We left Kirkuk soon after daylight one morning, and joined a large caravan going to Sulaimania under the protection of one Shefiq Effendi, an “askar katebi” or military accountant. As this was the first caravan for some time, a large number of persons availed themselves of the chance of getting to Sulaimania. Few merchants had dared the passage. The travellers were poor people on foot, various kinds of Kurds, a shopkeeper or two of Sulaimania, and a number of officials whom duty called. All these last were taking their womenfolk, and a spirit of fright hovered over these unfortunate females which communicated itself to some of the effendis. For even with the escort we had, it was a highly dangerous undertaking to attempt the passage across the Hamavand country. Their fears were well enough founded, for we had but seventy foot-soldiers, and armed though they might be with Mauser rifles, they could not hold their own against even an equal number of Hamavands, and they knew it.

The marching kit of these sturdy fellows was eminently practical. In these lands, where a man does not look for hot meals three times a day, nor fear sleeping in the open, the ordinary traveller makes his way under conditions which European soldiers would consider hard. So the soldier cannot be expected to carry multifarious knapsacks of field fodder. In fact, he differs from the rest of us merely in the possession of a good rifle and plenty of cartridges. For the rest he wears what shoes he pleases, none at all if it please him better, and he sleeps in the clothes he walks in, as does everybody else, not troubling about what he lies on nor what he pulls over him. We had among us two Christians, a Greek army chemist and his wife, a Chaldean of Kirkuk. He rode upon a donkey, or rather walked and let the ass carry his bedding, for it refused to carry him as well. His wife was perched upon their belongings high above a mule. One effendi was an army officer returning to Sulaimania, his native place, for he was a Kurd, and he had several Kurdish women with him, one on horseback and others astride laden mules. There was the usual number of small boys and babies in arms, and a Jew or two taking printed cottons to Kurdistan for sale.

Our mules carried some boxes of ammunition and a load of books—the new instructions of the Parliament for the regulation of rent contracts and municipal affairs. The muleteers were highly amused at this load, commenting upon the waste of money involved in sending regulations to a town where order never existed, and if it did, rent contracts and municipal affairs were unknown, even by name.

As one looks east from Kirkuk towards Kurdistan, a low range of red barren hills shuts out the view, and over these runs the road to Sulaimania, and after crossing the plain behind, through the only gap in a second range to the plain of Bazian, the centre of the Hamavand country. This gap is the place where the wild horsemen have always assaulted caravans going east, and two months after our journey to Sulaimania, attacked and totally defeated a body of soldiers, killing several, and capturing every arm and cartridge in their possession.

But two days before we had started two ragged fellows had come in from this gap to Kirkuk—two long days’ journey—and described the sack of a small caravan there; so prospects for us were not bright.

Judge, then, of the joy when our leader, the Shefiq Effendi, struck off the road and began taking a course among some low hills almost due north. For by so doing he left almost behind us the Hamavand country and headed for that of the Shuan Kurds, a powerful but peaceable tribe engaged in the keeping of flocks and herds—as their name implies.48

By noon we were appreciably rising, the hills were closing in, and we could never see far ahead, for the track wound in and out among steep downs. We passed a Kurdish village, a collection of huts upon a mound, about this time. The women, unveiled, bright in coloured robes, turbaned as only Kurdish women are, came out to stare and to inform men within of our arrival. Soon mounted men came galloping over the hills, appearing from apparently deserted corners of the landscape, and approached our leader. Coming up to him they dismounted and took his hand, greeting him with affection, and then we discovered that he—the military accountant—was a chief of the tribe. And no sooner were we away from Kirkuk, than away went the fez from off his head, to be replaced by a Kurdish handkerchief. Despite the invitation of these villagers, our leader would not stop, and we continued our way through the valleys. Here in some places, surrounded by hills, the wind dropped, and the sun’s heat became so intense as to make the hardiest of these inured folk complain.

