At last I made a compact with the weather: if it really cleared and warmed by a certain date, I would stay; otherwise, permitting no other consideration to hinder, I would resolutely book a passage to Beyrouth, and find my way to Kurdistan. Funds certainly were scarce; I could not afford to travel as a European usually does, with servants, paying double for everything and occupying the best quarters everywhere. If I went I must don a fez and pass as a native of the East, must buy my own food, and do my own haggling, must do all those things which no European could or would ever think of doing. In Persia I had had experience of life in disguise as a Persian, and this would be an easier task for I was a stranger among strangers, and any difference in our ways and habits would be put down to that fact. There was a certain attraction, too, in going unattended by anyone, knowing practically no Turkish nor Arabic, across Syria and down the Tigris to Kurdistan. Once there I should be more at home, for I knew two or three dialects and Persian pretty perfectly, which would enable me to pass as a Persian among the Kurds, and to hide ignorance of that habit and custom which are the rule of life in the East. As to Muhammadan observances, I had in Persia learned all that, and as a Shi’a could say my prayers, and dispute the Qur’an with the best of them. So, all things considered, the scheme recommended itself. It was cheap, I should see much new country, and many new tribes. I should learn many more Kurdish dialects, and when I had finished should be in possession of a truer knowledge of the people, their ways and nature, than a European possibly could in ten years. So I sat down and waited for the decision of the weather. FOOTNOTES TO CHAPTER I: [1] The Rue Luledjie Hendek. [2] Autumn 1909. CHAPTER II FROM CONSTANTINOPLE TO HIERAPOLIS “Chauakānam kaot ba chūl u raikadā Halmbarī chū be vairān jakadā.” (“My eyes were turned towards the solitude and road, And I rose up and went to desert places.”) _Song of the Erzinjan Kurds._ The weather was not so fond of me as to clear up for the sake of keeping me, for as the day of decision approached it grew steadily worse, and it was in a driving storm of cold rain that I waded down to Galata and booked a passage by the Messageries Maritimes steamer to Beyrouth.