ON the 11th July, 1853, about dawn, we left Tur, after a pleasant halt,
with the unpleasant certainty of not touching ground for thirty-six
hours. I passed the time in steadfast contemplation of the web of my
umbrella, and in making the following meteorological remarks.
Morning.-The air is mild and balmy as that of an Italian spring; thick
mists roll down the valleys along the sea, and a haze like
mother-o'-pearl crowns the headlands. The distant rocks show Titanic
walls, lofty donjons, huge projecting bastions, and moats full of deep
shade. At their base runs a sea of amethyst, and as earth receives the
first touches of light, their summits, almost transparent, mingle with
the jasper tints of the sky. Nothing can be more delicious than this
hour. But as
"les plus belles choses
Ont le pire destin,"
so lovely Morning soon fades. The sun bursts up from behind the main, a
fierce enemy, a foe that will force every one to crouch before him. He
dyes the sky orange, and the sea "incarnadine," where its violet
surface is stained by his rays, and he mercilessly puts to flight the
mists and haze and the little agate-coloured masses of cloud that were
before floating in the firmament. The atmosphere is so clear that now
and then a planet is visible. For the two
[p.208] hours following sunrise the rays are endurable; after that they
become a fiery ordeal. The morning beams oppress you with a feeling of
sickness; their steady glow, reflected by the glaring waters, blinds
your eyes, blisters your skin, and parches your mouth: you now become a
monomaniac; you do nothing but count the slow hours that must "minute
by" before you can be relieved.[FN#1]
Midday.-The wind, reverberated by the glowing hills is like the blast
of a lime-kiln. All colour melts away with the canescence from above.
The sky is a dead milk-white, and the mirror-like sea so reflects the
tint that you can scarcely distinguish the line of the horizon. After
noon the wind sleeps upon the reeking shore; there is a deep stillness;
the only sound heard is the melancholy flapping of the sail. Men are
not so much sleeping as half-senseless; they feel as if a few more
degrees of heat would be death.
Sunset.-The enemy sinks behind the deep cerulean sea, under a canopy of
gigantic rainbow which covers half the face of heaven. Nearest to the
horizon is an arch of tawny orange; above it another of the brightest
gold, and based upon these a semi-circle of tender sea-green blends
with a score of delicate gradations into the sapphire sky. Across the
rainbow the sun throws its rays in the form of giant wheel-spokes
tinged with a beautiful pink. The Eastern sky is mantled with a purple
flush that picks out the forms of the hazy Desert and the sharp-cut
Hills. Language is a thing too cold, too poor, to express the harmony
and the majesty of this hour, which is as evanescent, however, as it is
lovely. Night falls rapidly, when suddenly the appearance of the
Zodiacal Light[FN#2] restores
[p.209] the scene to what it was. Again the grey hills and the grim
rocks become rosy or golden, the palms green, the sands saffron, and
the sea wears a lilac surface of dimpling waves. But after a quarter of
an hour all fades once more; the cliffs are naked and ghastly under the
moon, whose light falling upon this wilderness of white crags and
pinnacles is most strange-most mysterious.
Night.-The horizon is all darkness, and the sea reflects the white
visage of the night-sun as in a mirror of steel. In the air we see
giant columns of pallid light, distinct, based upon the indigo-coloured
waves, and standing with their heads lost in endless space. The stars
glitter with exceeding brilliance.[FN#3] At this hour are
"-river and hill and wood,
With all the numberless goings on of life,
Inaudible as dreams";
while the planets look down upon you with the faces of smiling friends.
You feel the "sweet influence of the Pleiades." You are bound by the
"bond of Orion." Hesperus bears with him a thousand things. In
communion with them your hours pass swiftly by, till the heavy dews
warn you to cover up your face and sleep. And with one look at a
certain little Star in the north, under which lies all that makes life
worth living through-surely it is a venial superstition to sleep with
your eyes towards that Kiblah!-you fall into oblivion.
Those thirty-six hours were a trial even to the hard-headed Badawin.
The Syrian and his two friends fell ill. Omar Effendi, it is true, had
the courage to say his
[p.210] sunset prayers, but the exertion so altered him that he looked
another man. Salih Shakkar in despair ate dates till threatened with a
dysentery. Sa'ad the Demon had rigged out for himself a cot three feet
long, which, arched over with bent bamboo, and covered with cloaks, he
had slung on to the larboard side; but the loud grumbling which
proceeded from his nest proved that his precaution had not been a cure.
