On the 18th July, about 7 P.M., we passed through the gate of Yambu’, and took a due Easterly course. Our route lay over the plain between the mountains of Radhwah on the left, and the sea on the right hand; the land was desert, — that is to say, a hard level plain, strewed with rounded lumps of granite and greenstone schist, with here and there a dwarf Acacia, and a tuft of rank camel grass. By the light of a glorious moon, nearly at the full, I was able to see the country tolerably well.
Our party consisted of twelve camels, and we travelled in Indian file, head tied to tail, with but one outrider, Omar Effendi, whose rank required him to mount a dromedary with showy trappings. Immediately in front of me was Amm Jamal, whom I had to reprove for asking the boy Mohammed, “Where have you picked up that Hindi, (Indian)?” “Are we, the Afghans, the Indian-slayers,1 become Indians?” I vociferated with indignation, and brought the thing home to his feelings, by asking him how he, an Arab, would like to be called an Egyptian, — a Fellah? The rest of the party was behind, sitting or dozing upon the rough platforms made by the lids of the two huge boxes slung to the sides of their camels. Only one old woman, Al-Sitt Maryam (the lady Mary), returning to Al-Madinah, her adopted country, after a visit to a sister at Cairo, allowed herself the luxury of a half-dollar Shibriyah or cot, fastened crosswise over the animal’s load. Moreover, all the party, except Omar Effendi, in token of poverty, were dressed in the coarsest and dirtiest of clothes, — the general suit consisting of a shirt torn in divers places and a bit of rag wrapped round the head. They carried short chibuks without mouth-pieces, and tobacco-pouches of greasy leather. Though the country hereabouts is perfectly safe, all had their arms in readiness, and the unusual silence that succeeded to the singing, even Sa’ad the Demon held his tongue, — was sufficient to show how much they feared for their property. After a slow march of two hours facing the moon, we turned somewhat towards the North-East, and began to pass over undulating ground, in which a steady rise was perceptible. We arrived at the halting-place at three in the morning, after a short march of about eight hours, during which we could not have passed over more than sixteen miles.2 The camels were nakh’d3; the boxes were taken off and piled together as a precaution against invisible robbers; my little tent, the only one in the party, was pitched; we then spread our rugs upon the ground and lay down to sleep.
We arose at about 9 A.M. (July 19), and after congratulating one another upon being once more in the “dear Desert,” we proceeded in exhilarated mood to light the fire for pipes and breakfast. The meal-a biscuit, a little rice, and a cup of milkless tea-was soon dispatched, after which I proceeded to inspect our position.
About a mile to the westward lay the little village Al-Musahhal,4 a group of miserable mud hovels. On the south was a strip of bright blue sea, and all around, an iron plain producing naught but stones and grasshoppers, and bounded northward by a grisly wall of blackish rock. Here and there a shrub fit only for fuel, or a tuft of coarse grass, crisp with heat, met the eye. All was sun-parched; the furious heat from above was drying up the sap and juice of the land, as the simmering and quivering atmosphere showed; moreover the heavy dews of these regions, forming in large drops upon the plants and stones, concentrate the morning rays upon them like a system of burning-glasses. After making these few observations I followed the example of my companions, and returned to sleep.
At two P.M. we were roused to a dinner as simple as the breakfast had been. Boiled rice with an abundance of the clarified butter5 in which Easterns delight, some fragments of Kahk6 or soft biscuit, and stale bread7 and a handful of stoned and pressed date-paste, called ’Ajwah, formed the menu. Our potations began before dinner with a vile-tasted but wholesome drink called Akit,8 dried sour milk dissolved in water; at the meal we drank the leather-flavoured element, and ended with a large cupful of scalding tea. Enormous quantities of liquid were consumed, for the sun seemed to have got into our throats, and the perspiration trickled as after a shower of rain. Whilst we were eating, a Badawi woman passed close by the tent, leading a flock of sheep and goats, seeing which I expressed a desire to drink milk. My companions sent by one of the camel-men a bit of bread, and asked in exchange for a cupful of “laban.9” Thus I learned that the Arabs, even in this corrupt region, still adhere to the meaningless custom of their ancestors, who chose to make the term “Labban10” (milk-seller) an opprobrium and a disgrace. Possibly the origin of the prejudice might be the recognising of a traveller’s guest-right to call for milk gratis. However this may be, no one will in the present day sell this article of consumption, even at civilised Meccah, except Egyptians, a people supposed to be utterly without honour. As a general rule in the Hijaz, milk abounds in the spring, but at all other times of the year it is difficult to be procured. The Badawi woman managed, however, to send me back a cupful.
