THE BEDOUINS OF ARABIA.
The Deserts of Arabia--Sedentary Arabs and Bedouins--Physical
Characteristics of the Bedouins--Remarkable acuteness of their
Senses--Their Manners--Their intense Patriotism and Contempt of
the dwellers in Cities--The Song of Maysunah--Their Wars--Their
Character softened by the Influence of Woman--Their chivalrous
Sentiments--The Arab horse--The Camel--Freedom of the Arabs from a
Foreign and a Domestic Yoke--The Bedouin Robber--His Hospitality--
Mode of Encamping--Death Feuds--Blood-money--Amusements--Throwing
the Jereed--Dances--Poetry--Story-telling--Language--The Bedouin
and the North American Indian.
Though Arabia possesses some districts of remarkable fertility which
enjoy a succession of almost perpetual verdure, yet the greater part
of that vast peninsula consists of burning deserts lying under a sky
almost perpetually without clouds, and stretching into immense and
boundless plains where the eye meets nothing but the uniform horizon of
a wild and dreary waste. These naked deserts are encircled or sometimes
intersected by barren mountains, which run in almost continuous ridges
and in different directions from the borders of Palestine to the shores
of the Indian Ocean. Their summits tower up into rugged and insulated
peaks, but their flinty bosoms supply no humidity to nourish the
soil; they concentrate no clouds to screen the parched earth from the
withering influence of a tropical sky. Instead of the cooling breezes
periodically enjoyed in other sultry climates, hot winds frequently
diffuse their noxious breath, alike fatal to animal and vegetable life.
The steppes of Russia and the wilds of Tartary are decked by the hand
of Nature with luxuriant herbage, but in the Arabian deserts vegetation
is nearly extinct. The sandy plains give birth to a straggling and
hardy brushwood, while the tamarisk and the acacia strike their roots
into the clefts of the rocks, and draw a precarious nourishment from
the nightly dews.
Were it not for the wadys, or verdant spots lying here and there among
the hills, and the various wells or watering stations supplied by
periodical rains, the greater portion of Arabia must have remained
unpeopled, and for ever impervious to man. In a country like this,
where whole years occasionally pass away without a refreshing shower,
the possession of a spring is not unfrequently the most valuable
property of a tribe. There are large tracts, however, where the luxury
of water, as it may well be called, is unknown, and where the desert
extends for many a day’s journey without affording the traveller the
welcome sight of a single well.
This extraordinary land is inhabited by a no less extraordinary people,
divided into two great classes, widely different in their pursuits: the
inhabitants of cities and towns, who live by tillage and commerce, and
the natives of the desert, who follow a pastoral and predatory life,
and consider the former as a separate and inferior race. Through all
antiquity this characteristic distinction has remained inviolate, and
as it is founded in the nature of the soil is even now as strongly
marked as it was in the times of Abraham or Isaac.
In personal appearance, the wandering Arabs or Bedouins are of the
middle size, lean and athletic. The legs though fleshless are well
made, the arms thin, with muscles like whipcords. Deformity is checked
among this nomadic race by the circumstance that no weakly infant can
live through the hardships of a Bedouin life. The complexion varies
from the deepest Spanish to a chocolate hue, and its varieties are
attributed by the people to blood. The black hair is either closely
shaved, or hanging down in ragged elf-locks to the breast. Most popular
writers describe the Arab eye as large, ardent, and black, but,
according to Captain Burton, who, on his adventurous pilgrimage to
Meccah, had full opportunity for observing many tribes, it is generally
dark brown or green-brown, small, round, restless, deep-set, and fiery,
denoting keen inspection, with an ardent temperament and an impassioned
character. The habit of pursing up the skin below the orbits, and
half-closing the lids to prevent dazzle, plants the outer angles with
premature crow’s-feet. Another peculiarity is the sudden way in which
the eye opens, especially under excitement. This, combined with its
fixity of glance, forms an expression now of lively fierceness, then of
exceeding sternness. The look of a chief is dignified and grave even
to pensiveness, yet there is not much difference in the expression
of the eye between men of the same tribe, who have similar pursuits
which engender similar passions. ‘Expression,’ as Captain Burton well
remarks, ‘is the grand diversifier of appearance among civilised
people; in the desert it knows few varieties.’ The bushy black eyebrows
are crooked and bent in sign of thoughtfulness. The forehead is high,
broad, and retreating. The temples are deep, the cheek-bones salient,
which combined with the lantern-jaw often gives a death’s-head
appearance to the face. The nose is pronounced, generally aquiline, the
ears small and well-cut, the mouth irregular, the teeth, as usual among
Orientals, white, even, short, and broad. According to Chateaubriand,
no sign would betray the savage in the Arab’s countenance, if he
constantly kept his mouth closed; it is when he shows his teeth, of a
dazzling whiteness like those of the jackal, that his wild nature shows
itself. In this he differs from the American Indian, whose ferocity
appears in the eye, while the mouth has a mild expression. Some tribes
trim their moustaches according to the practice derived from the
Prophet; others shave them, or allow them to hang, Persian-like, over
the lips. The beard is represented by two tangled tufts upon the chin,
and where the whiskers should be, the place is either bare or thinly
covered with straggling hair. The temperament of the Bedouins is either
nervous or bilious, rarely sanguine, never phlegmatic. They are not
seldom subject to attacks of melancholy, which make them dislike the
sound of the human voice and long for solitude.
