"Jordan past"

Nothing during the rest of that day's ride contributed so much to our entertainment as the conduct of the white baggage-horse. He was the pair of Sadowi, and of very similar appearance, but had not been selected to carry the Lady because he was, like most Arabs, and some Arab horses, blind of one eye. It had not at first dawned upon him that his companion had received promotion, but the fact had been lately revealed by some accident, and had been working in his mind ever since. To-day things had come to a climax, and he now perceived that not only had Sadowi escaped from the hateful and galling pack-saddle—in itself a preposterous load—not only had he a much lighter burden to carry, but he was giving himself airs of superiority, and travelling, as a rule, the foremost of the entire cavalcade. Such autocracy was not to be endured, and could and should be put a stop to; if he reigned he should not reign alone. The creature, a worthy and excellent {162} baggage horse, doing his duty in his own state of life, now became self-willed and persistent under the overmastering influence of this dominant idea. We called him the "majnoon," the name which the Arabs give to the half-crazy men, generally derwishes, who wander about, living upon the alms of the benevolent. He insisted on keeping up with his comrade. In spite of all inconveniences occasioned by his imperfect sight, his clumsy burden, he generally succeeded in remaining side by side with, or immediately behind, the Lady. If driven back he would persistently push his way past all the rest in turn, till he regained his position, loudly grunting dissatisfaction and determination. As we descended to the plain, and the broad caravan road allowed room for any number to ride abreast on the wide sands, the horse most accustomed to go beside Sadowi made several efforts to take up his usual position, always repulsed by the "majnoon." Sadowi himself, who received an occasional push from the unwieldy heap of baggage, especially when on the blind side of his companion, was not wholly pleased with the arrangement; but whenever the Lady tried to give a wider berth to her inconvenient {163} attendant, the "majnoon" always followed, discontentedly grunting at the extra strain of the additional pace he compelled himself to assume.

We had become, by this time, exceedingly conscious of the change of climate, which had occurred even since the morning, and much more so since we left the Belka. The gorges had been hot and close, the sands of the plain seemed to radiate heat, and the level rays of the sun, as we rode westward, produced towards evening, that sense of brain fatigue indescribable to those who do not know their effect in an Oriental climate—to many far more exhausting than the direct heat and glare of midday. The moment, however, that the great god sank to rest behind the hills of Jud?a, we luxuriated to the full in the wonderful beauty of the brief twilight. Away to the east, almost without our perceiving it, the purple hills arose once more to shut out from us that enchanted world of which we had taken one brief glimpse. A distant flame, lurid against the pearly sky, showed us that the charcoal-burners were still at work. Wreaths of white mist lay in the hollows of the mountains; while the clear mirror of the Dead Sea, stretching far as the eye could reach, reflected the hills of Jud?a, dark masses, {164} looking across the wide plain to the evening glow beyond. A single line, standing up like a needle against the west, showed us the Russian tower on the Mount of Olives, reminder of all that world of politics, and rivalry, and ambition, of which for a few days we had so gladly lost sight. Even our old friend the jujube-tree, zizyphus, was here again, reminding us that we were once more in subtropical surroundings, and several times we had to stoop to the horses' necks to avoid its unwelcome embraces.

It was some hours since we had met with anything human; but, as the darkness gathered, the glare of camp fires broke out here and there, among the bushes, and, far away, the lights of Jericho seemed to beckon us to the repose we were beginning to need. Suddenly we came upon a weird scene—an assembly of the black tents of the Bedu, a bright fire in the midst. Quite a large number of men were gathered about the flaming pile, some preparing supper, others tending the animals—horses, asses, camels—tethered beside the tents or left free to wander in search of food among the undergrowth of scrub. "Waiting to cross the Jordan Bridge," it was whispered among us, together with a warning that we must approach this Rubicon {165} as silently as possible, lest we should provoke the jealousy and rivalry of others less fortunate than ourselves, and cause superfluous discussion, and delay—for even those who had fulfilled the necessary conditions of a now practically unlimited quarantine, might not cross the river after sunset.

