The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries/Volume 10/Letters and Historical Writings of Moltke/A Journey to Mossul
A JOURNEY TO MOSSUL
TRANSLATED BY EDMUND VON MACH, PH.D.
[This is the forty-third letter of Moltke's Letters from Turkey, and is dated from Dshesireh on the Tigris, May 1, 1838.]
TOLD you in my last letter that we should be going on an expedition against the Arabs. This did not materialize. Nevertheless, I had the opportunity of making the acquaintance of a very interesting part of the country.
On April 15, von Mühlbach, I, and two fully armed agas of the pasha, together with our servants and dragomans, embarked on a vessel built in a style well known even in the times of Cyrus, a raft supported by inflated sheep-skins. The Turks look upon hunting as a sin, they despise venison and beef, but eat an enormous quantity of sheep and goats. The skins of these animals are cut in front as little as possible and removed from the carcass with great care. Then they are sewed up and the extremities tied up. When the skin is inflated (which is done quickly and without touching the skin to the mouth) it is exceedingly buoyant and can hardly be made to sink. From forty to sixty such bags are tied together in four or five rows under a light framework of branches. There generally are eight skins in front and eighteen in the back. The whole is covered with a litter of leaves over which rugs and carpets are spread. Taking your seat on these you glide downstream with utmost comfort. Because the current is swift, oars are not needed for progress, but only for steering the raft, keeping it in the middle of the course, and avoiding the dangerous rapids. On account of these rapids we had to tie up every night until the moon was up, but in spite of this we covered the distance, which by land would have taken us eighty-eight hours, in three and one-half days. The river, therefore, must flow with an average velocity of almost four miles per hour. In places it is much swifter, and in others decidedly slower.
The Tigris leaves the mountains near Argana-Maaden, and flows past the walls of Diarbekir, where it is apt to cause slight inundations in summer time. It then receives the Battman river flowing in a southerly direction from the high Karsann-Mountains and carrying more water into the Tigris than this river contained before. Immediately after the union of these two rivers the Tigris enters an- other mountainous territory formed of sandstone. The gentle curves of the broad and shallow river are transformed into the sharp criss-cross angles of a ravine. The banks are abrupt, often vertical on both sides ; and on top of some steep, rocky slopes your eye may discover groves of dark-green palms, and in their shadows the settlements of tribes of Kurds, who in this region are mostly cave-dwellers.
The town of Hassn-Kejfa (Hossu-Keifa), situated on a high rock whence a narrow staircase descends to the river, offers a most unusual aspect. The old city below has been destroyed, and only a few minarets still pointing to the sky indicate that mosques and houses once stood here. The inhabitants were obliged to retreat to the top of the cliff, where they built a wall of defence on the only accessible side. In the narrow ravine I discovered huge blocks which had rolled down from above. People have hollowed them and are using them as dwelling places. These "huts" today make up a small, very irregular town, which, however, possesses even a bazaar. By far the most noteworthy remains are the ruins of a bridge which used to cross the Tigris. There was one gigantic arch with a span of between eighty and one hundred feet. I do not know whether the credit for such a daring structure should be given to the Armenian kings or the Greek emperors, or perhaps even to the califs.
It is impossible to travel more comfortably than we did. Stretched out on downy pillows, and provided with victuals, wine, tea, and a charcoal basin, we moved down the stream with the rapidity of an express coach and without the least exertion. But the element which propelled us persecuted us in another form. Rain poured from the sky incessantly after our departure from Diarbekir. Our umbrellas no longer protected us, and our cloaks, garments and carpets were soaked. On Easter day, just as we were leaving Dshesireh, the sun broke through the clouds, warming our stiffened limbs. About two miles below the city the ruins of another bridge across the Tigris are still in existence, and one of its piers creates a fierce whirlpool whenever the water is high. The exertions of the men at the oars were of no avail, and irresistibly our small ark was attracted by this charybdis. With the speed of an arrow we were sucked down below the surface, and a big comber broke over our heads. The water was icy cold, and when in the next moment our raft, which had not capsized, continued its way downstream as innocently as if nothing had happened we could not help laughing at one another, for we were a sad looking sight, everyone of us. The charcoal basins had gone overboard, a boot swam alongside, while each one of us hastened to fish out some little object. We made a landing on a small island, and since our bags were as thoroughly soaked as we were ourselves, we had to disrobe and spread our entire toilet in the sun to dry as well as possible. At some distance a flock of pelicans were taking their rest on a sandbank and sunning their white plumage as if in derision of our plight. Suddenly we saw that our raft had got loose and was floating off. One of the agas immediately jumped after it and fortunately reached it. If he had failed we should have been left on a desert island in nothing but nature's own garb.
