AN OLD WORLD CRAFT, A TYPE OF BOAT UNCHANGED SINCE THE DAYS OF SINBADAN OLD WORLD CRAFT, A TYPE OF BOAT UNCHANGED SINCE THE DAYS OF SINBAD
Here was a find, too good to be lost, a high tower on a mound visible from afar and unrivalled by any equally picturesque claimant. It looked the part splendidly, so the Tower of Babel it should be as far as Brown was concerned.
Tower of Babel (Fig. 3).Tower of Babel (Fig. 3).
As a matter of fact, Brown "let himself go" with historical speculations and discovered not only that this was the Tower of Babel, but that it was the site of Nebuchadnezzar's fiery furnace, with evident signs, from a fragment of calcined brick, which he bore away in triumph, that it had been heated seven times hotter on some occasion.
We climbed about the ruin, unearthed several coins, which seemed quite plentiful in one place where the rain had washed down the side of a small mound, and found obvious signs of some great conflagration. Brown saysthat, as no one has got any better explanation of this fire than he has, he will stick to his furnace theory.
The native driver turned up all right with the car and took us back to Hillah. From there we crossed the river by the bridge of boats and at a distance of about five miles came upon the scene of the great excavations, which, although the city is said to have extended over an area of some 200 square miles, is generally known as the site of Babylon. It was in 1899, that the German archæologist, Dr. Koldeway, began excavations on a large scale and with systematic care.
Although Babylon was a site occupied by some city in prehistoric times, as stone and flint implements denote, the earliesthousesof which there are any traces belong to about 2000b.c. It was Nebuchadnezzar, however (605—562b.c.), who rebuilt the city and made it very splendid, and it is to this period of his reign that the greater part of the ruins of the great city belong. The mound Babil is thought to be the palace of Nebuchadnezzar II. An inscription reads: "On the brick wall towards the north my heart inspired me to build a palace for the protecting of Babylon. I built there a palace, like the palace of Babylon, of brick and bitumen."
BELLAMS UNDER SAILBELLAMS UNDER SAIL
The principal excavations are in the Kasr, at one time a vast block of buildings where are still the traces of a great and broad street used as a processional road to the temple of E-Sagila, which lies to the south about 700 yards away. Some of the stones of this road are in their originalplaces, and there are pieces of brick pavement, each bearing cuneiform characters. If you take up a brick and look at it casually, you might think that it had "Jones & Co." or the "Sittingbourne Brick Co." stamped upon it and it does not look at all old. It is rather startling to be told that the letters read:—
"I am Nebuchadnezzar, King of Babylon; I paved the Babel Way with blocks ofshadustone for the procession of the great lord Marduk. O Marduk, Lord, grant long life."
These mounds of the Kasr have suffered by successive generations of brick getters. Half Hillah is said to be built out of bricks from the ruins of Babylon, and bricks are still taken for any building operations that occur within easy access of these well-nigh inexhaustible supplies. In one place, the Temple of Nin-Makh, the Great Mistress, there are to be found an immense number of little clay images, thought to be votive offerings made by women to the great Mother Goddess.
In the Mound of Amram, according to Major R. Campbell Thompson, are traces of the E-Temenanki referred to in Murray's handbook as not yet identified. [My Murray's handbook is 15 years old.] He writes, in a most useful little book published in Baghdad, 1918, "History and Antiquities of Mesopotamia":—"A hundred yards north of the north slope of Amram is the ancientzigurrator temple-tower of the famous E-Temenanki: 'the foundation stone of Heaven and Earth' (the Towerof Babylon). The enclosing wall forms almost a square, and part has been excavated, but all the buildings have suffered from brick-robbers. The remains of the actual Tower are towards the south-west corner.
"Many ancient restorations were carried out here. Professor Koldeway found inscriptions of Esarhaddon and Sardanapalus and thereafter inscriptions of Babylonian Kings. Herodotus calls the group of buildings 'the brazen-doored sanctuary of Zeus Below,' and he describes the zigurrat as a temple-tower in eight stages. The cuneiform records of Nabopolassar relate how the god Marduk commanded him 'to lay the foundation of the Tower of Babylon ... firm on the bosom of the underworld while its top should stretch heavenwards.'"