Even the boy Mohammed forgot to chatter, to scold, to smoke, and to
make himself generally disagreeable. The Turkish baby appeared to be
dying, and was not strong enough to wail. How the poor mother stood her
trials so well, made every one wonder. The most pleasant trait in my
companions' characters was the consideration they showed to her, and
their attention to her children. Whenever one of the party drew forth a
little delicacy-a few dates or a pomegranate-they gave away a share of
it to the children, and most of them took their turns to nurse the
baby. This was genuine politeness-kindness of heart. It would be well
for those who sweepingly accuse Easterns of want of gallantry, to
contrast this trait of character with the savage scenes of civilisation
that take place among the "Overlands" at Cairo and Suez.[FN#4] No
foreigner could be present for the first time without bearing away the
lasting impression that the sons of Great Britain are model
barbarians.[FN#5] On board the "Golden Wire" Salih Shakkar was the sole
base exception to the general geniality of my companions.
As the sun starts towards the West, falling harmlessly upon our heads,
we arise, still faint and dizzy, calling for water-which before we had
not the strength
[p.211] to drink-and pipes, and coffee, and similar luxuries. Our
primitive kitchen is a square wooden box, lined with clay, and filled
with sand, upon which three or four large stones are placed to form a
hearth. Preparations are now made for the evening meal, which is of the
simplest description. A little rice, a few dates, or an onion, will
keep a man alive in our position; a single "good dinner" would justify
long odds against his seeing the next evening. Moreover, it is
impossible in such cases to have an appetite-fortunately, as our store
of provisions is a scanty one. Arabs consider it desirable on a journey
to eat hot food once in the twenty-four hours; so we determine to cook,
despite all difficulties. The operation, however, is by no means
satisfactory; twenty expectants surround the single fire, and there is
sure to be a quarrel amongst them every five minutes.
As the breeze, cooled by the dew, begins to fan our parched faces, we
recover our spirits amazingly. Songs are sung; tales are told; and
rough jests are bandied about till, not unfrequently, Oriental
sensitiveness is sorely tried. Or, if we see the prospect of storm or
calm, we draw forth, and piously peruse, a "Hizb al-Bahr." As this
prayer is supposed to make all safe upon the ocean wave, I will not
selfishly withhold it from the British reader. To draw forth all its
virtues, the reciter should receive it from the hands of his Murshid or
spiritual guide, and study it during the Chillah, or forty days of
fast, of which, I venture to observe, few Sons of Bull are capable.
"O Allah, O Exalted, O Almighty, O All-pitiful, O All-powerful, Thou
art my God, and sufficeth to me the knowledge of it! Glorified be the
Lord my Lord, and glorified be the Faith my Faith! Thou givest Victory
to whom Thou pleasest, and Thou art the Glorious, the Merciful! We pray
Thee for Safety in our goings forth and our standings still, in our
Words and our Designs, in our
[p.212] Dangers of Temptation and Doubt, and the secret Designs of our
Hearts. Subject unto us this Sea, even as Thou didst subject the Deep
to Musa" (Moses), "and as Thou didst subject the Fire to Ibrahim[FN#6]"
(Abraham), "and as Thou didst subject the Iron to Daud[FN#7]" (David),
"and as Thou didst subject the Wind and the Devils and Jinnis and
Mankind to Sulayman[FN#8]" (Solomon), "and as Thou didst subject the
Moon and Al-Burak to Mohammed, upon whom be Allah's Mercy and His
Blessing! And subject unto us all the Seas in Earth and Heaven, in Thy
visible and in Thine invisible Worlds, the Sea of this Life, and the
Sea of Futurity. O Thou who reignest over everything, and unto whom all
Things return, Khyas! Khyas! Khyas[FN#9]!"
And lastly, we lie down upon our cribs, wrapped up in thickly padded
cotton coverlets; we forget the troubles of the past day, and we care
nought for the discomforts of that to come.
Late on the evening of the 11th July we passed in sight of the narrow
mouth of Al-'Akabah, whose famosi rupes are a terror to the voyagers of
these latitudes. Like the Gulf of Cambay, here a tempest is said to be
always brewing, and men raise their hands to pray as they cross it. We
had no storm that day from without, but a fierce one was about to burst
within our ship. The essence of Oriental discipline is personal respect
based upon fear. Therefore it often happens that the commanding
officer,
[p.213] if a mild old gentleman, is the last person whose command is
obeyed,-his only privilege being that of sitting apart from his
inferiors. And such was the case with our Rais. On the present
occasion, irritated by the refusal of the Maghrabis to stand out of the
steerman's way, and excited by the prospect of losing sight of shore
for a whole day, he threatened one of the fellows with his slipper. It
required all our exertions, even to a display of the dreaded
quarter-staves, to calm the consequent excitement. After passing
Al-'Akabah, we saw nothing but sea and sky, and we spent a weary night
and day tossing upon the waters, our only exercise; every face
brightened as, about sunset on the 12th July, we suddenly glided into
the mooring-place.
