spurs, followed by clerks and inkstand bearers. At the door of the harem waited
a bevy of aghas; among them the lord of the towel, the lord of the washing-basin,
the lord of the cloak, the chief of the coffee-makers, and the chief of the pipe-bearers,
the treasurer, and the seal bearer. 12 At length the pashaw
approached; the cawasses forced the crowd out of the way; and his excellency placed
his foot in the stirrup, the trumpet sounded as a signal for the procession to
move onward. First came a regiment of infantry, followed by a company of artillerymen
with their guns. The trumpeters, and the pashaw’s own standard, a mass of green
silk drapery, embroided with gold, with verses from the Koran, succeeded; behind
were six led Arab horses, richly caparisoned in colored saddle-cloths, glittering
with gold embroidery. The pashaw himself then appeared, surrounded by the chiefs
of the town and the officers of his household. The procession was finished by
the irregular cavalry, divided into companies, each headed by its respective commander,
and by the wild Suiters, with their small kettle-drums fastened in front of their
saddles.
I was accompanied by my cawass and my own servants, and rode as it best suited,
and amused me, in different parts of the procession. We reached Hamaydat, a ruined
village on the banks of the Tigris, three caravan hours from Mosul, about sunset.
Here we had the first proofs of the commissariat arrangements; for there was neither
food for ourselves nor the horses, and we all went supperless to bed.
On the following day, after a ride of six hours through a barren and uninhabited
plain, bounded to the east and west by ranges of low limestone hills, we reached
a ruined village, built on the summit of an ancient artificial mound, called Abou
Maria. The Aneyza Arabs were known to be out on this side of the Euphrates, and
during our march we observed several of their scouts watching our movements.
The irregular cavalry frequently rushed off in pursuit; but the Arabs, turning
their fleet mares toward the desert, were soon lost in the distance.
We passed the ruins of three villages. The plain, once thickly inhabited, is
now deserted; and the wells, formerly abundant, are filled up. In spring, the
Arab tribe of Jehesh frequently encamp near the pools of water supplied by the
rains. The remains of buildings, and the traces of former cultivation, prove that
at some period, not very remote, others than the roving Bedouins dwelt on these
lands; while the artificial mounds, scattered over the face of the country, show
that long ere the Mussulman invasion, this was one of the flourishing districts
of ancient Assyria.
A most abundant spring issues from the foot of the mound of Abou Maria. The
water is collected in large, well-built reservoirs. Near them is a mill, now in
ruins, but formerly turned by the stream, within a few yards of its source. Such
an ample supply of water, although brackish to the taste, must always have attracted
a population in a country where it is scarce. The village, which was deserted
during the oppressive government of Mohammed Pashaw, belonged to the Jehesh.
Three hours’ ride, still over the desert, brought us to Tel Afer, which we
reached suddenly on emerging from a range of low hills. The place had a much more
important and flourishing appearance than I could have expected. A very considerable
eminence, partly artificial, is crowned by a castle, whose walls are flanked by
numerous towers of various shapes. The town, containing some well-built houses,
lies at the foot of the mound, and is partly surrounded by gardens wooded with
olive, fig, and other fruit trees; beyond this cultivated plot is the broad expanse
of the desert. A spring, as abundant as that of Abou Maria, gushes out of a rock
beneath the castle, supplies the inhabitants with water, irrigates their gardens,
and turns their mills.
Tel Afer was once a town of some importance; it is mentioned by
the early Arab geographers, and may perhaps be identified with the Telassar of
Isaiah, referred to, as it is, in connection with Gozan and Haran.
13 It has been three times besieged, within a few years, by
Ali Pashaw of Baghdad, Hafiz Pashaw, and Injeh Bairakdar Mohammed Pashaw. On each
occasion the inhabitants offered a vigorous resistance. Mohammed Pashaw took the
place by assault. More than two thirds of the inhabitants were put to the sword,
and the property of the remainder was confiscated. Great wealth is
said to have been discovered in the place, on its pillage by Mohammed Pashaw,
who took all the gold and silver, and distributed the remainder of the spoil among
his soldiers.
The inhabitants of Tel Afer are of Turcoman origin, and speak the Turkish language.
They occasionally intermarry, however, with the Arabs, and generally understand
Arabic.