When we were tolerably dry we continued our journey, but renewed downpours spoiled the moderate results of our previous efforts. The night was so dark that we had to tie up, for fear of being drawn into other whirlpools. In spite of the biting cold, and although we were wet to the skin, we did not dare to light a fire which might have attracted the Arabs. We silently pulled our raft into the shelter of a willow tree and waited longingly for the sun to appear from behind the Persian frontier mountains and to give us warmth.
Not far from Dshesireh the Tigris enters another plain and leaves behind the high and magnificent Dshudid mountains on whose bright and snow-clad peaks Noah and his mixed company are said to have disembarked. From here on the scenery is very monotonous; you rarely see a village, and most of those you see are uninhabited and in ruins. It is apparent that you have entered the country of the Arabs. There are no trees, and where a small bush has survived it is a siareth or sanctuary, and is covered with countless small rags. The sick people here, you must know, believe they will recover when they sacrifice to the saint a small part of their garments.
On the top of an isolated mountain of considerable height we could see at a great distance the ruins of an old city. When we approached it we actually passed along three sides of this mountain, on the north, east and south. The city was, I suppose, the ancient Bezabde of which the records say that it was situated in the desert and surrounded on three sides by the Tigris. Sapor laid siege to it after he had taken Amida and, when he had captured its three legions, gave it a Persian garrison.
Gliding past the ruins of the so-called old Mossul we discovered toward evening the minarets of Mossul. This is the most easterly point which I have visited, and my Turkish companions had to face west when they offered their evening prayer, while in Constantinople the moslems are looking for the Kibla in the southeast.
Mossul is the important half-way station for the caravans from Bagdad to Aleppo. Being situated in an oasis of the desert the city must at all times be on the lookout against the Arabs. The walls which completely surround the city are weak but high, and offer sufficient protection against the irregular bands of mounted Bedouins. The Bab-el-amadi gate, mentioned in the time of the crusaders, is still standing, although it has been walled up. Most of the dwellings are built of sun-dried bricks and a kind of mortar which hardens within a few seconds. Following an Oriental custom great weight is attached to beautiful and large entrance doors (Bab). You can see arched portals of marble (which is quarried immediately outside the city gates) in front of houses and mudhuts the roofs of which scarcely reach to the points of the arches. The roofs are flat, made of stamped earth (Dam), and are surrounded by low walls and parapets. In most of the larger houses you can see traces of their having been hit by bullets, and the fortress-like aspect of these dwellings reminds you of the palaces of Florence, except that here everything is smaller, humbler and less perfect.
The inhabitants of Mossul are a remarkable mixture of the original Chaldean populace and the Arabs, Kurds, Persians and Turks who successively have ruled over them. The common speech is Arabic.
Indshe-Bairaktar, the governor, received us with great courtesy and had us quartered with the Armenian Patriarch. The Nestorian and Jacobite Christians of Mossul have the most beautiful churches I have seen in Turkey, but they are living in discord and hatred. One of these churches happened to belong, I do not know why, to two congregations, and since everything which the one did in these sacred halls was an abomination in the eyes of the other, the beautiful vault had been divided by a brick wall directly in the centre.
Our Jacobite Patriarch was greatly troubled about having to house heretics, but he much preferred us to Nestorians or Greeks. Since no Christians, moreover, had ever been received with so much honor by the Pasha, and the most important Mussulmans came to pay us their respects, he treated us well, and even sold me a Bible in Arabic and Syrian (Chaldean).
In the northwesterly corner of the city the plateau falls off abruptly toward the river. Here the water of the Tigris is raised by a contrivance, which makes use of a high kind of derrick, leathern hose, and a rope which is pulled by a horse. The long nozzle of the hose empties into huge brick basins whence the water is distributed over fields and gardens. But only the empty areas within the walls and the fields adjacent to the city are cultivated. If only a fraction of all the water rushing past Mossul could be used for irrigation purposes this whole country would be one of the most fertile of the world. This idea undoubtedly induced the people ages ago to build the powerful stone dikes which hem in the course of the river a few hours above the city. Surely, it would not be difficult to irrigate all the fields from there, but the Arabs hovering about the city make the harvesting of the crops too uncertain.