We entered one of these valleys, or rather, small flat plains between hills, and here the heat became intense. No breath of wind stirred, and the unfortunate soldiers began to look very sick and weary. Everybody carried some water, but it was quickly finished, and to add to the annoyance of the intense heat, myriads of small agile flies buzzed about the head, settling in eyes and ears and sticking to the lips. One of the women fainted, and fell from her mule; those of the men that had turbans spread the handerchiefs that composed them, holding out corners to shade their heads. Around us, sitting upon the edge of some cliffs, were rows and rows of solemn vultures, a fitting feature of this landscape, where were but the bare stones of the valley, not an inch of shade, nor a blade of grass, nor a drop of water, and a silence and repose more deadly than the uproar of the worst storm. The sweat ran off down the face from the hair, down the chest it rolled, to soak through the clothes into the bedding one sat on. The mules sweated and stank, and the dust rose, choking one’s already parched throat.

For two hours we wound along the flat thus, till we reached the end of the valley, where the hills closed in, and the track mounted here. For another half-hour we crawled up, zig-zagging along a steep and stony path, and all at once met a breeze—and a view.

For before us were the higher hills of the Shuan downs—great green ridges and hill-sides, waving with long grass and bright with flowers. Deep, steep valleys lay in the shade between them, and in the distance, dim even in this clear air, rose the snowpeaks of the Zagros—and Persian Kurdistan.

We were now well within the Shuan country, and so long as our road lay in it we were safe, for the Hamavand would not come out of their own country into that of the Shuan, with whom they are friendly, besides having a goodly respect for the strength of this pastoral tribe. So we stopped at the first stream without thought of robbers, and threw our loads for a while. There was but a trickle, or rather, three pools in the bed of the stream, at the bottom of which a tiny spring bubbled up, and it was a long time before we all got a drink. There was one tree, too, in this delectable gully, and the soldiers promptly bivouacked under it, striking and beating other equally weary foot-passengers who would have shared the shade. Our particular party, which consisted of the original travellers from Mosul, fared better in the matter of water, for one of us discovered a fresh spring about a quarter of a mile lower down, whither we repaired with drinking-basins and earthen water-pots, and made an excellent meal from this and bread and dates. We were sleeping soundly—the sleep that comes quickly to the dweller in the open air, oblivious of the sun and flies—when the order came to load up; and as the effendi insisted upon our all starting together, there was a terrible rush.

Mule-loading is an awkward business, requiring at least two men. First the creature has to be brought alongside his load, which is two packages of equal weight, one to be suspended each side of him. These are already roped together, and to load, the two halves are lifted together to the top of the pack-saddle—about five feet six high. Then one of the men must run round to the other side, take the off half, pull it down and work it this way and that till it exactly balances its fellow on the opposite side. Then if there be a passenger, his bedding is thrown on top and a long girth thrown over and round all. This is quickly enough done under two conditions—first, that the mule be near his burden when the time comes for loading; and second, that he can be induced to stand while the packages are being lifted up and placed against the saddle. At this moment he has a habit of sidling away, and the load falls to the ground. Needless to say, after loading some sixteen mules, as we did twice a day, at express speed, a rest is very welcome, but one often has to walk a few miles over stony ground, urging the beasts when they lag, and the steep hill-sides frequently force everyone to dismount.

Out of the valley of the stream we came to a higher one between two long ridges of hills, and for three hours made our way northwards along it till we came to a village of the Shuan, prettily situated by a stream and several clumps of willows, and threw our loads upon the beaten ground round about.

The first proceeding when arranging for the night, is to arrange the loads in a kind of wall, and behind these one spreads felts and coats. Meanwhile the mules are led off to water, brought back, and the pack-saddles removed. The muleteers then clean the animals more or less with a rattling tin currycomb, replace the saddles, which act as blankets, and, tethering the beasts to a long line upon the ground, give them their barley.