From living constantly in the open air, the nomadic Arabs acquire
a remarkable acuteness in all their senses. Their powers of vision
and of hearing improve by continual exercise, and as their piercing
eye sweeps over the desert it distinguishes objects at an incredible
distance. Their sense of smelling, too, is extremely nice. The true
Bedouin, when in the tainted atmosphere of towns, is always known
by bits of cotton in his nostrils, or his kerchief tightly drawn
over his nose, a heavy frown marking extreme disgust. Declining the
shelter of a house when business calls him to visit crowded cities,
he passes the night in a garden or public square, rather than breathe
the confined air of an apartment. One of his most singular faculties
is the power of distinguishing the footsteps of men and beasts on the
sand, in the same manner as the American Indians discover impressions
made upon the grass. From inspecting the footsteps, an Arab can tell
whether the individual belonged to his own or some neighbouring tribe,
and is thus able to judge whether he be a stranger or a friend. He
likewise knows from the faintness or depth of the impression whether
the person carried a load or not, whether he passed the same day or
several days before. From examining the intervals between the steps, he
judges whether or not he was fatigued, as the pace becomes then more
irregular and the intervals unequal, hence he calculates the chances
of overtaking him. Every Arab can distinguish the footmarks of his
own camels from those of his neighbours; he knows whether the animal
was pasturing or loaded, or mounted by one or more persons; and can
often discover from marks in the sand certain defects or peculiarities
of formation that serve him as a clue to ascertain the owner. This
sagacity, which enables the Arab to read in the sands of the desert
as in a printed volume, becomes extremely useful in the pursuit of
fugitives, or in searching after stolen cattle. Instances occur of
camels being traced by their masters to the residence of the thief at
the distance of five or six days’ journey; and, incredible as it may
seen, a Bedouin shepherd can track his own camel in a sandy valley,
when thousands of other footsteps cross the road in all directions.
Thus the proverbially unstable and fugitive sands reveal many a secret
to the practised glance of the Arab; and every footstep becomes a
witness recording the offender’s guilt.
Of their wonderful acuteness in hearing, some well-attested anecdotes
are told of those who act as pilots in the Red Sea. They know very
nearly the time when ships from India may be expected, and going down
to the water’s edge every night and morning, they lay their ear close
to the surface for three or four minutes, and if the ship is not more
than 120 miles distant, they can hear the report of the signal gun, or
feel the ground shake, upon which they immediately set off in their
pilot boat.
The manners of the Bedouins are free and simple; vulgarity and
affectation, awkwardness and embarrassment, are weeds of civilised
growth, unknown to the people of the desert. Yet their manners are
sometimes dashed with a strange ceremoniousness. When two friends meet,
they either embrace or both extend the right hands, clapping palm to
palm; their foreheads are either pressed together, or their heads are
moved from side to side, whilst for minutes together mutual inquiries
are made and answered. It is a breach of decorum, even when eating, to
turn the back upon a person; and when a Bedouin does it, he intends an
insult. When a friend approaches an encampment, those who catch sight
of him shout out his name, and gallop up, saluting with their lances or
firing matchlocks in the air.
