The extirpation of the Assassins won for Hulágú Khán the
applause of the orthodox Muhammadans, but his next procedure
was one which only those whose position rendered it impossible
for them to speak freely could mention without expressions of
the utmost horror. Six months after the unfortunate Ruknu'd-
The first encounter took place at Takrít, where the Caliph's
soldiers succeeded in destroying the bridge by which Bájú
Noyán intended to cross the Tigris. Their success, however,
was of brief duration, and soon the Mongols were swarming
into Dujayl, al-Isḥáqí, Nahr Malik, Nahr 'Ísá, and other
dependencies of Baghdád, while the panic-stricken inhabitants
of these places fled to seek refuge in the metropolis. The
ferry-men, as we learn from the Kitábu'l-Fakhrí, profited by
the panic, exacting from the terrified fugitives for a passage
across the river golden bracelets, precious stuffs, or a fee of
several dínárs. The next encounter took place at Dujayl on
or about January 11, 1258. Here again the Caliph's army,
commanded by Mujáhidu'd-Dín Aybak, entitled ad-Dawídár
aṣ-Ṣaghír (the Under-Secretary of State), and Malik 'Izzu'd-
“I was,” says he, “in the army of the Under-Secretary when he went forth to meet the Tartars on the western side of the City of Peace (Baghdád), or the occasion of its supreme disaster in the year A.H. 656 (began January 8, A.D. 1258). We met at Nahr Bashír, one of the dependencies of Dujayl; and there would ride forth from amongst us to offer single combat a knight fully accoutred and mounted on an Arab horse, so that it was as though he and his steed together were [solid as] some great mountain. Then there would come forth to meet him from the Mongols a horseman mounted on a horse like a donkey, and having in his hand a spear like a spindle, wearing neither robe nor armour, so that all who saw him were moved to laughter. Yet ere the day was done the victory was theirs, and they inflicted on us a great defeat, which was the Key of Evil, and thereafter there befell us what befell us.”
Most of the fugitives perished in the quagmires produced by the artificial flood already mentioned, except such as succeeded in swimming the river and escaping through the desert into Syria, and a few who, with the Dawídár, succeeded in reentering Baghdád. The Dawídár and 'Izzu'd-Dín urged the Caliph to escape by boat, whilst there was yet time, to Baṣra, but the Wazír Ibnu'l-'Alqamí (according to the author of the Ṭabaqát-í-Náṣirí, p. 427) opposed this plan, and, while the Caliph still hesitated, the Mongols encompassed the city on every side. The siege proper seems to have begun on January 22: on the 30th a general assault was made, and on February 4 the Caliph again sent Ibnu'l-Jawzí to Hulágú with costly presents and offers of surrender. A few days later, lured by the usual false and specious promises of clemency, he gave himself up, and, together with his eldest and second sons, Abu'l-'Abbás Aḥmad and Abu'l-Faḍá'il 'Abdu'r-Raḥmán, was cruelly put to death by order of Hulágú. As to the manner of his death, great uncertainty prevails, but the story that he was starved to death in his treasure-house, popularised by Longfellow in his poem “Kambalu,” is less probable than the account given by most of the Muslim historians that he was wrapped in a carpet and beaten to death with clubs. Some such fate certainly befell him, for it was against the Mongol practice to shed royal blood, and when one of their own princes was executed they generally adopted the barbarous method of breaking his back.
The sack of Baghdád began on February 13, 1258, and lasted for a week, during which 800,000 of the inhabitants were put to death, while the treasures, material, literary, and scientific, accumulated during the centuries while Baghdád was the metropolis of the vast empire of the 'Abbásid Caliphs were plundered or destroyed. The loss suffered by Muslim learning, which never again reached its former level, defies description and almost surpasses imagination: not only were thousands of priceless books utterly annihilated, but, owing to the number of men of learning who perished or barely escaped with their lives, the very tradition of accurate scholarship and original research, so conspicuous in Arabic literature before this period, was almost destroyed. Never, probably, was so great and splendid a civilisation so swiftly consumed with fire and quenched with blood. “Then there took place,” in the words of the Kitábu'l-Fakhrí, where it describes the storming of Baghdád, “such wholesale slaughter and unrestrained looting and excessive torture and mutilation as it is hard to hear spoken of even generally; how think you, then, of its details? There happened what happened of things I like not to mention; therefore imagine what you will, but ask me not of the matter!” And remember that he who wrote these words (in A.D. 1302, only forty-four years after the even of which he speaks) lived under a dominion which, though Muslim, was still Mongol, that, namely, of Gházán, the great-grandson of Hulágú.
There is a good deal of doubt as to the part played by the
Caliph's wazír, Mu'ayyidu'd-Dín Muḥammad ibnu'l-'Alqamí,
in the surrender of Baghdád. In the Ṭabaqát-i-Náṣirí
(pp. 423 et seqq.) he is denounced in the bitterest terms as a
traitor who deliberately reduced the numbers and strength of the
garrison, and afterwards induced the Caliph to surrender, his
motive in this being partly ambition, but chiefly a burning
desire to avenge certain wrongs done to followers of the Shí'a
sect, to which he himself belonged, by the Caliph's eldest son.
Ibnu'ṭ-Ṭiqṭiqí, on the other hand, warmly defends him against
this charge, which, he says, is disproved by the fact (communicated
to him by Ibnu'l-'Alqamí's nephew, Aḥmad ibnu'ḍ-