In the meantime one goes off to the village—if there be any near—to find provender, which in the Kurdish country is a commodity called “du,” the Persian “dugh.” This is curds and whey watered to the consistency of milk, slightly sour, and always cool, for they keep it in porous skins—it is the most refreshing drink possible. Among the Kurds it is considered a mean action to sell such a thing, and this village was no exception to the rule. I undertook the task of getting for our party, and set off, entering the village through a broken courtyard wall, for there were no streets. After poking my head into several houses I found a good woman who was pouring out “du” into a wooden bowl, and demanded some, saying that there were several of us to share it. Without a word she handed me the skin, a bowl, and a deep spoon, and with all this a handful of flaps of new bread, answering my thanks with the Kurdish “Khwashit bi” (“May it pleasant to you”). Among the Kurds no one thinks of objecting to strangers walking into their houses, nor seeing the women, who walk about unveiled; indeed, they possess no veils. Perfect freedom of intercourse exists, and the womenfolk pause in their journeyings to and fro to chat and joke with all and sundry, beggar and effendi alike.

In the early morning, long before daylight, the sound of people moving woke us, and we rose to find marching orders already issued, and half the caravan loaded. One of us ran off to fill the water-pots at the stream, where the village women were already similarly engaged, while the rest of us fell to and loaded, and after a few minutes the caravan started. Dawn found us just topping a ridge, and at the fork of two footpaths. Expecting to take that leading east, and towards Sulaimania, we were headed off by the soldiers to the northerly track, which eventually led us round the tops of some high hills, and along a steep ridge from which the ground sloped away with almost the gradient of a precipice. Beautiful gullies with running water and groves of trees branched off down below, and gave upon a broad plain where we could see the broad stream of the Lower Zab River flowing. Sulaimania now lay almost due south, and we could see its position by the great landmark of the Pir-i-Mugurun Mountain that rises to its north, a precipitous bluff about ten thousand feet high. Amid all these beautiful glades and this verdant pasture-land we saw nobody but a couple of parties of distant horsemen patrolling their country.

By noon we were very high up, in amongst the rolling hills, and suddenly coming upon a steep decline, we saw below us a large village protected by a strong castle upon a mound. This was one of the chief places of the Shuan tribe; and reaching it—by a devious and steep path—we threw our loads under some mulberry trees. This arrangement of breaking the journey half-way through the day is not unusual in Kurdistan, but I have never seen it done in Persia, where the stages are shorter.

The effendi went to a banquet already prepared for him in the castle, for runners, taking short ways over the hills, had advised the head-man of his arrival, and a sheep had been killed and roasted whole. The rest of us, after foraging for “du,” lay down to sleep till the time should come to load once more.

This village is in a very remote corner of the Shuan country, off any main track, and the natives were so impressed by the size of our caravan, that they all came out upon their flat roofs to watch us depart. Indeed, so small is the traffic, that there was no path beyond the village, and a horseman accompanied us to show the nearest way to our next halting-place. The track took us up the flank of a precipitous hill, and once there, down a long, steep spine. Here the slope was so great that it was impossible to sit even upon a donkey, and the women, unused to much walking and hampered by unhandy garments, were in almost as much danger when on their own as upon their steeds’ legs, of falling headlong down the steep to the stream that ran three hundred feet below.

At the bottom we had to face the next ridge, and over that another and steeper one, on the opposite side of which was a beautifully situated village, almost hidden amongst trees, with a couple of torrents running down between the houses. This was about the highest point of the Shuan lands, and from its summit we could see all their country, miles of hills, green with the spring verdure, stretching away south and west. Before us lay the Zab valley, and the whole view, north-east and south-west, was shut in by range upon range of high, steep mountains, the Zagros. We camped in the open that night upon a steep hill-side opposite a village. Some of the villagers had migrated to our camping-place to be near some growing corn, and were living in palisades which they had erected upon the summit of the ridge.

From here our road lay almost south to Sulaimania. We had come through the country of the Shuan Kurds, and we had no other course but to go down through the Hamavands to Sulaimania. By coming so far north we had turned the flank of the Bazian hills, and would now enter the valley that ran north-west and south-east from its upper end. This is the Hamavand country proper, one long narrow valley between precipitous hills, where no traveller dared venture, and of which even the odd foot-passengers who accompanied us had no knowledge, in spite of their ramblings all over the country. A poor man can of course go almost anywhere on foot without fear of molestation, for he neither excites the cupidity of the Kurds by possessions, nor their enmity by weapons. A thick stick and a dagger are his armoury.