The first impression of the Kasr is that of a shelled town or mined flour mill, where nothing remains but the lower walls of buildings. From a painter's point of view, the scene of this great city, about which he has pictured so much, is somewhat disappointing. There is such an absence of anything suggestive of palaces and streets. Frankly, the ruins of the cement works at Frindsbury are, pictorially, far more suggestive. I have always said that the hanging gardens of Borstal knocked spots off the hanging gardens of Babylon, and now I know it. So much for a first impression.
After awhile, however, wandering amongst these hummocks and pits, with here and there a suggestion of a gateway or pavement, the glamour of it all begins to return.
BABYLON THE GREAT IS FALLEN, IS FALLENBABYLON THE GREAT IS FALLEN, IS FALLEN
It is not to the eye that the appeal of poetry is made, but to the imagination.
There is a figure of a stone lion trampling on a man, but this was unearthed and set up by a French engineer, and is not explanatory of any scheme of sculptural work. It is merely a monument. There is also a brick pillar, the bricks being uncommonly like London stock bricks, which might be part of a fallen chimney in a ruined factory. These are the only architectural signs at first visible.
On descending to the passages and ways made by the base walls of buildings, lions and monsters moulded in the brickwork appear, but they are only to be seen at close quarters, and in one part of this vast wilderness of brick, and do not affect in any way the general character of the place—a place of loneliness and of utter desolation. The whole area is like a small range of hills, down the slopes of which are steep descents to clefts sometimes filled with reeds and rushes and stagnant pools of water. The site of the world-renowned hanging gardens is now marked by a series of nondescript lumps. The great temple of Marduk is a dusty heap of brick rubbish, and the Palace of Nebuchadnezzar appears as a mean slag heap looking down upon a land desolate and empty.
This is Babylon, the glory of kingdoms, the beauty of the Chaldees.
"It shall never be inhabited, neither shall it be dwelt in from generation to generation; neither shall the Arabianpitch tent there; neither shall the shepherds make their fold there.
"But wild beasts of the desert shall lie there; and their houses shall be full of doleful creatures; and owls shall dwell there and satyrs shall dance there.
"And the wild beasts of the islands shall cry in their desolate houses, and dragons in their pleasant palaces."
Chapter Footer
Goufas on the Tigris.Goufas on the Tigris.
Chapter Header
Somewhere in Mesopotamia, in the desert country that lies between the Euphrates at Felujeh and the Tigris, and in the neighbourhood of a walled-in group of buildings known as Khan Nuqtah, in the month of February of this year, and on a singularly miserable and rainy afternoon, there might have been seen a dark object moving very slowly across the uninteresting field of vision. At a distance it would not have been very easy to make out the nature of the thing, and a newcomer to the scene, with no local knowledge of circumstantial evidence to guide him, would have hesitated between a buffalo or a hippopotamusand finally given a vote in favour of it being some slime-crawling saurian that we come across in pictures of antediluvian natural history.
A closer view, however, would have made clear to him that it was no animal, but some species of tank, coated and covered with mud, accompanied by three similarly encased attendants, probably human beings, staggering and skidding about in its immediate vicinity. From time to time, one of these three would mount on the head or fore-part of this object, with the effect of causing it to slide and plunge forward for a few yards to stick again and again, snorting and panting and unable apparently to make any further progress.
A detective, equipped with a certain amount of motor knowledge, might have been able to discern that the mud-encrusted monster was a Ford car. A tailor, whose technical training would help him to penetrate the disguise of thick slime, might have been able to recognize by the cut of their clothes that the first of the three figures was an R.A.F. driver and the other two were naval officers. As a matter of fact one of these forlorn representatives of our boasted sea-power was Brown, and the other one, although I think he would have hesitated to swear to his identity at the time, was the unfortunate writer of these chronicles.