There is a bazaar especially for the Arabs immediately outside the walls of Mossul, built there for the purpose of keeping these suspicious characters from entering the city proper. Over the confusion of many small mud-huts some slender palm trees rise to majestic heights, the last ones of the desert. These palms are like reeds grown to the proportions of trees. They are typical of the south, and give confidence to the Arabs who seem to feel that they are way up north and yet still in the land of the myrrh and the incense. Here the children of the desert congregate and, pushing their bamboo-spears into the sand—point down, squat on the ground to admire the glory of a city—even though it be a city which affects the European with the very opposite of glory, but which for hundreds of miles has no equal.
Perhaps no people have preserved their character, customs, morals, and speech as unchanged through centuries as the Arabs, and have done so in spite of the most manifold changes in the world at large. They were nomads, shepherds and hunters roving over little-known deserts, while Egypt and Assyria, Greece and Persia, Rome and Byzantium rose and fell. And then, inspired by one idea, these same nomads suddenly rose in their turn and for a long time became the masters of the most beautiful valley of the old world, and were the bearers of the then civilization and science. One hundred years after the death of the Prophet, his first followers, the Sarazenes, ruled from the Himalayas to the Pyrenees, and from the Indies to the Atlantic Ocean. But Christianity and its higher spiritual and material perfection, yes even its intolerance, which its high morality should have made impossible, drove the Arabs back again from Europe. The rude force of the Turks undermined their rule in the Orient, and for the second time the children of Ishmael saw themselves driven out into the desert.
Those Arabs who had reached a higher state of culture, and had settled down to the pursuit of agriculture, commerce, or industry, had to sink the lower before the oppression of a rule of iron. The artificial dealings of a government trying to imitate European methods, and the assistance of the Franks, the introduction of the census and of taxes, of duties and monopolies, standing armies and conscriptions, the barter of offices and the leasing of custom houses, slavery and the vices of the east, together with the energy, indomitable will and marvelous luck of Mehmet Ali, all combined in one grand achievement—I mean the monumental tyranny, never yet equalled, under which the fellahs today are groaning in Egypt and the Arabs in Syria, and under which a whole country has been transformed into a private domain, and a whole people into personal slaves.
By far the greater part of the Arabic nation, however, had remained true to its old customs, and no despotism could get hold of them. The extent of the Asiatic and African deserts, their fiery sky and parched soil, and the poverty of the inhabitants have ever been the protection of the Arabs. The rule of the Persians, the Romans, and the Greeks was never more than partial, and often existed only in name. The Bedouin today, like his fathers of old, is still living the life of want, care, and independence, roving through the same steppes as they, and watering his herds from the same wells as they did in the time of Moses or of Mahomet.
The oldest descriptions of the Arabs fit the Bedouins of our day. Unquenchable feuds are still dividing the several tribes, the possession of a pasturing place or of a well still determines the welfare of many families, and blood-feuds and hospitality still are the vices and virtues of this people of nature. Wherever along their frontiers the Arabs come in contact with foreign nations war is the result. The children of Abraham divided among themselves the rich and fertile countries, while Ishmael and his tribe were cast out into the desert. Shut off from all the other people the Arabs consider foreigners and foes to be identical and, unable to procure for themselves the products of industry, they believe they are justified in appropriating them wherever they find them.
The pashas of the frontier provinces repay these constant depredations with repressive measures on a big scale and are not concerned about the individuals who are made to suffer. When they saunter forth with a few regiments of regular cavalry and a field gun they are sure to scatter, even the biggest ashiret or encampment. The Arab does not like to stand his ground against gun-fire and never resists an artillery-attack which he cannot of course return. He does not fear so much for his own life, as for that of his horse, for a full blooded mare often makes up the whole wealth of three or four families. Woe to the horse which with us is owned by three or four masters. With the Arabs it has as many friends to take care of it.
When the Turks succeed in surprising an ashiret they take away the herds of sheep and goats, a few camels, and possibly some hostages whom they keep in miserable bondage. In a small hut or stable of the serail of Orfa I found nine old men. A heavy chain attached to rings around their necks fastened the one to the other, and twice daily they were driven to the watering trough just like cattle. The Turks had demanded of their tribe the exorbitant ransom of 150,000 piasters, of which one third had actually been offered. When I saw the old men, there was little chance of their ever being ransomed at all. The pasha, however, promised me that he would set them free. I do not know whether he kept his word.