Of this mixed collection, who carried all their belongings upon their backs, a very large number knew Persian, and delighted to air it whenever possible. They were all Kurds, from all parts, Sina, Sauj Bulak, Keui Sanjaq, and even Kermanshah, which is quite cut off from Sulaimania by very precipitous mountains and savage tribes.

Among them were two Aoramani, members of a tribe inhabiting the border mountain of Aoraman, a steep wall of rock nine thousand feet high, in whose valleys the Aoraman tribe lives. I was very anxious to learn something of them, for their own tradition assigns to them an origin in northern Persia; they speak a dialect not Kurdish, and now I saw that they possessed a physiognomy and manner also foreign to the Kurdish peoples. They both spoke modern Persian, and one was quite well read, reciting long stanzas of the Shah Nama, a Persian epic very popular among them. They would not admit a Kurdish origin, calling themselves “Farsan i kuhangahi,” Persians of the olden time—and their language, which I afterwards learned, and saw written in several manuscripts, is certainly not a Kurdish dialect.

Our start that morning was delayed, for Shefiq Effendi, our leader, had caused some messengers to be sent to the first Hamavand village, with a letter from the resident Shuan chief, informing the tribe of Shefiq Effendi’s arrival, and the displeasure that any raid upon him would arouse among the Shuan.

Notwithstanding this warning to them, and a guard of twenty Shuan horsemen who accompanied us as far as the brook marking the limit of their country, there seemed to be no certainty that we should not be attacked, for the soldiers were, after all, not in the same category as harmless passengers under Shuan protection, and it was feared that a body of Hamavand might descend, and cutting off the soldiers, fall upon them. Consequently mounted scouts from the escort were sent out on every side, particularly ahead, and the Kurdish horsemen displayed considerable skill in the way they galloped up narrow gullies to steep hill-tops, and keeping up with the caravan below, despite the detours they were often forced to make. Every member of the caravan wearing uniform was instructed to reverse his coat or cover it with an aba, or cloak, and conceal his fez in a Kurdish head-dress. The caravan itself was kept together, the soldiers marching in the middle of it!

For some hours we crept round the face of cliffs that debouch upon the Zab valley, and at last, turning away from the river, climbed through several beautiful valleys, enclosed by precipices, to a plateau. We were now in Hamavand country, and a keen-eyed scout descried a little body of horsemen some distance away. These kept parallel with our course, while one of their number went at full gallop in the direction our road would take us.

There is great danger among the tribes when two bodies of horse approach, for it is a custom to fire from the distance at the new arrivals, to ascertain whether they be friend or foe. In the former case they refrain from answering, and wait for the others to approach, which they will do either at full gallop, or taking cover behind hummocks. Within earshot, greetings are exchanged, and recognition takes place, by face, difference of dialect, or turban, when subsequent proceedings are determined.

For some hours we went thus, among the hills which succeeded the plateau, till we arrived at a valley where, upon the hill-side was a large village standing by a river. This is the village of the sedentary Hamavands, which, with its groves and gardens, is a pleasant sight. Upon the flat roofs the population was gathered; the richness of their clothing and the general idleness telling very plainly the triumphant story of two years successful rebellion and raids. From out this village another knot of horsemen appeared, but refrained from approaching, keeping to the opposite side of the valley.

Not wishing to rest so near the village, we kept on for some time till a turn of the hills hid us, and then in a depression by a basin where the grass grew knee-high, we threw the loads under some trees. Hardly had we done this than from every gully in the hill-sides horsemen came galloping down. Handsome men these Hamavands. As they rushed along, the silk head handkerchiefs of many colours streamed behind them; their long tunics, covering even their feet, rose and fell with the horses’ action. The stirrups of many were inlaid with silver, contrasting with the scarlet upturned shoes. Their zouave jackets they had ornamented to the highest degree. Weird designs in gold braid and thread covered the pale blue cloth. Most were armed with Mauser repeating rifles, taken from the Turkish soldiers by force, and they made no pretence of hiding such evidences of their predatory predilections before the numerous soldiers and officers of our caravan.