There was no doubt about it; we were done.
"At the present rate of progress we shall reach Baghdad in about ten days," said the driver, "and it's getting worse."
A STREET IN KHADAMAINA STREET IN KHADAMAIN
A few more hours' rain and no power on earth would move the car an inch. We knew from experience that nothing could be done for four or five days, so we faced the situation philosophically, shouldered a bag each and staggered in the sliding mud in the direction of the Khan. We started off with no illusions as to our fate if we encountered rain, and were therefore quite prepared for this. There was nothing for it but to camp out somehow until the sun had been given a chance. The fact that we had been able to reach this point with the Khan and railway close at hand was a piece of luck for which we were thankful.
Brown was by far the best exponent of this art of walking in mud while carrying weight. The driver was quite good at it, having had considerable practice on similar occasions. I was uncompromisingly bad. I sat down three or four times to the driver's once. Brown did not sit down at all, but he did some amazing movements in skidding, reminding one in a somewhat vague way of the tramp cyclist of the music-hall stage.
I have often thought since these days of mud in Mesopotamia that a vast fortune might be made by some one who could find a commercial use for a substance, as slippery as oil, as indelible in staining properties as walnut juice, and as adhesive as fish glue. Large quantities of Mesopotamian mud could be shipped to London and made up into tubes. Then all that would be necessary would be three distinctive labels. One could describe it as a wonderfullubricant and cheap substitute for machine oil. Another could proclaim to the world a new washable distemper. A third could laud it as a marvellous paste or cement that would adhere to anything whatsoever.
"There is one comfort," Brown gasped in an interval between two very energetic spells of sliding, "if we can't move the Ford, nobody else can!"
In the circumstances of the moment I cannot say that I felt much "comfort" in contemplating the car's condition. In fact I didn't care in the least whether I saw the thing again or not. All I cared about was reaching the Khan and putting down my bag. We found tracks where some scrubby plants were growing, where the surface was passable, but as we neared the entrance to the Khan, where carts and horsemen had made a veritable quagmire, we stuck, all three, without apparently any prospect of getting on at all unless we abandoned our baggage. However, some Arabs came to our assistance and relieved us of our burdens, so that we gained our objective.
Beginning our toilet by scraping each other down with a ruler, so that we could see which was which, we soon evolved into something like our normal selves. We had a few clothes to change into, but neither Brown nor I had a complete set of everything. The result was that Brown looked like a naval officer that had taken up cement making and I appeared to be a cement worker, finished off, as the eye followed me downwards, with very smart trousers and regulation naval boots.
MOONLIGHT, BAGHDADMOONLIGHT, BAGHDAD
The Khan was a poor enough shelter as far as accommodation went, but we managed to make up a good fire and get tolerably dry. Some tea, made by the ever resourceful driver, raised our spirits considerably, and we talked over plans for the immediate future. Enquiries revealed the fact that we were in great luck about trains, which appeared at intervals of several days, as one was due in a few hours that would reach Baghdad the same night. The driver had found others held up with their cars, so we left him to stand by till better weather made movement possible and decided to put in a few days at Baghdad instead of waiting here.
At about 7 o'clock, a train of miscellaneous construction steamed in from the direction of Dhibban, bound for Baghdad. This bit of line runs from Baghdad to the Euphrates and is important because it links up the two great waterways and is always available when motor transport is impossible on account of the state of the roads.
We clambered into a covered van, specially reserved—a sort of Mesopotamian Pullman car. It contained a great litter of odd baggage and two Hindu officers who were very luxuriously fitted up with beds and a table. Divesting ourselves of our wet trench-coats, for it was still raining, we made some sort of a seat of our bags and were tolerably comfortable. Brown, who, now that he was dry and warm and well fed, was in the highest spirits, prophesied that our arrival in the enchanted city of the Arabian Nights was well timed, for it was Friday night, when all the mosques would be lighted up.