Such examples do not deter the Arabs, and, as far as their horses are able to go, no settlement can endure. The entire southern slope of the Taurus, the ancient Oszoene, is dotted with indications of their devastation. Here wonderful brooks are flowing from the mountains, and a superabundant supply of water, a hot and ever bright sky, and a most fertile soil have combined in creating a paradise, if only men would not always destroy it. Snow is unknown here, and olive-trees, vines, mulberry trees, palms and pomegranate trees spring up wherever you guide a stream of water, however small, while the yield of grain, rice, and cotton is phenomenal. But of Karrat, now Harran, the seat of Abraham, only a mound of earth and a few crumbled walls remain. Dara, the magnificent creation of Justinian, lies in ruins, and on the site of Nisibin, which had been completely destroyed, Hafiss-Pasha has built only recently some new cavalry barracks, under whose protection the city and the surrounding villages have taken a new lease of life. Orfa and Mossul finally, the only large cities, appear like outposts of Mesopotamia.
In their robber-expeditions the Arabs have the hope of booty before them and behind them the assurance of a safe retreat. They alone know the pasturing grounds and the hidden wells of the desert, they alone can live in these regions, and do so by the help of the camel. This animal, which can carry a load of from five hundred to six hundred pounds, takes all their property, their wives, children, and old men, their tents, provisions and water from one place to another. It can make six, eight, even ten days' marches without drinking, and a fifth stomach keeps a final draft in reserve in case of greatest need. Its hair is made into garments and cloth for the tents; its urine yields salt, its droppings are used for fuel and, in caves, are transformed into saltpeter from which the Arabs make their own gunpowder. The milk of the camel serves as food not only for the children, but also for the colts, which grow thin but strong like our horses when they are in training. Camel meat is tasty and wholesome, and even the skin and the bones of a camel are good for something. The most wretched feed, dry grass, thistles and brambles, satisfies this patient, strong, helpless and most useful of all animals. Next to the camels, which even the poorest Arab owns in almost incredible numbers, the horses represent the chief wealth of these children of the desert. It is well known that these animals grow up in the tents together with the children of the family with whom they share food, deprivations and hardships, and that the birth of a colt of fine lineage marks a day of joy in the whole ashiret.
In Europe the Arabian horses are classified according to an erroneous and incomplete system. I am thinking especially of their division into Kohilans and Nedshdis. This latter name designates the numerous tribe of Arabs inhabiting the high plateau of the interior of Arabia, and breeding, it is true, excellent horses. But just as little as every Arabian horse is full blooded, just as little every Nedshdi is a Kohilan. This is the whole matter: Kohilan was the favorite horse of Hasaret-Suleiman-Peigamber (His Highness Solomon the Prophet). It is, moreover, true and no legend that the better horses receive at birth their family-tree, in which their parents, and often their grandfathers, are mentioned, and which they carry through life, generally in a triangular capsule, by a string around their neck. In the course of centuries several of Kohilan's descendants have so greatly distinguished themselves that they have become sires of note in their own name. Among the most notable descendants of Kohilan I heard mentioned the colts of Meneghi, and next of Terafi, Djelevi, Sakali, and many more. Mahomet himself rode a Kohilan of the family of Meneghi on his flight from Medina. You understand, therefore, that not every Nedshdi has to be full-blooded, and that a Kohilan may be as well an Aenesi or Shamarly as a Nedshdi.
The Arabs of the race of Shamarr who camp in the country between the two rivers, and who can muster ten thousand mounted men, had recently been guilty of many robberies, and had refused to recognize the new skeikh whom the Porte had appointed over them. Hafiss-Pasha, therefore, decided to give them a most thorough chastisement. The pashas of Orfa and of Mardin were to march against them, and he wanted to have the pasha of Mossul, who is not under his jurisdiction, do the same. If this had been done, the Arabs would have been forced back against the Euphrates, beyond which the Aenesi Arabs live who are hostile to them. But Indshe-Bairaktar did not fancy an expedition which was expensive and promised little booty. When finally definite orders came from the Bagdad-Valesi, the other pashas had already scared away the enemy, who had disappeared into unknown regions.