Marsa (anchorage) Damghah,[FN#10] or rather Dumayghah, is scarcely
visible from the sea. An islet of limestone rock defends the entrance,
leaving a narrow passage to the south. It is not before he enters that
the mariner discovers the extent and the depth of this creek, which
indents far into the land, and offers 15 to 20 feet of fine clear
anchorage which no swell can reach. Inside it looks more like a lake,
and at night its colour is gloriously blue as Geneva itself. I could
not help calling to mind, after dinner, the old school lines
"Est in secessu longo locus; insula portum
Efficit objectu laterum; quibus omnis ab alto
Frangitur, inque sinus scindit sese unda reductos."
Nothing was wanted but the "atrum nemus." Where however, shall we find
such luxuries in arid Arabia?
The Rais, as usual, attempted to deter us from landing, by romancing
about the "Bedoynes and Ascopards," representing them to be "folke
ryghte felonouse and foule and of cursed kynde." To which we replied by
shouldering our Nabbuts and scrambling into the cock-boat
[p.214] On shore we saw a few wretched-looking beings, Juhaynah[FN#11]
or Hutaym, seated upon heaps of dried wood, which they sold to
travellers; and three boat-loads of Syrian pilgrims who had preceded
us. We often envied them their small swift craft, with their double
latine sails disposed in "hare-ears" which, about eventide in the far
distance, looked like a white gull alighting upon the purple wave; and
they justified our jealousy by arriving at Yambu' two days before us.
The pilgrims had bivouacked upon the beach, and were engaged in
drinking their after-dinner coffee. They received us with all the
rights of hospitality, as natives of Al-Madinah should everywhere be
received; we sat an hour with them, ate a little fruit, satisfied our
thirst, smoked their pipes, and when taking leave blessed them. Then
returning to the vessel we fed, and lost no time in falling asleep.
The dawn of the next day saw our sail flapping in the idle air. And it
was not without difficulty that in the course of the forenoon we
entered Wijh Harbour, distant from Dumayghah but very few miles.
Al-Wijh is also a natural anchorage, in no way differing from that
where we passed the night, except in being smaller and shallower and
less secure. From this place to Cairo the road is safe. The town is a
collection of round huts meanly built of round stones, and clustering
upon a piece of elevated rock on the northern side of the creek. It is
[p.215] distant about six miles from the inland fort of the same name,
which receives the Egyptian caravan, and which thrives, like its port,
by selling water and provisions to pilgrims. The little bazar, almost
washed by every high tide, provided us with mutton, rice, baked bread,
and the other necessaries of life at a moderate rate. Luxuries also
were to be found: a druggist sold me an ounce of opium at a Chinese
price.
With reeling limbs we landed at Al-Wijh,[FN#12] and finding a large
coffee-house above and near the beach, we installed ourselves there.
But the Persians who preceded us had occupied all the shady places
outside, and were correcting their teeth with their case knives; we
were forced to content ourselves with the interior. It was a building
of artless construction, consisting of little but a roof supported by
wooden posts, roughly hewn from date trees: round the tamped earthen
floor ran a raised bench of unbaked brick, forming a diwan for mats and
sleeping-rugs. In the centre a huge square Mastabah, or platform,
answered a similar purpose. Here and there appeared attempts at long
and side walls, but these superfluities had been allowed to admit
daylight through large gaps. In one corner stood the apparatus of the
"Kahwahji," an altar-like elevation, also of earthen-work, containing a
hole for a charcoal fire, upon which were three huge coffee-pots
dirtily tinned. Near it were ranged the Shishas, or Egyptian hookahs,
old, exceedingly unclean, and worn by age and hard work. A wooden
framework, pierced with circular apertures, supported a number of
porous earthenware gullehs (gargoulettes, or monkey jars) full of cold,
sweet water; the charge for each was, as usual in Al-Hijaz, five paras.
Such was the furniture of the cafe, and the only relief to the
barrenness of the view was a fine mellowing atmosphere composed of
smoke, steam,
[p.216] flies, and gnats in about equal proportions. I have been
diffuse in my description of the coffee-house, as it was a type of its
class: from Alexandria to Aden the traveller will everywhere meet with
buildings of the same kind.
Our happiness in this Paradise-for such it was to us after the "Golden
Wire"-was nearly sacrificed by Sa'ad the Demon, whose abominable temper
led him at once into a quarrel with the master of the cafe. And the
latter, an ill-looking, squint-eyed, low-browed, broad-shouldered
fellow, showed himself nowise unwilling to meet the Demon half way. The
two worthies, after a brief bandying of bad words, seized each other's
throats leisurely, so as to give the spectators time and encouragement
to interfere. But when friends and acquaintances were hanging on to
both heroes so firmly that they could not move hand or arm, their
wrath, as usual, rose, till it was terrible to see. The little village
resounded with the war, and many a sturdy knave rushed in, sword or
cudgel in hand, so as not to lose the sport. During the heat of the
fray, a pistol which was in Omar Effendi's hand went off-accidentally
of course-and the ball passed so close to the tins containing the black
and muddy Mocha, that it drew the attention of all parties. As if by
magic, the storm was lulled. A friend recognised Sa'ad the Demon, and
swore that he was no black slave, but a soldier at Al-Madinah-"no
waiter, but a Knight Templar." This caused him to be looked upon as
rather a distinguished man, and he proved his right to the honour by
insisting that his late enemy should feed with him, and when the other
decorously hung back, by dragging him to dinner with loud cries.