At three P.M. we were ready to start, and all saw, with unspeakable gratification, a huge black nimbus rise from the shoulder of Mount Radhwah, and range itself, like a good genius, between us and our terrible foe, the sun. We hoped that it contained rain, but presently a blast of hot wind, like the breath of a volcano, blew over the plain, and the air was filled with particles of sand. This is the “dry storm” of Arabia; it appears to depend upon some electrical phenomena which it would be desirable to investigate.11 When we had loaded and mounted, my camel-men, two in number, came up to the Shugduf and demanded “Bakhshish,” which, it appears, they are now in the habit of doing each time the traveller starts. I was at first surprised to find the word here, but after a few days of Badawi society, my wonder diminished. The men were Beni-Harb of the great Hijazi tribe, which has kept its blood pure for the last thirteen centuries, — how much more we know not, — but they had been corrupted by intercourse with pilgrims, retaining none of their ancestral qualities but greed of gain, revengefulness, pugnacity, and a frantic kind of bravery, displayed on rare occasions. Their nobility, however, did not prevent my quoting the Prophet’s saying, “Of a truth, the worst names among the Arabs are the Beni-Kalb and the Beni-Harb,12” whilst I taunted them severely with their resemblance to the Fellahs of Egypt. They would have resented this with asperity, had it proceeded from their own people, but the Turkish pilgrim-the character in which they knew me, despite my Arab dress-is a privileged person. The outer man of these Fight-Sons was contemptible; small chocolate-coloured beings, stunted and thin, with mops of course bushy hair burned brown by the sun, straggling beards, vicious eyes, frowning brows, screaming voices, and well-made, but attenuated, limbs. On their heads were Kufiyahs in the last stage of wear: a tattered shirt, indigo-dyed, and girt with a bit of common rope, composed their clothing; and their feet were protected from the stones by soles of thick leather, kept in place by narrow thongs tied to the ankle. Both were armed, one with a matchlock, and a Shintiyan13 in a leathern scabbard, slung over the shoulder, the other with a Nabbut, and both showed at the waist the Arab’s invariable companion, the Jambiyah (dagger). These ragged fellows, however, had their pride. They would eat with me, and not disdain, like certain self-styled Caballeros, to ask for more; but of work they would do none. No promise of “Bakhshish,” potent as the spell of that word is, would induce them to assist in pitching my tent: they even expected Shaykh Nur to cook for them, and I had almost to use violence, for even the just excuse of a sore foot was insufficient to procure the privilege of mounting my Shugduf while the camel was sitting. It was, they said, the custom of the country from time immemorial to use a ladder when legs would not act. I agreed with them, but objected that I had no ladder. At last, wearied with their thick-headedness, I snatched the nose-string of the camel, and by main force made it kneel.
Our party was now strong enough. We had about 200 beasts carrying grain, attended by their proprietors, truculent looking as the contrabandistas of the Pyrenees. The escort was composed of seven Irregular Turkish cavalry, tolerably mounted, and supplied each with an armoury in epitome. They were privily derided by our party, who, being Arabs, had a sneaking fondness for the Badawin, however loth they might be to see them amongst the boxes.
For three hours we travelled in a south-easterly direction upon a hard plain and a sandy flat, on which several waters from the highlands find a passage to the sea westward. Gradually we were siding towards the mountains, and at sunset I observed that we had sensibly neared them. We dismounted for a short halt; and, strangers being present, my companions, before sitting down to smoke, said their prayers-a pious exercise in which they did not engage for three days afterwards, when they met certain acquaintances at Al-Hamra. As evening came on, we emerged from a scrub of Acacia and Tamarisk and turned due East, traversing an open country with a perceptible rise. Scarcely was it dark before the cry of “Harami” (thieves) rose loud in the rear, causing such confusion as one may see in a boat in the Bay of Naples when suddenly neared by a water-spout.