"A million tapers flaring brightFrom twisted silvers look'd to shameThe hollow-vaulted dark, and stream'dUpon the mooned domes aloofIn inmost Bagdat, till there seem'dHundreds of crescents on the roofOf night new-risen."[2]
So sang Brown, with a map spread out, proving to me that we must alight at Baghdad South to get the best effect as we gazed entranced at the night glory of Bagdat's shrines of fretted gold and walked on to find romance and mystery by many a shadow-chequer'd lawn.
"So much better," he argued, "to approach it gradually like this instead of arriving in a matter-of-fact way by train." It was still raining hard, and I had grave doubts about the splendour we were enjoying so much in anticipation, but I did not throw all cold water on his scheme, especially as much of it was planned for my benefit. Art would be the richer, although we, its humble devotees, might be the wetter.
I forget now, very clearly what did happen when we arrived at Baghdad South, because we had stopped some time, shunting about, and did not know that we were there. When at last we discovered that we were at the station the train was just moving off. Brown shouted to me to jump out and take our bags. I did so as best I could, but found myself up to my ankles in liquid mud, not a good position at any time for catching heavy baggage at a height, butsingularly awkward in view of the fact that Brown in the dark could not see where I was and hurled the bags just out of reach, but sufficiently near to me to cover me with a kind of soup.
A NOCTURNE OF BAGHDADA NOCTURNE OF BAGHDAD
My next recollection is that of Brown, dark against the sky, describing a parabolic curve and alighting further up the line. The train had gone, and a sloppy gurgling noise mingled with muffled exclamations growing more distinct indicated that Brown was endeavouring to walk in my direction. These were the only sounds that interrupted the steady noise of pouring rain. There was nothing in sight. Not only was it that we could not see the splendour of Baghdad; we could not see each other.
After an interval of groping about and finding bearings, we began to get accustomed to the gloom and discerned some sheds or buildings up the line. Thinking this was the station we plodded on as steadily as possible through the mud. Dimly, through the rain, we could make out some palms and what appeared to be a domed building and a minaret. Then we reached a large wooden shed out of the shadow of which loomed an engine. It evidently had steam up, so we stopped and gave it a hail.
I think I shall never forget the surprise of the next few minutes. As if in answer to our hail, a door opened in the dark mass of the shed and revealed a workshop brilliantly lighted. Out of this stepped an Arab with a lamp in his hand, and gave us an answering shout We stepped into the light. I don't know which was most surprised, thenative at seeing such curious figures staggering under large bags through the mud, or we, at beholding in the beam of light from the shed a magic vignette of palms, Eastern buildings and a large South Western Railway engine.
Brown was delighted.
"The slave of the lamp," he cried, "calling up spirits from the vasty mud. I don't believe this engine is real, but it will do to get us into Baghdad."
And itdid. We found a soldier driver and a stoker, got leave from headquarters to use the engine to run into Baghdad West, hurled our bags on to the coal in the tender and were transported unscathed by further mud to the quay by the waters of the Tigris. It was too dark to see much. A multitude of steamboats and mahailas lined the shore. The river was in flood and looked black and forbidding, and it was impossible to see across to the other side. The only light was supplied by a few electric lamps at intervals along the road. It still rained dismally and we made for a canteen close at hand. Here we felt quite at home, for there were several other arrivals as muddy as we were and even worse. Considering this was only a restaurant attached to a rest camp, we fared very well. Our baggage we left there and set out on foot to try and reach Navy House, which was the other side of the river. There were two boat-bridges we were told, and the upper one would lead us into the right quarter. The old Navy House, near to G.H.Q., was now used by some one else, and the British Navy, shrunk to very small proportionsas far as Baghdad was concerned, "carried on" in a back street.
A magic vignette of palms, Eastern buildings and a large South Western Railway engine."A magic vignette of palms, Eastern buildingsand a large South Western Railway engine."