Altogether there were about fifty of them, and notwithstanding the attitude of the soldiers, who had entrenched themselves behind bales, covering the oncomers, they rode straight up to the encampment, heedless of the disconcerted army that rose from behind its cover, looking foolish. As they approached near, each one ostentatiously opened the breech of his rifle and emptied it of cartridges, then slung it on his back, thereby announcing at once their friendly intentions, and their scorn for the soldiers. It was evident that the Shuan messengers had been well received, for the Hamavand head-man was there, a lad of about twenty, gorgeous in silk raiment, even to the undershirt, of which the long pointed sleeves hung to his feet. Remarkable, too, was the spotless cleanliness of these people. Despite their rough lives and constantly being in the saddle, not one showed a soiled shirt. Later, I discovered that the predatory Kurd, the more wealthy he becomes, insists ever more upon clean clothing—a feature peculiar, I should imagine, to the Kurd of these parts—not that the race can be called dirty, as the standards of Persia go.

The Hamavands, members of a race famous for bravery and lawlessness, have made a name for themselves among their countrymen, outdoing the wildest in foolhardy raids, and the bravest in their disregard of any danger, and a hostility to the Turks that has broken out continually ever since the powers of the old pashas of Sulaimania were broken. These years of outlawry seem to have had an effect upon their physiognomy. While not possessing the fine features of the Kurdish race, they have an alertness in their sharp dark eyes that comes of their mode of life, and a hostile manner that even among friends they cannot always control. We learned gradually, by the news that filtered from the tree where they were gathered round Shefiq Effendi, that they had received our messengers, and would see us as far as their chief’s tent in Bazian plain, but we must take the chances of his decision. They could not guarantee that he would not resent the appearance of so many soldiers, nor be able to refrain from molesting them. It was suggested by the local chief that the soldiers should pack their arms upon mules and go back to Kirkuk, when we were assured that the chief would welcome us as followers of Shefiq Effendi. The Hamavands were very frank and very honourable. They refused to accept any food from the effendi, for they might be called upon to fall upon him and his soldiers that night; but after he had exempted them of all responsibility, they consented to partake of his tea.

However, they insisted upon certain conditions in the case of the soldiers. The bugle which had been used in the Shuan country was handed to the Hamavand leader, and one of his men at once tried to blow a call, a melancholy failure that provoked the sarcasm of his fellows, not only at hire, but of the fools that had to be led by a braying brass pipe and could not understand the hill calls. The soldiers were to march wherever the riders directed, before or behind the caravan, and at night must camp where told, and be prepared to be shot at if they moved about at night. The conditions were of course agreed to, despite the disgust of the commanding “bimbashi,” a Turk who had to have Kurdish translated, and who began to realise at last what Kurds might be.

These conditions arranged, a number of the troop left us to advise the chief, and taking a steep mountain path were soon out of sight. We loaded up slowly and resumed our way through some of the prettiest country I have ever seen in Kurdistan. Water and trees were abundant, valley after valley was carpeted with flowers and deep in grass. Sheep and cattle grazed in every place, guarded by small boys and girls, young Hamavands as yet not enlisted in the fighting forces—I include girls under this heading, for the women fight when necessary.

Towards sunset we topped a ridge and saw before us the long and narrow valley of Bazian, the centre of the Hamavand country. It is specially favoured with water, an abundance of which flows down from both sides. The two ranges appear to pour out all the moisture they possess upon the Bazian valley, for the plains that run up to their feet outside are waterless, and each range while presenting, upon their inward or Bazian faces, green, if steep slopes, show to the outer world precipitous faces of bare rock.

Consequently Bazian valley, for the whole of its narrow length—it is only two miles across—is a green field, wherein herds of sheep and cows, like our Guernsey breed, graze all the year round. The Hamavands had also an eye to self-defence in selecting this secluded spot, for, shut in at both north and south ends, its eastern and western walls have no break in them except the Bazian break in the western range, and a depression in the same range lower down at Sagirma. These two passes are admirably commanded from the steep spurs above them, and have never yet given way to an invading force.49

In a corner of the eastern range we came at sunset to a large black tent, the spring residence of the chief of the Hamavands, Hama Beg. From it emerged a number of men, who springing upon their horses came to meet us, and pilot us to our camping ground—for piloting was necessary. The leader of a tribe in rebellion must, even in his own country, be wary, and this chief had placed his tent in such a position that, while at his back was a precipice, on the other three sides a deep bog stretched, passable only by one narrow and slushy path. In the midst of this bog was the firm island upon which he lived and had allotted to us a camping place. The ground, to a stranger, appeared all firm, for a uniform covering of long grass stretched from the rocks’ foot right across the plain.