All the camel-men brandished their huge staves, and rushed back vociferating in the direction of the robbers. They were followed by the horsemen; and truly, had the thieves possessed the usual acuteness of the profession, they might have driven off the camels in our van with safety and convenience.14 But these contemptible beings were only half a dozen in number, and they had lighted their matchlocks, which drew a bullet or two in their direction. Whereupon they ran away. This incident aroused no inconsiderable excitement, for it seemed ominous of worse things about to happen to us when entangled in the hills, and the faces of my companions, perfect barometers of fair and foul tidings, fell to zero. For nine hours we journeyed through a brilliant moonlight, and as the first grey streak appeared in the Eastern sky we entered a scanty “Misyal,15” or Fiumara, strewed with pebbles and rounded stones, about half a mile in breadth, and flanked by almost perpendicular hills of primitive formation. I began by asking the names of peaks and other remarkable spots, when I found that a folio volume would not contain a three months’ collection16: every hill and dale, flat, valley, and water-course here has its proper name or rather names. The ingenuity shown by the Badawin in distinguishing between localities the most similar, is the result of a high organization of the perceptive faculties, perfected by the practice of observing a recurrence of landscape features few in number and varying but little amongst themselves. After travelling two hours up this torrent bed, winding in an Easterly direction, and crossing some “Harrah,” or ridges of rock, “Ria,” steep descents,17 “Kitaah,” patch of stony flat, and bits of “Sahil,” dwarf plain, we found ourselves about eight A.M., after a march of about thirty-four miles, at Bir Sa’id (Sa’id’s Well), our destination.
I had been led to expect at the “Well,” a pastoral scene, wild flowers, flocks and flowing waters; so I looked with a jaundiced eye upon a deep hole full of slightly brackish water dug in a tamped hollow-a kind of punch-bowl with granite walls, upon whose grim surface a few thorns of exceeding hardihood braved the sun for a season. Not a house was in sight-it was as barren and desolate a spot as the sun ever “viewed in his wide career.” But this is what the Arabian traveller must expect. He is to traverse, for instance, the Wady Al-Ward-the Vale of Flowers. He indulges in sweet recollections of Indian lakes beautiful with the Lotus, and Persian plains upon which Narcissus is the meanest of grasses. He sees a plain like swish-work, where knobs of granite act daisies; and where, at every fifty yards, some hapless bud or blossom is dying of inanition among the stones.
The sun scorched our feet as we planted the tent, and, after drinking our breakfast, we passed the usual day of perspiration and semi-lethargy. In discomfort man naturally hails a change, even though it be one from bad to worse. When our enemy began slanting towards the West, we felt ready enough to proceed on our journey. The camels were laden shortly after 3 P.M., July 20th, and we started, with water jars in our hands, through a storm of Samun.
We travelled five hours in a North-Easterly course up a diagonal valley,18 through a country fantastic in its desolation-a mass of huge hills, barren plains, and desert vales. Even the sturdy Acacias here failed, and in some places the camel grass could not find earth enough for its root. The road wound among mountains, rocks and hills of granite, and over broken ground, flanked by huge blocks and boulders piled up as if man’s art had aided Nature to disfigure herself. Vast clefts seamed like scars the hideous face of earth; here they widened into dark caves, there they were choked with glistening drift sand. Not a bird or a beast was to be seen or heard; their presence would have argued the vicinity of water; and, though my companions opined that Badawin were lurking among the rocks, I decided that these Badawin were the creatures of their fears. Above, a sky like polished blue steel, with a tremendous blaze of yellow light, glared upon us without the thinnest veil of mist cloud. Below, the brass-coloured circle scorched the face and dazzled the eyes, mocking them the while with offers of water that was but air. The distant prospect was more attractive than the near view, because it borrowed a bright azure tinge from the intervening atmosphere; but the jagged peaks and the perpendicular streaks of shadow down the flanks of the mountainous background showed that yet in store for us was no change for the better.
Between 10 and 11 P.M., we reached human habitations-a phenomenon unseen since we left Al-Musahhal-in the shape of a long straggling village. It is called Al-Hamra, from the redness of the sands near which it is built, or Al-Wasitah, the “half-way,” because it is the middle station between Yambu’ and Al-Madinah. It is therefore considerably out of place in Burckhardt’s map; and those who copy from him make it much nearer the sea-port than it really is. We wandered nearly an hour in search of an encamping station, for the surly villagers ordered us off every flatter bit of ground, without, however, deigning to show us where our jaded beasts might rest. At last, after long wrangling, we found the usual spot; the camels were unloaded, the boxes and baggage were disposed in a circle for greater security against the petty pilferers in which this part of the road abounds, and my companions spread their rugs so as to sleep upon their valuables. I was invited to follow th............