Our first check was at the bridge. Owing to the river being in flood, it was open, that is, the middle section had been floated out, for fear that the hawsers would not stand the strain and the only road across was the Maude Bridge lower down.
Brown was delighted. The rain had stopped and he anticipated adventure. The idea of getting across the river in agoufaflashed across his mind, but a glance at the foaming, tearing water was sufficient deterrent even to an optimist like Brown. It might be done in daylight, but at night it would be suicide.
We decided to make our way through the narrow streets that led by the side of the river until we struck the main road that approached the bridge of boats half a mile or so down. In theory this sounded very feasible, but in practice, owing to the tortuous nature of the ways and to the fact that it was very dark, we soon got lost. Twice, when we thought we were progressing well, we came upon the same place again. Then we struck the river, more or less by accident, and took fresh bearings of the general direction we were to pursue.
We plunged into a covered way, arched overhead like a cloister. This had the advantage of being dry and our speed increased considerably. From time to time a dim light gave a glimmer to show us the way.
Suddenly we came upon a scene of strange beauty and dramatic effect."Suddenly we came upon a scene of strange beauty and dramatic effect."
It was late and there were few people about. Thefigures that flitted by were silent and mysterious. A window here and there was lighted up, but for the most part the houses were dark and without sign of life. We found no "splendours of the golden prime of good Haroun Alraschid," but for all that the narrow streets looked romantic and weird. The sky had cleared and the moonlight had given a glamour of phantasy to the vistas of the street.
Suddenly we came upon a scene of strange beauty and dramatic effect. A turn in this narrow and cloister-like way brought us to an arched opening, with some steps leading to the water. It was a sheltered inlet from the surging and swirling stream of the Tigris, a kind of pocket built round by crazy old balconied buildings. This was filled with goufas, the weird round boat of the upper river, and the animated scene of people either embarking or disembarking made a strange people. We saw this scene for a few moments only, as we made our way through the crowd at this point. I have since wondered where all these goufas were going. They could not have intended to cross the river under present conditions. I think the rapidly rising river must have upset all calculations as to mooring boats at this point and their owners were making sure that they were secure. The noise and apparent excitement was probably nothing but the usual Eastern custom of making a great fuss about nothing.
MAHAILASMAHAILAS
MARSH ARAB'S BELLAMMARSH ARAB'S BELLAM
At last, after much marching and counter-marching,we struck the main thoroughfare leading to the Maude bridge, which we crossed. The thick, seething waters foamed and struggled against the pontoons and swept down between them like roaring devils. We were very glad to get over, for it looked as though a little more force would have carried the whole thing away. Once clear of the bridge we found ourselves in New Street, the thoroughfare made since the British occupation, and incidentally we ran into a cheery naval officer who picked us up and deposited us again at Navy House, whither he was bound. Had we not received this timely aid I think we should have gone on looking for Navy House all night. A more amazing situation for it could not have been found, if you searched the world over.
Wedged in, cheek by jowl, with buildings that might have figured in the tall streets of old London, it lay nowhere near the water, down a very narrow and crooked lane, where mules and men, camels and beggars jostled each other on their lawful occasions.
When we had settled down there and had fine weather for several days, Brown, loath to waste the romance of old Baghdad during glorious moonlight nights, insisted on some mysterious expeditions which were for the purpose of adventure, but ostensibly arranged to give me an opportunity of sketching. He produced an Arab, arrayed in strange garments, to carry a light and generally act as a guide. We called him the slave of the lamp. I amquite certain that he thought Brown was mad, but this belief on the whole was rather an advantage, as he treated him with all the more respect because of his affliction, which he regarded as a special visitation of Allah.
By garden porches on the brim, The costly doors flung open wide."By garden porches on the brim,The costly doors flung open wide."
All round about the fragrant marge, From fluted vase and brazen urn, In order, Eastern flowers large."All round about the fragrant marge,From fluted vase and brazen urn,In order, Eastern flowers large."