Apparently the chief had decided upon letting us pass his country unmolested, for he came outside his tent and welcomed Shefiq Effendi cordially enough, leading him inside, where tea and nargila were produced.

Up to this point every one had been in a state of trepidation, for there was almost an even chance of being robbed and even slain. And this solely because of the soldiers, upon whom everybody looked with the loathing naturally to be displayed towards—not a single one—but a host, of Jonahs. These unfortunates, besides suffering from a most demoralising fear, were quite subdued, displaying none of the exuberant brutality usually typical of the creatures. Almost in silence they lay down on the damp ground allotted to them, nor objected when a dozen Hamavands formed a circle about them.

Despite the friendly attitude of the chief, he gave away none of his native caution; it is just possible that he suspected, or saw the possibility of treachery, for while we had a hundred soldiers, there were but thirty or forty of his men there. At any rate, horsemen kept appearing in twos and threes from every direction, unchallenged so long as it was light, but approaching warily, calling their mates by name, after sunset. By midnight there must have been a hundred and fifty men there, sitting wide awake around their chief’s tent. Their horses, saddled, with bits removed, grazed near by, ready at any moment.

It was an understood thing that anyone standing up or moving about was liable to be shot at, and one incautious soldier, trusting to the moonless darkness, stood up and moved, and learned to his cost that Hamavands do not sleep when on guard, and moreover can make very close shooting in the dark.

I do not think many of us slept that night. The muleteers were in a terrible fright for fear the Hamavands should quietly lead their mules away and loose them upon the hills, where none but Hamavands could recover them. The soldiers feared sudden slaughter; and the passengers, looting.

Our hosts, too, were on the alert all night long; the glow of the cigarette ends and the grumble of talking went on, and at dawn it would seem that none had slept. It is a remarkable power that Kurds possess of night watching. Time after time I have seen men turn night into day thus, sitting by a fire all night almost motionless, but wide awake, ready for action, and by daybreak mount and ride thirty or forty miles and repeat the same proceeding. They seem almost tireless, possessing a power of endurance that continual danger has taught them. It is at any rate an achievement that makes the Kurd almost impossible to take by surprise in night attack.

The Hamavand tribe, which has brought all the arts of raiding and guerilla warfare to perfection, has a reputation of long standing for its daring and independence. Geographically speaking, they are not strictly within the borders of Kurdistan, but upon its western marches, and owing perhaps to the isolation of their country between its two ranges of hills, have kept aloof from all their neighbours for years.

They themselves claim Arab origin, a pretension not unusual among some of the smaller Kurdish tribes, and unsupported by any evidence for, and contradicted by much against, its possibility. For some years past they have allowed the Kurdish shaikh, or religious leaders, of the Qaradagh, their district, to attain a great ascendancy, and these have, by continual urging and exhortation, achieved their end of saddling the tribe with an iron-bound habit of religion quite foreign to the real Kurd of the mountains. Religious fervour, among Sunnis in particular, is inseparable from a great respect for Arabic language and lineage, with which the Sunni Turk and border Kurd almost invariably evinces a desire to identify himself; very much as Mr Smith or Mr Jones seek to prove a pure Norman descent which their names and antecedents do not necessarily indicate.

So we see Hamavand, Baba, Shuan, and Jaf, all claiming Arab descent for their leaders, while yet very proud of being Kurds to-day.

All these tribes are fond of indicating their dress, an adaptation of that of the Arabs, which they have adopted to the exclusion of the old and fantastic Kurdish dress, and point to it as being something to show their connection with the Arabs.

On the other hand, however, there are far more weighty evidences to prove that they are Kurd and nothing but Kurd, chief of which is their dialect, which is a well-defined and pure Kurdish tongue, the only Arab words in which have been imported. These words are usually the names of implements which, before the crafts of the Arabs were known to them, may not have existed.