The patriotism of the nomadic Arab is intense. As the Scottish
Highlander wherever he roams turns with fond regret to his heath-clad
hills, or the exiled Swiss pines for his snow-peaked Alps, thus his
sterile sands are dearer to the wandering son of the desert than the
fairest regions of the earth. It is in the lonely wilderness that all
his attachments centre, for there alone he can enjoy the independence
which in all ages has been his cherished possession. The very wildness
of this inhospitable scenery constitutes in his eyes its principal
charm, and were these features destroyed, the spell would be broken
that associates them in his mind with the romantic freedom of his
condition. Disdaining the peaceful and mechanical arts, he looks down
with contempt upon all those who are fixed in local habitations, or
engaged in the pursuits of industry, and proud of being a ‘dweller in
tents,’ which he can pitch and transplant at pleasure, stigmatises
them as ‘dwellers in houses made of clay.’ His tent he regards as the
nursery of every noble quality, and the desert as the only residence
worthy of a man who aspires to be the unfettered master of his actions.
Vain of his birth and freedom, he divides the world into two great
bodies; first, the Arabs, and secondly, ‘Ajemi,’ all that are not
Arabs; and boasts of the four precious gifts that Allah has bestowed on
his nation: ‘turbans instead of diadems, tents in place of walls and
bulwarks, swords instead of intrenchments, and poems instead of written
laws.’
The deep attachment of the Arab to his native wilds is well expressed
in the celebrated song of Maysunah, the beautiful wife of the Caliph
Muawijah. The pomp and splendour of an Imperial court could neither
reconcile her to the luxuries of the harem nor make her forget the
homely charms of her fatherland. Her solitary hours were consumed in
melancholy musings, and her greatest delight was in singing the simple
pleasures she had enjoyed in the desert. The following translation
gives of course but a faint idea of the beauties of the original song,
the recital of which fills the Bedouin with delight:
‘Oh take these purple robes away,
Give back my cloak of camel’s hair,
And bear me from this towering pile
To where the Black Tents flap i’ the air.
The camel’s colt with faltering tread,
The dog that bays at all but me,
Delight me more than ambling mules,
Than every art of minstrelsy.’
Tradition reports that Muawijah overhearing the song, and perhaps tired
of the singer, sent her back to her beloved wilds; but we are not
told whether in the desert she did not after all sometimes regret the
magnificence of Damascus.
Among the best traits of the Bedouins’ character, we must cite
their gentleness and generosity. Usually they are a mixture of
worldly cunning and great simplicity; fond of a jest, yet solemn and
dignified; easily managed by a laugh and a soft word, and pliable after
passion, though madly revengeful after injury. Though reckless when
their passions are thoroughly roused, their valour is tempered by
cautiousness. Their wars are a succession of skirmishes, in which 500
men will retreat after losing a dozen of their number. In this partisan
fighting the first charge secures a victory, and the vanquished fly
till covered by the shades of night. Then passion or shame prompts
them to reprisals, which will probably end in the flight of the former
victor. Gain and revenge draw the Arab’s sword; yet, unlike the
Irishman who fights for the mere fun of fighting, he must have the
all-powerful stimulants of honour and fanaticism to become desperate.
The habit of danger in raids and blood feuds, the continual uncertainty
of existence, the desert, the chase, his hard life, and the practice of
martial exercises, habituate him to look death in the face like a man,
and powerful motives will make him a hero.
The ferocity of Bedouin life is softened by his intercourse with the
‘dwellers in houses made of clay,’ who frequently visit and entrust
their children to the people of the Black Tents, that they may be
hardened by the discipline of the desert. This laudable custom is
generally followed by the Sherifs or the descendants of the Prophet
residing in Meccah, and even the late Pacha of Egypt gave one of his
sons in charge of the Anijah tribe near Akhba, that he might receive a
Bedouin education and grow up into a man.
The mild influence of the fair sex likewise tends to soften the
nomadic Arab’s character, and to inspire him with chivalrous feelings.
In pastoral life tribes often meet for a time, live together whilst
pasturage lasts, and then separate perhaps for a generation. Under such
circumstances youths will become attached to maidens whom possibly
by the laws of the clan they may not marry, and then the lovers have
recourse to flight. The fugitives must brave every danger; for revenge,
at all times the Bedouin’s idol, now becomes the lode-star of his
existence. But the Arab lover will dare all consequences, and stake his
life on the possession of her he loves.
Women, indeed, are regarded as inferior beings by their lords and
masters, and to them exclusively all the labour and menial offices in
the tent are assigned; but in troublous times and in the hour of need,
they raise themselves to the level of the stronger sex by physical
as well as moral courage. In the early days of Islam, if history be
credible, Arabia had many heroines, and within the last century
Ghalujah, the wife of a Wahabi chief, opposed Mohammed Ali himself in
many a bloody field. After a lost battle a retreating tribe has not
unfrequently been again led on to victory by the taunts of its women,
and Arab poets praise not only female beauty, but also female faith,
purity, and affection.