Toward evening I ascended the mound, and visited the castle, in which was quartered
a small body of irregular troops. The houses, formerly inhabited by families whose
habitations are now built at the foot of the artificial hill, are in ruins, except
that occupied by the commander of the garrison. From the walls I had an uninterrupted
view over a vast plain, stretching westward toward the Euphrates, and losing itself
in the hazy distance. The ruins of ancient towns and villages rose on all sides;
and, as the sun went down, I counted above one hundred mounds, throwing their
dark and lengthening shadows across the plain. These were the remains of Assyrian
civilization and prosperity. Centuries have elapsed since a settled population
dwelt in this district of Mesopotamia. Now, not even the tent of the Bedouin could
be seen. The whole was a barren, deserted waste.
We remained two days at Tel Afer. The commissariat was replenished, as far
as possible, from the scanty stores of the inhabitants. The pashaw recommended
forbearance and justice; but his advice was not followed; nor were his orders
obeyed. The houses were broken into, and a general pillage ensued. At length,
on the 13th, we resumed our march.
The Sinjar is about thirty miles distant from Tel Afer. A very low range of
hills diverges from its southern spur, and unites with that behind the town. The
pashaw, with his troops, took the road across the plain.
We passed the first night on the banks of a small salt stream, near the ruins
of a village, called, by the people of the Sinjar and Tel Afer, Zabardok; and
by the Arabs simply Kharba, or the ruins. We had seen, during the day, several
other ruins, and water courses. The second day we encamped in the plain,
near the southern end of the Sinjar mountain, and under the village of Mirkan,
the white houses of which, rising one above the other on the declivity, were visible
from below. Here the pashaw was met by all the chiefs of the mountain, except
those of the small district in which we had halted.
Mirkan is one of the principal Yezidi settlements in the Sinjar. Its inhabitants
had been exposed to great extortions, and many were put to death by Mohammed Pashaw.
They expected similar treatment at our hands. No promises could remove their fears,
and they declared their intention of resolutely defending their village. The pashaw
sent up an officer of his household, with a few irregular troops, to reassure
them, and to restore obedience. I accompanied him. As we entered the village we
were received by a general discharge of fire arms. Two horsemen, who had accidentally,
– and as I thought at the time somewhat disrespectfully, – pushed forward before
the officer and myself, fell dead at our feet, and several of our party were wounded.
The pashaw, exasperated at this unprovoked and wanton attack, ordered an advance
of the hytas and Arab irregulars; who, long thirsting for plunder, hastened toward
the village. The Yezidis had already deserted it, and had taken refuge in a narrow
gorge; abounding in caverns and isolated rocks, – their usual place of refuge
on such occasions.
The village was soon occupied; the houses were entered, and plundered of the
little property that had been left behind. A few aged women and decrepit old men,
too infirm to leave with the rest, and found hiding in the small dark rooms, were
murdered, and their heads severed from their bodies. Blazing fires were made in
the neat dwellings, and the whole village was delivered to the flames. Even the
old pashaw, with his gray hair and tottering step, hurried to and fro among the
smoking ruins, and helped to add the torch where the fire was not doing its work.
The old Turkish spirit of murder and plunder was roused; the houses
were soon burnt to the ground; but the inhabitants were still safe. When the irregulars
had secured all the property they could discover, they rushed toward the gorge,
scarcely believing that the Yezidis would venture to oppose them. But they were
received by a steady and well directed fire. The foremost fell, almost to a man.
The caverns were high up among the rocks, and all attempts to reach them completely
failed. The contest was carried on till night; when the troops, dispirited and
beaten, were called back to their tents.
In the evening the heads of the miserable old men and women, taken in the village,
were paraded about the camp; and those who were fortunate enough to possess such
trophies wandered from tent to tent, claiming a present as a reward for their
prowess. I appealed to the pashaw, who had been persuaded that every head brought
to him was that of a powerful chief, and after some difficulty prevailed upon
him to have them buried; but the troops were not willing to obey his orders, and
it was late in the night before they were induced to resign their bloody spoil,
which they had arranged in grim array, and lighted up with torches.
On the following morning the contest was renewed; but the Yezidis defended
themselves with undiminished courage. The loss of the hytas was very considerable;
not a cavern had been carried; nor a Yezidis, as far as the assailants could tell,
killed, or even wounded.