I was surprised that he seemed to take great delight in my sketching, and several times, when I was making notes of some quaint latticed windows overhanging the narrow road, so that they nearly met, he became quite excited, chuckling and laughing to himself, as if in the enjoyment of some tremendous joke.
I discovered afterwards that Brown's native servant had been pulling the leg of our worthy slave, by telling him that these nightly expeditions were for the purpose of carrying off some ravishingly beautiful lady from one of the harems. No doubt he thought my sketching merely a blind. Measurements with a pencil were obviously part of some incantation.
While on the subject of sketching, especially quick note-taking under difficult conditions, I want a word with my fellow-craftsmen should they chance to take up this book. The difficulties of drawing by twilight, lamplight, and the still greater difficulty of drawing in colour under blazing sunlight, cannot easily be exaggerated. How many times has a sketch done in a failing light looked strong in tone, only to go to pieces when seen under normal conditions? How often the sunlight on your paper flatters your colours, so that you think you are improvising in a most joyousway, and when you get home you find nothing but dinginess and mud!
By Baghdad's shrines of fretted gold, High-walled gardens, green and old."By Baghdad's shrines of fretted gold,High-walled gardens, green and old."
Probably you have thought it out and found some solution as I did, but in case these difficulties are still formidable I will tell you ofoneway to reduce them to impotence. I take with me, on all occasions where there is to be great uncertainty of light, some coloured chalks. About six colours, picked to suit the kind of work attacked; either chalk pencils or hard pastilles will give you certain colour values in whatever light you find yourself, and even if you can hardly see what you are drawing thesemust, to some extent, standardize your values, so that your rough work can be washed over and brought up to any pitch of detail subsequently, without danger of the main tones of your sketch being wrong. The speed with which a sketch can be carried forward in this way, and the "quality" obtained by the rapid fusion of the chalk with the colour wash, are both pleasant surprises when experimenting in this medium.
Night after night we sallied forth and roamed about the narrow ways and tortuous turnings of old Baghdad. The bazaars are mostly covered in with arched masonry, and the effect is that of a long side aisle in a very untidy and greatly secularized cathedral. From time to time glimpses of the dark-blue, star-filled sky showed through openings overhead, and sometimes a quaintly framed view of a dome or minaret.
On one occasion we embarked in a goufa, and floateddown the rapidly flowing river, keeping close to the left bank and taking advantage of every eddy and corner of slack water made by projecting buildings, lest we should be swept down too far and lose control of our curious and difficult craft. The level of the water was far above the usual height and came up to the very thresholds of these riverside houses. We floated on, sometimes under the walls of dark gardens, sometimes getting glimpses of interiors—interiors which in this glamour of night romance suggested something of the splendour of Baghdad's old glory:—
"By garden porches on the brim,The costly doors flung open wide,Gold glittering through lamplight dim."
We landed by the Maude bridge and explored further afield, finding "high-walled gardens" where we beheld
"All round about the fragrant marge,From fluted vase and brazen urn,In order, Eastern flowers large."
By day, Baghdad is not so impressive. Too much squalor is apparent. Yet there are quaint street scenes.
Ancient windows, overhanging the street in one quarter, reminded me strongly of pictures of old London. The feature that I could not help noticing, not only in Baghdad but in all Mesopotamia, was the absence of local colour. It is true that the sun gives a blazing and confused suggestion of colour to objects by contrast with bluish shadows, especially in the evening, but there isoften very little colour in things themselves. The East is supposed to be full of blazing colour and the North gray and drab. Yet compare a barge in Rotterdam or Rochester with one in Baghdad. The former is picked out in green and gold and glows with rich, red sails, while the latter, for all its sunshine, is the colour of ashes—not a vestige often of paint or gilding. Some mahailas I found with traces of rich colouring, blue and yellow (see sketch facingpage 34), but this was exceptional. Perhaps the scarcity of paint during years of war may have had something to do with this noticeable absence of colouring in regard to both houses and boats. In spite of this slovenliness in detail there is colour and light in all recollections of Baghdad's dusty streets.