My alias that day was severely tried. Besides the Persian pilgrims, a
number of nondescripts who came in the same vessel were hanging about
the coffee-house; lying down, smoking, drinking water, bathing and
picking their teeth with their daggers. One inquisitive man
[p.217] was always at my side. He called himself a Pathan (Afghan
settled in India); he could speak five or six languages, he knew a
number of people everywhere, and he had travelled far and wide over
Central Asia. These fellows are always good detectors of an incognito.
I avoided answering his question about my native place, and after
telling him that I had no longer name or nation, being a Darwaysh, I
asked him, when he insisted upon my having been born somewhere, to
guess for himself. To my joy he claimed me for a brother Pathan, and in
course of conversation he declared himself to be the nephew of an
Afghan merchant, a gallant old man who had been civil to me at Cairo.
We then sat smoking together with "effusion." Becoming confidential, he
complained that he, a Sunni, or orthodox Moslem, had been abused,
maltreated, and beaten by his fellow-travellers, the heretical Persian
pilgrims. I naturally offered to arm my party, to take up our cudgels,
and to revenge my compatriot. This thoroughly Sulaymanian style of
doing business could not fail to make him sure of his man. He declined,
however, wisely remembering that he had nearly a fortnight of the
Persians' society still to endure. But he promised himself the
gratification, when he reached Meccah, of sheathing his Charay[FN#13]
in the chief offender's heart.
At 8 A.M.} on the 14th July we left Al-Wijh, after passing a night,
tolerably comfortable by contrast, in the coffee-house. We took with us
the stores necessary, for though our Rais had promised to anchor under
Jabal Hassani that evening, no one believed him. We sailed among ledges
of rock, golden sands, green weeds, and in some places through yellow
lines of what appeared to me at a distance foam after a storm. All day
a sailor sat upon the masthead, looking at the water, which was
transparent as blue glass, and shouting out the direction. This
precaution was somewhat stultified by the roar of voices, which never
[p.218] failed to mingle with the warning, but we wore every half hour,
and we did not run aground. About midday we passed by Shaykh Hasan
al-Marabit's tomb. It is the usual domed and whitewashed building,
surrounded by the hovels of its guardians, standing upon a low flat
island of yellow rock, vividly reminding me of certain scenes in Sind.
Its dreary position attracts to it the attention of passing travellers;
the dead saint has a prayer and a Fatihah for the good of his soul, and
the live sinner wends his way with religious refreshment.
Near sunset the wind came on to blow freshly, and we cast anchor
together with the Persian pilgrims upon a rock. This was one of the
celebrated coral reefs of the Red Sea, and the sight justified
Forskal's emphatic description-luxus lususque naturae. It was a huge
ledge or platform rising but little above the level of the deep; the
water-side was perpendicular as the wall of a fort; and, whilst a
frigate might have floated within a yard of it, every ripple dashed
over the reef, replenishing the little basins and hollows in the
surface. The colour of the waves near it was a vivid amethyst. In the
distance the eye rested upon what appeared to be meadows of brilliant
flowers resembling those of earth, only far brighter and more lovely.
Nor was this Land of the Sea wholly desolate. Gulls and terns here swam
the tide; there, seated upon the coral, devoured their prey. In the
air, troops of birds contended noisily for a dead flying fish,[FN#14]
and in the deep water they chased a shoal, which, in fright and hurry
to escape the pursuers, veiled the surface with
[p.219] spray and foam. And as night came on the scene shifted,
displaying fresh beauties. Shadows clothed the background, whose
features, dimly revealed, allowed full scope to the imagination. In the
forepart of the picture lay the sea, shining under the rays of the moon
with a metallic lustre; while its border, where the wavelets dashed
upon the reef, was lit by what the Arabs call the "jewels of the
deep[FN#15]"-brilliant flashes of phosphoric light giving an idea of
splendour which Art would vainly strive to imitate. Altogether it was a
bit of fairyland, a spot for nymphs and sea-gods to disport upon: you
might have heard, without astonishment, old Proteus calling his flocks
with the writhed conch; and Aphrodite seated in her shell would have
been only a fit and proper climax for its loveliness.