After a brief and interesting sojourn, therefore, we decided to return through the desert with a caravan which was on the point of starting. Since the Arabs had been greatly incensed by the recent attacks, the expedition was increased by forty horsemen. We joined it toward evening in its encampment, about two hours from Mossul, near the Tigris where everybody wished to have one more last good fill of water. The Kyerwan-Bashi, or leader of the caravan, whom the pasha had notified of our arrival, at once made his appearance and had his tent made ready for us. He also presented us with a goat for supper.
For five days we traversed the Tsull, or desert of northern Mesopotamia, without seeing any human habitations. You must not think of this desert as a sea of sand, but as an interminable green plain with only occasional, very slight undulations. The Arabs call it Bahr, the sea, and the caravans proceed in an absolutely straight line, taking their direction from artificial mounts which rise above the plain like prehistoric graves. They indicate that once upon a time a village existed here, and that, therefore, a well or a spring must be nearby. But the mounts often are six, ten or even twelve hours distant the one from the other. The villages have disappeared, the wells have gone dry, and the rivulets are bitterly salt. A few weeks later this green plain which now is nourished by copious daily dews will be a wild waste parched by the sun. The luxuriant growth of grass which today reaches to our stirrups will be withered and every water-course run dry. Then it will be necessary to follow the Tigris in a wide detour, and none but the ships of the desert, the camels, will be able to traverse this plain, and they only by night.
Our caravan consists of six hundred camels and four hundred mules. The big bags carried by the former contain almost exclusively palm-nuts for the dye houses of Aleppo, and cotton. The more valuable part of the freight, silk from Bagdad and shawls from Persia, pearls from Bassora, and good silver money which in Constantinople will be re- coined into bad piasters, is small in proportion to the bulk carried.
The camels go in strings of from ten to twenty, one behind the other. The owner rides ahead on a small donkey, and although his stirrups are short his feet almost touch the ground. He is continually shoving his pointed slippers into the flanks of his poor beast and placidly smoking his pipe. His servants are on foot. Unless the donkey leads, the camels refuse to stir. With long thoughtful strides they move along, reaching the while with their thin restless necks for thistles or thorns by the roadside. The mules are walking at a brisk pace. They are decorated with little bells and beautiful halters gaily set with shells.
When the caravan has come to the place where the night is to be spent, the Kjerwan-Bashi canters ahead and designates the exact spot for the camp. The beasts of burden are unloaded as they arrive, and the huge bags are placed together as a kind of fortification in the shape of a quadrangle, within which each one prepares himself a place of rest. Our tent, which was the only one in the caravan, stood outside and was given a special guard of Bashi-Bazouks. The camels and mules were turned loose in the high grass where they were expected to look also for all the water they needed.
As soon as it grows dark the camels, which have roved often at half an hour's distance, are collected. The leaders call to them, and since each one knows his master's poah! poah! they obediently come home. They are arranged in rows within the quadrangle. The smallest boy can control these big, strong, yet harmless and helpless animals. He calls: Krr! krr! and the huge beasts patiently sink to their knees. Then they fold their hind legs, and after a series of strange, undulating movements all are lying in regular rows, moving their long necks in every direction and looking about. I have always noticed the resemblance of a camel's neck with that of an ostrich, and the Turks call these birds deve-kush, the camel-birds. A thin cord is then tied around one bent knee of each camel. If it should rise it would have to stand on three legs, and would be unable to move.
On this evening we were visited by several friendly Arabs, short and thin, but strong and sinewy people. Their complexion was yellowish-brown, their eyes were small and vivacious. An assumed dignity barely disguised their native vivacity, and their guttural speech reminded us very strongly of the Jews. Their dress consisted of a rough cotton shirt, a white woolen cloak and a red and yellow  | An image should appear at this position in the text. If you are able to provide it, see Wikisource:Image guidelines and Help:Adding images for guidance. |
MOLTKE AT SEDAN
Hunting in the Tshull is highly successful. There are countless gazelles, pheasants and partridges hiding in the tall grass. On the third day we were just on the point of following some bustards, which clumsily rise on their wings and after some time descend again to the ground, when a general alarm arose in the caravan. "The Arabs are coming!" was shouted everywhere. A throng had been noticed in the distance approaching very rapidly. The head of our column stopped, but since our whole caravan was stretched out to the length of approximately four miles, there was little hope of protecting it with a guard of some sixty armed men. The horsemen galloped ahead to an artificial mount, where the Arabs were pointed out to me. There were indeed numerous black spots moving rapidly through the plain, but since I had a small telescope with me I could quickly convince my companions that what we saw before us was nothing but a huge herd of wild boars bearing down upon us. Soon the beasts could be recognized with the naked eye.