From ancient periods of the Arab’s history, we find him practising
knight-errantry, the wildest but most exalted form of chivalry. The
fourth Caliph is fabled to have travelled far, redressing the injured,
punishing the injurer, preaching to the infidel, and especially
protecting women--the chief end and aim of knighthood. The Caliph
El Mutasen heard, in the assembly of his courtiers, that a woman of
the Sayyid family had been taken prisoner by a ‘Greek barbarian’ of
Ammoria. The man on one occasion struck her, when she cried, ‘Help
me, O Mutasen!’ and the fellow said derisively, ‘Wait till he cometh
upon his pied steed.’ The chivalrous prince arose, sealed up the wine
cup which he held in his hand, took oath to do his knightly duty, and
on the morrow started for Ammoria with 70,000 men, each mounted on a
piebald charger. Having taken the place he entered it, exclaiming,
‘Here am I at thy call!’ He struck off the caitiff’s head, released the
lady with his own hands, ordered the cup-bearer to bring the sealed
bowl, and drank from it, exclaiming, ‘Now, indeed, wine is good!’ A
Knight of the Round Table could have done no better.
It is the existence of this noble spirit which makes the society of
Bedouins so delightful to the traveller, who, after enjoying it,
laments at finding himself in the ‘loathsome company’ of Persians, or
among Arab townpeople, whose ‘filthy and cowardly minds’ he contrasts
with the ‘high and chivalrous spirit of the true Sons of the Desert.’
While over the vast continent of America no effort has ever been made
by the aboriginal tribes to establish a dominion over the useful
animals, with the single exception of the Llama in the Peruvian
highlands, we find the Arab shepherd from time immemorial in the
absolute possession of the horse and the camel--of a faithful
friend, and a laborious slave. Although the high steppes of Central
Asia are probably the genuine and original country of the horse, yet
in Arabia that generous animal attains the highest degree of spirit
and swiftness. Such is the estimation in which it is held, that
the honours and the memory of the purest race are preserved with
superstitious care, the males are sold at a high price, but the females
are seldom alienated, and the birth of a noble foal is esteemed among
the tribes as a subject of joy and mutual congratulation. A colt at
the moment of birth is never allowed to drop upon the ground; they
receive it in their arms, washing and stretching its tender limbs, and
caressing it as they would a baby. The tender familiarity with which
the horses are treated, trains them in the habits of gentleness and
attachment. When not employed in war or travelling they loiter about
the tents, often going over heaps of children lying on the ground, and
carefully picking their steps lest they should hurt them. They are
accustomed only to walk and to gallop; their sensations are not blunted
by the incessant abuse of the spur and the whip; their powers are
reserved for the movement of flight and pursuit, but no sooner do they
feel the touch of the hand and the stirrup, than they dart away with
the swiftness of the wind, and if their friend be dismounted in the
rapid career they instantly stop till he has recovered his seat.
The noble steed of the desert pines and languishes in the crowded town.
Its head droops mournfully, it seems the very image of despondency and
sloth. And as the animal, so its master. He also appears, not as the
bold energetic nomad, but as a listless apathetic wanderer; and, were
it not for the glowing eye which restlessly rolls and flashes under its
thick brow, you might be inclined to prefer the servile fellah to the
sullen child of the desert. But now the Bedouin mounts his horse, and,
as if touched by an electric spark, they both of them raise their heads
and stretch their sinewy limbs. Slowly they leave the dusty streets,
and reach the confines of the desert. Now at length both are at home;
now rider and horse melt into one like the fabled Centaurs of old; now,
first, the real Bedouin and the real Arabian horse stand before you.
Like an arrow ‘shot by an archer strong’ the steed flies towards his
master’s tent, his light hoof scarcely leaves a print on the sand; the
white burnous of the rider flies about in the wind; with a firm hand he
guides the noble animal, and in a few minutes both are lost to sight in
the desert.
Though the Arabs justly boast of their horses, it is a common error to
suppose them very abundant in that country. In the sacred writings and
down to the time of Mohammed, they are seldom mentioned, camels being
mostly used both in their predatory and warlike excursions. The breed
is limited to the fertile pasture grounds, and it is there that they
thrive, while the Bedouins who occupy arid districts rarely have any.