The next day the pashaw ordered a fresh attack. To encourage his men he advanced
himself into the gorge, and directed his carpet to be spread on a rock. Here he
sat, with the greatest apathy, smoking his pipe, and carrying on a frivolous conversation
with me, although he was the object of the aim of the Yezidis; several persons
within a few feet of us falling dead, and the balls frequently throwing up the
dirt into our faces. Coffee was brought to him occasionally as usual, and his
pipe was filled when the tobacco was exhausted; yet he was not a soldier, but
what is termed “a man of the pen.” I have frequently seen similar instances
of calm indifference in the midst of danger among Turks, when such displays were
scarcely called for, and would be very unwillingly made by an European. Notwithstanding
the example set by his excellency, and the encouragement which his presence gave
to the troops, they were not more successful in their attempts to dislodge the
Yezidis than they had been the day before. One after another, the men were carried
out of the ravine, dead or dying. The wounded were brought to the pashaw, who
gave them water, money, or words of encouragement. The “Ordou cadesi,” or cadi
of the camp, reminded them that it was against the infidels they were fighting;
that every one who fell by the enemies of the prophet was rewarded with instant
translation to Paradise; while those who killed an unbeliever were entitled to
the same inestimable privilege. The dying were comforted, and the combatants animated
by the promises and exhortations of the cadi; who, however, kept himself well
out of the way of danger behind a rock.
Attempts were made during the day to induce the Yezidis to surrender, and there
was some chance of success. However, night drew near, and hostilities still continued.
The regular and irregular troops were then posted at all the known places of access
to the gorge. The morning came, and the attack was recommenced. No signs of defense
issued from the valley. The hytas rushed in, but were no longer met by the steady
fire of the previous day. They paused, fearing some trick or ambuscade; they advanced
cautiously, but still unnoticed. They reached the mouths of the caves; – no one
opposed them. It was some time, however, before they ventured to look into them.
They were empty. The Yezidis had fled during the night, and had left the ravine
by some pathway known only to themselves, and which had escaped the watchfulness
of the Turkish soldiery.
While attempts were being made to discover the retreat of the fugitives, the
Turkish camp remained near the village of Mirkan. I took this opportunity of visiting
other parts of the Sinjar. The residence of the governor of the district
is in the village built among the ruins of the old city – the Singara of the Romans,
and the “Belled Sinjar” of the Arabs. A small mud fort, raised a few years ago,
stands on a hill in the midst of the remains of walls and foundations; but the
principal part of the ancient city appears to have occupied the plain below. Around
this fort, at the time of my visit, were congregated about two hundred families.
The Yezidi inhabitants of the village, unlike those of the other districts, are
mixed with Mussulmans. The latter, however, are so lax in their religious observances,
and in dress so like the Yezidis, that it is difficult to distinguish them from
the unbelievers. I was continually falling into mistakes, and eliciting a very
indignant exclamation of “God forbid!”
It would be difficult to point out, with any degree of certainty, ruins at
Belled Sinjar more ancient than the Mohammedan conquest. It became a place of
some importance in the early ages of Islam, and had its own semi-independent rulers.
There are the remains of several fine buildings; and the lower part of a minaret,
constructed, like that of the great mosque of Mosul, of colored tiles and bricks,
is a conspicuous object from all parts of the plain. There are very abundant springs
within the circuit of the old walls; the air is declared to be salubrious, and
the soil rich and productive.
All the villages of the Sinjar are built upon one plan. The houses rise on
the hill sides, and are surrounded by terraces, formed of rough stones piled one
above the other as walls, to confine the scanty earth. These terraces are planted
with olive and fig-trees; a few vineyards are found near some villages. The houses,
which are flat-roofed, are exceedingly clean and neat, and frequently contain
several apartments. The walls of the interior are full of small recesses, like
pigeon holes, which are partly ornamental, and partly used to keep the domestic
utensils and property of the owner. They give a very singular and original appearance
to the rooms; and the oddity of the effect is considerably increased
by masses of red and black paint daubed in patches on the white wall.
The principal, and indeed now the only, trade carried on by the inhabitants
of the Sinjar, is in dried figs, which are celebrated in this part of Turkey,
and supply all the markets in the neighboring provinces. The soil is fertile,
and, as the means of irrigation are abundant, corn and various useful articles
of produce might be raised in great plenty from the extensive tracts of arable
land belonging to the villages. But the people have been almost ruined by misgovernment;
they can now scarcely cultivate corn enough for their own immediate wants.