From earliest memories of south-western Kurdistan the Hamavands have been in rebellion against the ruling power. Like every other small tribe, there is but the most meagre history to be gleaned, and that of the most recent only. They came originally from Persian territory, where they lived near the frontier at Qasr-i-Shirin. Here they became such an intolerable nuisance under their leader Jawan Mir Khan, that the Persians, in a vain hope of keeping them quiet, offered them the post of Wardens of the Marches at a fixed salary. This Jawan Mir Khan accepted, and redoubled his raids, becoming so unbearable that he was captured and executed. He was succeeded by his son Hama Beg. Upon his accession to the chieftainship the Turks claimed the tribe. Needless to say, the Persians gladly handed over this thorn in their flesh, requesting the Turks to remove their subjects with all expedition. They were then given the present country in the Qaradagh district.

In 1874 they made a raid southward and commenced harassing the frontier towns, actually laying siege to Mandali, an important border town. Beaten off by troops and other tribes, they retired, and a number conducted a successful raid as far north as the Christian villages around Bayazid, returning, so report says, laden with spoil, and unassailed, though their chief weapon was but the lance.

Five years later they fell upon Sulaimania, and the town was only saved from wholesale looting by the arrival of a battalion of soldiers. Shortly after this exploit, the Turks having by treachery trapped some of the petty chiefs, a section was deported to the district of Tripoli, in Africa, whence they returned. Six months are said to have elapsed on the journey, and it is still the boast of the Hamavands that they looted Arab and Turk alike upon their return journey. Later again they encroached upon the territory of the great Jaf tribe, and were warned off by the Pasha of these powerful Kurds, under pain of incurring blood-feud.

About 1900, or earlier, incited by the shaikhs of Sulaimania and Qaradagh, they fell upon a large caravan of Persian pilgrims near Kirkuk, destroying two hundred of these unfortunates. Up to this time Sulaimania, Rawanduz, and Keui Sanjaq had enjoyed considerable revenues from the pilgrims who passed from Persia, via Sauj Bulaq, to Bagdad, but after this the traffic ceased, and the shaikhs have lost for their neighbourhood a source of considerable wealth in satisfying the fanatical impulse to slay Shi’a Musulmans.

In 1908 the Hamavands crowned a campaign of two years’ indiscriminate looting by announcing themselves in rebellion, and between the autumn of that year and summer of 1909 made good their assertion by stripping the Governor of Sulaimania, stopping all traffic, ending with the feat of attacking a “tabur” of Turkish soldiers, killing twelve (including a colonel and other officers), wounding forty or fifty and depriving them of all their possessions, including Mauser rifles, several loads of ammunition, clothing, daggers, uniforms and animals, leaving the miserable survivors thirty-six miles to tramp into Sulaimania. During this period they threatened the town several times, and always kept bands moving round about, so that corpses had to be taken out under a strong guard for burial, and often only with Hamavand permission.

All the summer of 1909 troops were collected at Chemchemal, a small town upon their borders, some eight thousand troops gathering by degrees. But secure in the knowledge that they could not move until a reluctant commander arrived, the Hamavands came up to the camp at night, dammed the water-supply, and picked off incautious sentries, disappearing before any sortie could be made. The soldiery was unpaid and demoralised, the officer supine and incapable, and the commander detained in Bagdad by various reasons of corruption and idleness. Two local governors—of Sulaimania and Kirkuk—were called to Chemchemal to form a court to judge and sentence the Hamavands when caught.

These individuals, together with the commanding officers were being paid by the Sulaimania shaikhs to refrain from action, and the non-existence among the soldiers of any steeds, mule or horse, made operations at that time impossible.

So the Hamavands gaily continued raiding, retaining the posts, burning them, cutting up the telegraph lines. The Sulaimania governor when first called to Chemchemal refused to go—he could not venture outside the town. So the Chemchemal authorities obtained three hundred mules by the simple means of appropriating them in Kirkuk, and sent three hundred of their best soldiers thus mounted to bring the Mutasarrif of Sulaimania. With this escort he made a rush, getting to Chemchemal in seven hours, but not without having been chased by the Hamavands and losing some riders.