Somehow the discomfort and squalor is soon forgotten and the romance and picturesqueness of these far-off streets remains as a very pleasant memory amidst the winter fogs and coldness of our northern lands.
Showing the Simplicity of Mesopotamian Domestic Architecture. Tigris.Showing the Simplicity of Mesopotamian Domestic Architecture. Tigris.
Baghdad.Baghdad.
Chapter Header, Puffing Billy in BaghdadPuffing Billy in Baghdad
I suppose there is no city to be found anywhere in the world that would quite reach the standard of dazzling splendour of the Baghdad that we conjure up in our imagination when we think of the City of the Arabian Nights in the romantic days, so dear to our childhood, of Haroun-al-Raschid. We expect so much when we come to the real Baghdad, and we find so little—so little, that is, of the glamour of the East. Few "costly doors flung open wide," but a great deal of dirt. Few dark eyes of ravishingly beautiful women peering coylythrough lattice windows, but a great deal of sordid squalor. Few marvellous entertainments where we can behold the wonderful witchery of Persian dancing girls, but a theatre, the principal house of amusement in Baghdad—and lo, a man selling onions to the habitués of the stalls!
Of all the deadly dull shows I have ever seen I think the one I saw at Baghdad furnished about the dullest. There were two principal dancing girls—stars of the theatrical world of Mesopotamia—and a few others forming a kind of chorus. The orchestra, on the stage, consisted of a guitar, a sort of dulcimer, and a drum. The musicians made a most appalling noise and rocked to and fro, as if in the greatest enjoyment of the thrilling harmonies they were creating. The stars came on one at a time, the odd one out meanwhile augmenting the chorus, and sang a few verses of a song to a tune that can only be described as a Gregorian chant with squiggly bits thrown in. Of course I was unable to understand the words, but can bear witness to the fact that the tune did not vary the whole evening, and every gesture and attitude of the singer was exactly the same again and again as she went through the performance, and the dance which concluded each six or eight verses was also exactly the same every time. After this had been going on for about an hour the other girl came to the footlights. It was natural to expect a change; but no, she went through it all as if she had most carefully understudied the part. Neither of these girls was pretty or in the least attractive to look at. All I could assume, asthe audience seemed quite satisfied, was that the words must have been extraordinarily brilliant or that the Baghdad public was very easily entertained.
A bit of Old Baghdad.A bit of Old Baghdad.
The journey from Basra to Baghdad takes nearly a week in a "fast" steamer. It can be done, however, express, by taking the train from Basra to Amara, leaving Basra about five in the evening and arriving at Amara in the morning. Then the journey is continued by boat toKut, and thence from Kut in the evening by train, arriving in Baghdad in the early morning—the whole distance within two days. The railway does not run the whole way. The journey from Amara to Kut sounds a mere link across the river, as the full name of Kut is Kut-el-Amara, and most people naturally suppose Amara is part of Kut. This is another Amara, however. The Amara from which we embark for Kut, a day's journey in a fast boat, is a large camp, and quite a town for Mesopotamia, captured from the Turks, early in the war, by sheer bluff. The Turkish commandant surrendered to a naval launch under the impression that about half the sea-power of the British Empire lay in the offing. As a matter of fact no other help of any kind arrived until the next day, and all the surrendered forces were kept on good behaviour by a Lieutenant and a marine—I think with one revolver between them.
Kut looks quite an imposing place from across the river. The sketch at the top of this article shows it when the water of the Tigris was particularly high. It is drawn from the site of the famous liquorice factory, which is now represented by a few mud heaps and one rusted piece of machinery. The long arcade with brick pillars runs along the margin of the river, suggestive of some ancient Babylonian city from this distance, and is but a sorry enough place in reality.
