A Dweller in Mesopotamia | Page 4

used to the feel of the
ground as a preliminary to what was coming later. It had rained heavily
two or three days before, consequently there were lake districts, slimy
reaches of mixed oil and mud and dried, hard-looking islands that were
in reality traps to the unwary. The top only was firm, and it had the
playful property of sliding rapidly on the greasy substratum and thus
sitting you down without warning when you thought you had reached
dry land.
[Illustration: "A mysterious-looking furnace tower."]
Had I known more about Abadan before I started I would have taken a
course of lessons in tight-rope walking, for that seems to be a great
asset in getting along. The Chief was quite a Blondin. He could walk or
run any length of pipe and never swerve. Much practice had made him
an adept. There were places where the only alternative to walking in
mud and water was this balancing feat along the pipe lines.
When I had fallen several times and covered myself with a mixture that
looked like grey condensed milk mixed with butter and felt like a
poultice, I got my second wind. I was still recognizable as a human
being. All fear of making myself in a worse mess had vanished, and
thus, freed from nervousness, I began to get quite daring. The Chief
saw in me the making of a first-class pipe walker, and prophesied that I
should be able to attain the speed of three miles an hour. I still fell off,
however, enough not to get a swelled head on the subject.
After what to me seemed miles, and which as a matter of fact must
have been about five hundred yards, we emerged from the lake region
and were able to find a track along the ground. It skirted a railway line
and led toward some buildings and machinery. A dull glow began to
illuminate the scene and show up our path.
[Illustration: "Crude steam engines evolved by Titans when the world
was young."]

A building loomed up against the sky. It was dimly lit by firelight and
suggested to me a glimpse of the Tower of London with the corner
turrets knocked off. In front of this were some vast boilers with
uncouth chimneys stretching out of sight into the dark sky. The whole
thing, weird and eerie, was reflected in pools of water, through which
black figures toiled and splashed, pushing some loaded trollies. Then
we came out into a lighted area at the foot of a mysterious-looking
furnace tower, where strangely clad men, not unlike tattered and
disreputable monks, were hauling at a great black object, some boiler or
piece of machinery.
The workmen on closer view showed that they were dressed in sacking
or some such rough material in a sort of tunic. They wore long curly
hair and curious hats that looked like Assyrian helmets.
"What race are these men?" I asked the Chief.
"They are the Medes and Persians," he replied.
"And what is that tower?"
"Oh, that--," he paused for a few seconds, "that's Nebuchadnezzar's
Fiery Furnace heated seven times hotter."
He was evidently determined to do me well from the point of view of
local colour and picturesque Biblical association. I think, however, he
missed a chance when later on we saw mysterious writing in Arabic
characters upon the wall of an engine house. He should at least have
read it out as MENE, MENE, TEKEL, UPHARSIN.
[Illustration: H.M.S. MANTIS, ONE OF THE MONITORS ON THE
TIGRIS]
Abadan is on an island and the pipe line crosses the water from the
mainland. We could see it stretching away across the flat land into the
darkness where the sky-line of the palm belt by the waterside was just
visible. It is strange to reflect that all this scene of careless activity is
dependent on those two pipes, each about 14 inches in diameter,

connecting it with a point 150 miles away.
I came again in the morning to look at the works. They did not appear
half so mysterious as when seen in the dark. The Tower of London had
shrunk into quite a small buttressed building of brick and
Nebuchadnezzar's Fiery Furnace dwindled considerably in size. The
Medes and Persians, on the other hand, looked wilder and more
"operatic" than at night. I think as a matter of fact they were Kurds.
It is a very simple style of get-up to imitate. For purposes of private
theatricals I will tell you how to do it, in case you should find the stage
direction, "_Alarums and excursions. Enter the Medes and Persians._"
Take a very tattered, colourless, and ill-fitting dressing gown, without a
girdle and flopping about untidily. Wear long black curly hair to
shoulder. Put plenty of grease