In the sands of Arabia the camel is a sacred and precious gift. That
strong and patient beast of burthen not only supplies the wandering
Arab with the greater part of his simple wants: it serves also to
secure his immemorial independence by placing the desert between the
enemy and himself. Thus the Bedouin has ever been indomitable, and
while in other parts of the world we find that the fatal possession
of an animal--the sable, the sea-otter--has entailed the curse of
slavery upon whole nations, the dromedary in Arabia appears as the
instrument of lasting freedom. With temporary or local exceptions,
the body of the nation has escaped the yoke of the most powerful
monarchies; the arms of Sesostris and Cyrus, of Pompey and Trajan,
could never achieve the conquest of Arabia, and while the false glory
of the scourges of mankind that have so often thrown the East into
bondage has passed away like a fleeting shadow, one century after
another bears testimony to the noble independence of the Arab. The
manly spirit of this energetic race renders them worthy of the freedom
they enjoy under the protection of their arid wastes. Many ages before
Mohammed, who, stimulating their valour by fanaticism, made them one
of the great conquering nations of the earth, their intrepidity had
been severely felt by their neighbours. ‘The patient and active virtues
of a soldier,’ says Gibbon, ‘are insensibly nursed in the habits and
discipline of pastoral life. The care of the sheep and camels is
abandoned to the women of the tribe, but the martial youth, under the
banner of the emir, is ever on horseback and in the field, to practise
the exercise of the bow, the javelin, and the scymetar. The long
memory of their independence is the firmest pledge of its perpetuity,
and succeeding generations are animated to prove their descent and to
maintain their inheritance. When they advance to battle, the hope of
victory is in the front; in the rear, the assurance of a retreat. Their
horses and camels, who in eight or ten days can perform a march of 500
miles, disappear before the conqueror; the secret waters of the desert
elude his search, and his victorious troops are consumed with thirst,
hunger, and fatigue, in the pursuit of an invisible foe, who scorns his
efforts, and safely reposes in the heart of the burning solitude.
‘The slaves of a despotic rule may vainly boast of their national
independence; but the Arab is as free from a domestic as from a foreign
yoke. In every tribe superstition or gratitude or traditional respect
has exalted a particular family above the heads of their equals. The
dignities of sheik and emir invariably descend in this chosen race; but
the order of succession is loose and precarious, and the most worthy or
aged of the noble kinsmen are preferred to the simple though important
office of composing disputes by their advice and guiding valour by
their example. If an emir abuses his power he is quickly punished by
the desertion of his subjects. Their independent spirit disdains a
base submission to the will of a master, their steps are unconfined,
the desert is open and the tribes and families are held together by
a mutual and voluntary compact. Accustomed to a life of danger and
distress, the breast of the wandering Arab is fortified with the
austere virtues of courage, patience, and sobriety; the love of liberty
prompts him to exercise the habits of self-command, and the fear of
dishonour guards him from the meaner apprehension of pain, of danger,
and of death. The self-respect which independence inspires shows itself
in the dignity of his outward demeanour: his speech is slow, weighty,
and concise; he is seldom provoked to laughter; his only gesture is
that of stroking his beard, the venerable symbol of manhood.’
Unfortunately the Bedouin too often tarnishes his liberty by crime,
and, accustomed to confound the ideas of stranger and enemy, endeavours
to justify by casuistry the base pursuits of a robber. He pretends
that in the division of the earth the rich and fertile climates were
assigned to the other branches of the human family, and that the
posterity of the outlaw Ismael is entitled to recover by fraud or force
the portion of inheritance of which he has been unjustly deprived.
Equally addicted to theft and merchandise, he ransoms or pillages the
caravans that traverse his native desert, and armed against mankind,
makes the inoffensive traveller the victim of his rapacious spirit.
And yet by one of those strange contradictions, belonging to the
mysterious nature of man, this same Arab, the terror of the desert,
embraces without enquiry or hesitation, the stranger who dares to
confide in his honour and enter his tent. His treatment is kind and
respectful, he shares the wealth or the poverty of his host, and,
after a needful repose, he is dismissed on his way with thanks, with
blessings, and perhaps with gifts.
Now here, now there, the Bedouin’s home is as wide as the desert,
and as movable as its drifting sands. The mode of encamping differs
according to circumstances. When the tents are but few, they are
pitched in a circle; if the number is considerable they extend in a
straight line, in rows three or four deep. The sheik’s is always on the
side where danger is apprehended, or where travellers are expected;--
it being his particular business to oppose the former and to honour the
latter. Every chief sticks his lance into the ground in front of his
tent, to which he ties his horse or camel; the pack-saddles forming
the couch on which he and his guests recline. When wandering in search
of water or pasture, they move in parties, slowly over the sandy
plain. The armed horsemen ride foremost, the flocks with their young
follow, and behind come the beasts of burden, loaded with the women and
children, tents, baggage and provisions.