Tonight the Kjerwan-Bashi told me a characteristic story of an Arab which I had heard before in Orfa.
A Turkish general of cavalry, Dano-Pasha at Mardin, had been negotiating for some time with an Arab tribe concerning the purchase of a full-blooded mare of the Meneghi breed. Finally a price of sixty bags or almost fifteen hundred dollars was agreed upon. At the appointed hour the sheikh of the tribe arrives with his mare in the courtyard of the pasha. The latter is still trying to bargain, when the sheikh proudly replies that he will not take one para less. The Turk sulkily throws him the money saying that thirty thousand piasters are an unheard of price for a horse. The Arab looks at him in silence, and ties the money very complacently in his cloak. Then he descends to the courtyard to take leave of his mare. He mutters some Arabic words in her ear, strokes her eyes and forehead, examines her hoofs, and walks all around her, carefully studying the attentive horse. Suddenly he jumps on her bare back, and, in the same instant, off she shoots like a dart out of the courtyard.
In this country the horses generally stand ready with their palans or felt saddles on, day and night. Every distinguished man has at least one or two horses in his stable ready to be mounted as soon as they have been bridled. The Arabs, however, ride without bridles. The halter serves to check the horse, and a gentle tap with the open hand on the neck makes it go to the right or the left. Not more than a few seconds, therefore, elapsed before the agas of the pasha were mounted and in hot pursuit of the fugitive.
The unshod hoofs of the Arabian mare had never yet trodden cobble stones, and very carefully she picked her way while she hastened down the steep, uneven road leading from the castle. The Turks, on the other hand, galloped over the steep descent with its loose pebbles just as we often gallop up a sandy slope. Thin, circular shoes, forged cold, kept all harm from the feet of their horses, which were accustomed to such trips and made no false steps.
Where the village ends the agas have almost caught up with the sheikh, but now they are in the plain, the Arabian mare is in her element, off she darts, straight ahead, for here there are neither ditches nor fences, neither rivers nor mountains to delay her course. Like a clever jockey who leads a race, the Arab wishes to ride as slowly and not as quickly as possible. Constantly looking back at his pursuers, he keeps out of gunshot. When they approach he pushes on; when they fall behind, he slows the pace of his horse; when they stop, he walks his mare. Thus the chase continues till the fiery orb of the sun verges toward the horizon. Then for the first time the Arab demands of his horse every ounce of her strength. Crouching over her neck he drives his heels into her flanks, and with a loud "Jellah!" is gone. The sod resounds under powerful hoofbeats, and soon only a cloud of dust indicates to his pursuers the course he has taken.
Here where the sun descends to the horizon almost in a vertical line the twilight is exceedingly brief and soon dark night had swallowed up every trace of the fugitive. The Turks, without provision for themselves or water for their horses, realized that they were some twelve or fifteen hours away from home and in an unknown locality. What could they do but return and bring to their irate master the unwelcome news that both the horse and the rider with the money were gone? Not until the third evening did they reach Mardin, half dead of exhaustion and with horses hardly able to put one foot ahead of the other. Their only consolation was that here there was another instance of Arabian perfidy for them to revile. The traitor's horse, to be sure, they were obliged to praise, and they had to confess that such an animal could hardly be paid for too dearly.
Next day, just when the Imam is calling to morning prayer, the pasha hears hoofbeats under his window, and into the courtyard the sheikh is riding entirely unabashed. "Sidi," he calls up, "Sir, do you want your money or my horse?"
Somewhat less quickly than the Arab had ridden we reached on the fifth day the foot of the mountain and near a clear rivulet the large village of Tillaja (Tshilaga), doubtless the ancient Tilsaphata, where the starving army of Jovian on its retreat from Persia to Nisibin found its first provisions. There I learned that on that very morning Mehmet-Pasha had started with an army on an expedition against the Kurds in the north. I at once decided to join him and, leaving the caravan, arrived at his camp that same evening. There I was told that Hafiss-Pasha had sent a guard of fifty horsemen to meet us, whom we had missed, because they had looked for us in the direction of Sindjar.