We rode on silently to the water's edge, and drew rein while Khalil went forward, barefoot, to secure the opening of the gates before we ventured in the darkness upon the slippery and rotten planks. There was a cautious knocking, a long, low-toned parley. Our mukari returned, and there was more parley among our leaders, and a suggestion made of "a few napoleons," emphatically negatived by the Professor. Khalil returned to his conference, and came back with a request for papers. The Arabic-speaking Sportsman, armed with a portentous sheaf of teskerys (local passports) and permits, went forward, soon returning, for an instant, to tell us to get off our horses, for the poor beasts, becoming restless, were making too much noise. This, we felt, implied that we must be resigned to further delay, and we stretched ourselves upon the sand, each securely holding the tether of his own horse, which would otherwise have {166} been off in an instant in search of food; for their supper hour was already past, and they had had nothing since yesterday.

Entertainment did not fail us. In the camp we had passed, the Bedu had finished their supper, and were now amusing themselves about the camp fire, which flared high, and showed every detail more clearly than daylight. First there was dancing and singing, both of the kind which seems to us so singularly uninspiring—the tunes moving over about four notes, the dance of about, perhaps, as many steps, accompanied by shouts and hand-clappings; men dancing with each other, of course, or rather opposite to each other, each occasionally resting his hands upon his neighbour's shoulders. When this amusement palled, each kilted his kumbaz into his waistband as one has seen a Blue-coat School boy dispose of his very similar garment for precisely the same amusement, of playing—leapfrog! With long, bronzed limbs, clean cut as those of a race-horse, with not a superfluous pound of flesh and not an ounce that was not muscle, it was really exciting to see these children of the desert vying with each other in the familiar game, after a fashion which would be edifying at Eton or Harrow.

{167} No; it was not amusement that lacked, it was water! It was nearly eight hours since we had had those precious cups of tea at Ain es-Shech, and what we had brought away with us was, for the most part, finished. One member of the party, an especially thirsty soul, whose supply had long been exhausted, looked with ever-increasing longing at the flask of the absent Sportsman. It was one of those admirable aluminium flasks, covered with felt, which kept the liquid exquisitely cool and sweet, and it had been hanging all day at the saddle-bow, and must now be ice cold. The very thought added to his sufferings, as the beauty of that luscious apple on a hot Oriental noontide may have increased the longing of our mother Eve. "Water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink!" The Jordan murmured sweetly at our feet, rippling gently, and shining silver clear in the starlight; but the cholera about the Lake of Galilee, whence came that tempting stream, was a real and mortal disease, and not the "backsheesh cholera" prevalent elsewhere. But that flask! He knew it to be half full—a fact which in itself showed that the Sportsman was not in thirsty mood: no man who knew anything of thirst—thirst such as this—thirst which made one indifferent to all {168} else—would carry about with him a supply of delicious, reviving nectar, medicine alike for body and soul—a pint of ice-cold tea! No; it was absolutely certain that were he here, that kindly Sportsman, he would press the gift upon him, insist upon his acceptance. Here in the East are there any laws so binding, are there any rules of honour, of generosity, so inflexible as those which concern the question of water? The most niggardly will give, the most selfish will share, the most churlish will not refuse. How long will that worthy Sportsman tarry?

There was a slight, a very slight, rustle in the darkness; something moved beside that treasured flask, truly "the cynosure of neighbouring eyes"; there was the suppressed sound of the withdrawing of a cork, and the whole of the precious liquid went down the throat of the younger mukari! It was impossible to move, to speak; and if there be any test of endurance worse than thirst it is that, under certain circumstances, of compulsory self-suppression!

After that the return of this longed-for friend was a matter almost of indifference, and the information he brought was but unimportant in the presence of that mighty thirst. The guardians of the bridge returned our papers, {169} which they probably could not read; they knew nothing of the Professor's special privileges, or considered them a mere pretext for the avoidance of backsheesh; there was cholera in Kerak; who was to say that we had not spent these ten days in Kerak?—quarantine was compulsory; no one crossed the bridge after sunset; they were heartless, relentless, immovable, deaf to explanation. The hasty return of some Bedu, who had also striven to enter with a caravan of laden asses, and who, probably having some personal reason for travelling at this hour, would have no conscientious scruples in offering backsheesh, confirmed the report of the guardians' inflexibility.

To pass the night, weary as we were, upon this dry sand, beside a cool, murmuring stream, with waving branches overhead, wou............