A MOONLIGHT FANTASY: KUT FROM THE RUINS OF THE LICQUORICE FACTORYA MOONLIGHT FANTASY: KUT FROM THE RUINS OF THE LICQUORICE FACTORY
Very little of the Baghdad as we know it to-day is old. By tradition it was founded in 762a.d., and became therenowned capital of the Arab empire. It is said that the city grew till it covered some 25 square miles, reaching its high-water mark of splendour and magnificence under the Sultan Haroun-al-Raschid. The fame of its schools and learning was world-wide, and Baghdad became to the East what Rome became in the West.
For some five centuries this pre-eminence continued, until the Turkish nomadic tribes from Central Asia came on to the stage. They conquered Persia, Mesopotamia, and Syria.
The Turks extended their conquests to Egypt, and Baghdad, now on the decline, kept her head above water for another century. But Chingiz Khan, the Mongol, appeared on the scene, and his son and successor, Ogotay, overran the Caucasus, Hungary, and Poland. Baghdad was sacked by Hulagu in 1258, and the irrigation works of Mesopotamia were destroyed.
In spite of her decline and fall Baghdad is still a holy place to all faithful Mohammedans. It is the Mecca of the Shiah Mussulmans. Kerbela and Nejef are the great places of burial for the faithful, and among the common sights of the plains of Mesopotamia are endless caravans of corpses from the Persian hills or from the distant north.
The British occupation of Baghdad has been responsible for one broad street through the city, possible for ordinary traffic, but most of the bazaars are long covered-in ways, arched like cloisters and very picturesque at night. There are some wonderful blues on domes and minarets, but it isnot until you see the golden towers of Khadamain that you get any glimpse of the splendour of the golden prime of good Haroun-al-Raschid. Khadamain is a great place of pilgrimage, and so zealously guarded is the place that it is said no Christian would ever be allowed to come out of the great mosque alive. A golden chain hangs across the entrance. This can be seen in frontispiece sketch of this book. All good Mussulmans kiss this chain as they enter the sacred precincts.
From many delightful points of view the gleaming towers of this place, seen through the palms and reflected in the flooded lagoons at the margin of the river, do indeed give us something of the colour and romance that we had expected to see and yet so rarely find in the sun-baked lands of Mesopotamia.
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Blossoms and fruit at once of golden hue Appeared, with gay enamelled colours mixed."Blossoms and fruit at once of golden hueAppeared, with gay enamelled colours mixed."—Paradise Lost, IV.
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The statement often made that Mesopotamia is a vast desert through which run two great rivers, bare but for the palm trees on their banks and flat as a pancake, is true as far as it goes. It is possible, however, to picture a land entirely different from Mesopotamia and still stick to this description. I have met countless men out there who have told me that they had built up in their minds a wrong conception of the country and a wrong idea of its character simply by letting their imagination get to work on insufficient data.
To begin with, the word "desert" generally suggests sand. People who have been to Egypt or seen the Sahara naturally picture a sandy waste with its accompanying oases, palms and camels. Mesopotamia, however, is a land of clay, of mud, uncompromising mud. The Thames and Medway saltings at high tide, stretching away to infinity in every direction—this is the picture that I carry in my mind of the riverside country between Basra and Amara. No blue, limpid waters by Baghdad's shrines of fretted gold, but pea-soup orcafé au lait. Even the churned foam from a paddle wheel iscafé au laitwith what a blue-jacket contemptuously referred to as "a little more of theau lait!" At a distance it can be blue, gloriously blue, by reflection from the sky, but it will not bear close examination.
The railway skirts the river here, running from Ezra Tomb to Amara having started from Basra. Amara must not be confused with Kut-el-Amara. The names are a source of great confusion to newcomers. When I was told that the railway did not go any further than Amara, I lightheartedly pictured myself making my way across the river in a goufa or bellam and scorned the suggestion that I might have to wait some time for a steamer to Kut. I thought Kut was on one side of the river and Amara on the other. It is, however, a twenty-four hours' journey in a fast boat.
It is perfectly true that the country is "as flat as a pancake" in original formation, but the traces of ancient irrigation systems, to say nothing of buried cities—Babylon isquite mountainous for Mesopotamia—make it a very bumpy plain in places.