The pashaw still lingered at Mirkan; and as I was anxious to return to Mosul,
to renew the excavations, I took my leave of him, and rode through the desert
to Tel Afer. I was accompanied by a small body of irregular cavalry, – a necessary
escort, as the Aneyza Arabs were hanging about the camp, and plundering stragglers
and caravans of supplies. As evening approached, we saw, congregated near a small
stream, what appeared to be a large company of dismounted Arabs, their horses
standing by them. As we were already near them, and could not have escaped the
watchful eye of the Bedouin, we prepared for an encounter. I placed the baggage
in the center of my small party, and spread out the horsemen as widely as possible
to exaggerate our numbers. We approached cautiously, and were surprised to see
that the horses still remained without their riders: we drew still nearer, when
they all galloped off toward the desert. They were wild asses. We attempted to
follow them. After running a little distance they stopped to gaze at us, and I
got sufficiently near to see them well; but as soon as they found that we were
in pursuit, they hastened their speed, and were soon lost in the distance.
14
I reached Mosul in two days, taking the road by Kessi Kupri, and
avoiding the desert beyond Abou-Maria, which we had crossed on our march to the
Sinjar.
1 The term Sheitan (equivalent to Satan) is usually
applied in the East to a clever, cunning, or daring fellow.
2 The dedication of the bull to the sun, so generally
recognized in the religious systems of the ancients, probably originated in Assyria,
and the Yezidis may have unconsciously preserved a myth of their ancestors.
3 I had afterward an opportunity of seeing the Melek
Taous. It is the fanciful image of a bird supported by a stand resembling a candlestick,
the whole being of bronze.
4 It will be remembered that in the book of Tobit (12:15)
Raphael is made to say: “I am Raphael, one of the seven holy angels, which present
the prayers of the saints, and which go in and out before the glory of the Holy
One.” “The seven spirits before the throne of God” are mentioned in Revelations
1:4; 4:5. This number seven, in the hierarchy of the Celestial Host, and in many
sacred things, appears to have been connected with Chaldean traditions, and celestial
observations.
5 Theophanes (Chronographia, p. 492 ed. Bon), mentions
a settlement of Iesdem, on the lesser Zab, near which the Emperor Heracleus encamped
– (GREEK) kai Hpilkeusen eis tous oikous tou Issdem. They may have been Yezidis,
and of the ancestors of the present sect. Major Rawlinson has pointed out the
name as occurring in Adiabene.
6 I must observe that although the inscriptions, in
the sanctuary described were all addressed to Sheikh Shems, and that both Sheikh
Nasr and the cawals assured me that it was dedicated to the sun, it is just possible
that under the title of Sheikh Shems, some other object than the sun or some particular
person is designated, and that my informants were unwilling to enter into any
explanation.
7 Some travelers have asserted that they will not blow
out a candle; but such is not the case; nor is it an insult to spit in their presence.
8 All Eastern sects appear to have had some Kubleh,
or holy point, to which the face was to be turned during prayer. The Jews, it
will be remembered, looked toward Jerusalem. The Sabaeans, according to some,
to the north star, or, according to others, toward that part of the heavens in
which the sun rises. The early Christians chose the East; Mohammed who recognized
the general custom, and found it necessary to adhere to it appointed the holy
Kaaba of Mecca to be the Kubleh of his disciples.
9 Hibiscus Esculentus.
10 This is a Kurdish (Persian) title, – it means, literally,
an old man.
11 There is a tribe of Kurds of this name, living in
the mountains near Suleimaniyah.
12 These are all offices in the household of a Turkish
pashaw.
13 Isaiah 37:12. The name does not occur elsewhere
in the Bible; and we have consequently no means of determining its locality.
14 The reader will remember that Xenophon mentions
these beautiful animals which he must have seen during his march in these very
plains. He faithfully describes the country, and the animals and birds which inhabit
it, as they are to this day, except that the ostrich is not now to be found so
far north. “The country,” says he, “was a plain throughout, as even as the sea,
and full of wormwood; if any other kinds of shrubs or reeds grew there, they had
all an aromatic smell; but no trees appeared. Of wild creatures, the most numerous
were wild asses, and not a few ostriches, besides bustards and roe deer (gazelles),
which our horsemen sometimes chased. The asses, when they were pursued, having
gained ground of the horses, stood still (for they exceeded them much in speed);
and when these came up with them, they did the same thing again; so that our horsemen
could take them by no other means but by dividing themselves into relays, and
succeeding one another in the chase. The flesh of those that were taken was like
that of red deer, but more tender.” (Anab. lib. i. c. 5.) In fleetness they equal
the gazelle: and to overtake them is a feat which only one or two of the most
celebrated mares have been known to accomplish. The Arabs sometimes catch the
foals during the spring, and bring them up with milk in their tents. I endeavored
in vain to rear a pair. They are of a light fawn-color – almost pink. The Arabs
still eat their flesh. The “wild asses of the desert” are mentioned in Job 34:5,
39:5.
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