As the utmost mounted strength of the Hamavands is two hundred and fifty men, scattered in small bands about their country, their assailants probably did not number more than thirty or forty, but the brave three hundred fled.

At last merchants in Bagdad, Mosul, and Sulaimania made so much fuss, and the Central Government—partly ignorant of the reason for the delay of the proceedings—became so pressing, that the commanding officer started from Bagdad. Simultaneously the Hamavands, informed by their own spies, leisurely packed up their tents and their goods and retired over the Persian border to the territory of the Sharafbaiani Kurds, a little tribe the other side of the Sirwan River, upon the frontier.

The commander-in-chief arrived with much éclat, and with orders to pursue the Hamavands in his possession, and to invade Persia if she could possibly be accused of receiving even a Hamavand child over her borders.

The troops at once started to ascertain the whereabouts of the Hamavands, and finding no one in their country, had the satisfaction of eating the growing vegetables and burning the wooden roofs of some deserted villages. For two months they made quite certain that no Hamavands lingered, catching every now and then a poor stranger Kurd and mutilating him on suspicion.

This heroic task was proceeding when I left Sulaimania, and till now I have reason to believe that the happy gathering at Chemchemal still exists, six months after they arrived to march against two hundred and fifty horsemen.

Some day they will retire, as soon as food gets scarce, and the Hamavands will reappear suddenly, to commence another period of raiding and defiance.

When we were among them on this occasion, as yet no move had been made against them, and the universal opinion was that no caravans after ours could pass. This was the case, for it was not till late August, when the tribe had gone away, that caravans once more went between Sulaimania and Kirkuk.

A large number of horsemen escorted us next morning, and we left their country after about two hours’ journey, under the western side of their eastern range of boundary hill, finding at last a path over a neck.

From the summit of this we could see a long range of hills on the opposite side of an undulating plain about twelve miles broad, and far away to the east a great snow-capped wall, the Aoraman mountain, and Persia. This is the plain of Surchina, on the eastern border of which Sulaimania lies. At the foot of the pass the Hamavand escort indicated the spot where they had lately looted a caravan, killing all the military escort and destroying a large number of despatches and Government accounts. The scraps of these still lay about, and one could decipher upon them the tag-ends of sentences, a diversion which occupied some of the travellers for a considerable time. The recognised territory of the Hamavands extends a little way into this plain, and a large number were encamped by a stream in their black tents, and their flocks covered the hill-sides.

Approaching Sulaimania, we came to a region of hillocks where had originally been extensive gardens. Now they were but deserted patches of land where the few trees remaining were dying for want of water. Around Sulaimania the country is excellently watered by a river and a number of streams, but the terror of the Hamavands in troublous times, and of the Government and the shaikhs in days of peace, has effectually ensured the desertion of what was once a richly cultivated country. Right up to the outskirts of Sulaimania are the same melancholy relics of past prosperity. At present there are no gardens around the town, and it is supplied with fruit at exorbitant prices, from villages on the other side of the hills, which are out of the range of the Hamavands.

Sulaimania lies on the lower slope of the hills between two spurs, between which an abundance of excellent water flows. The town is totally insignificant, possessing no large buildings nor anything conspicuous, except a minaret recently erected. From outside it appears but a homogeneous mass of flat mud roofs, relieved here and there by an upper room of a larger house. It possesses no walls nor fortifications, and one entered it abruptly from the desert, its outskirts being small one-storied houses, in the courtyards of which may be seen the idle, handsome women engaged in their constant and only occupation—smoking cigarettes.

The proximity of Persian Kurdistan is very evident here, the style of building in the poorer dwellings is that of Sina and Sauj Bulaq, and in the better houses that of any western Persian town. We threaded our way through some open bazaar streets to a caravanserai, where I had resolved to put up. This was constructed entirely in the Persian style: a row of rooms round a courtyard, which opened on to a low verandah.

I secured a room, and throwing into it my goods, dismissed the muleteer, who was demanding a present for having conducted me safely through the Hamavands to Sulaimania.