Among pastoral tribes the possession of a well, of a few date-palms,
or of a piece of pasture ground, easily leads to quarrels, and, as
rude nations generally prefer settling their disputes by the right
of the stronger, to sanguinary feuds and wars. Besides the causes
of hostility arising from disputed property, the natural jealousy
and fiery temperament of the Arab have always proved a source of the
most implacable enmity among themselves. They betray the quickest
sensibility to any affront or injury, and instances might be multiplied
where a contemptuous word, an indecent action, or even the most
trifling violation of etiquette can only be expiated by the blood of
the offender. If one sheik say to another, ‘Thy bonnet is dirty,’
or ‘The wrong side of thy turban is out,’ it is considered a mortal
offence. To spit on the beard of another, even accidentally, is an
insult scarcely to be forgiven, and such is their patient inveteracy
that they expect whole months and years the opportunity of revenge.
A fine or compensation for murder is familiar to the barbarians of
every age, but in Arabia the kinsmen of the dead are at liberty to
accept the atonement, or to exercise with their own hands the law of
retaliation. If the offer is deemed unsatisfactory, the homicide and
all his kin comprised within the law of vengeance, make their escape to
some friendly tribe. A sacred custom allows the fugitives three days
and four hours during which their enemies abstain from the pursuit;
the exiles are permitted to return as soon as a reconciliation can
be effected. The fine for a murdered man varies among the different
tribes. Among the Beni-Harb in Hedjaz the price of blood is rated at
800 dollars, or rather that sum imperfectly expressed by live stock.
All the blood relations of the slayer assist to make up the required
amount, rating each animal at three or four times its proper value. On
such occasions violent scenes arise from the conflict of the Arab’s
two darling passions, avarice and revenge. He longs to cut the foe’s
throat, but on the other hand he is equally desirous to increase his
own possessions. He has always a project of buying a new dromedary, or
of investing capital in some promising colt. The consequence is that he
is insatiable. Still he receives blood money with a feeling of shame,
as a man who has made some sacrifice of duty or fine feeling for the
sake of filthy lucre. Hence this mode of arrangement is not common
among the more wealthy tribes, and most of the great sheiks would deem
themselves dishonoured by compromising in any degree for the slaughter
of their relations. The matter being finally settled, a she camel is
brought to the tent of the adversary and there killed that blood may be
expiated by blood. The parties now reconciled feed upon the flesh of
the animal, and at parting the homicide flourishes a white handkerchief
on his lance as a public notification that he is free from blood.
The simple unvaried life of the Bedouin must often cause time to hang
heavy on his hands. To relieve this weariness and want of novelty he
has recourse to various amusements which serve to fill up his vacant
hours. A rover or a warrior, his favourite sports are those that
imitate war. Throwing the jereed is a kind of rude tournament, which he
frequently practises. This is a blunt spear, made of heavy wood, and
about a yard long. The object of the game, in which the players evince
the most astonishing dexterity, is for one party to pursue, and the
other to fly, and try to elude being struck by the weapon. Sometimes
they amuse themselves with sham fights; and nothing can be more
picturesque, than to see a group of these wild men huddled together in
the greatest apparent confusion, with drawn swords and couched lances.
The more domestic pastimes are chess, draughts, dancing, singing, the
reciting of poetry and story-telling, for which they have a singular
passion. Captain Burton, who witnessed one of their war dances,
describes it as wild in the extreme, resembling rather the hopping
of bears than the inspirations of Terpsichore. The dancers raised
both arms high above their heads, brandishing a dagger or some other
small weapon. They followed each other by hops on one or both feet;
sometimes indulging in the most demented leaps, whilst the by-standers
accompanied them with clapping of hands and various motions of the
body. There is a species of song, common all over the desert, in
which the youths of both sexes join in the chorus. It is called
the _mesamer_, and is the only opportunity which the lover has of
serenading his mistress; the verses are often composed extempore, and
relate, of course, to the beauty and qualities of the beloved object,
who is sometimes apostrophized in epithets that sound rather oddly to
European ears: ‘O Ghalia! if my father were a jackass, I would sell him
to purchase Ghalia.’
During their long marches through the desert, the Bedouins likewise
have recourse to singing, both to enliven their camels, for it is
well known that that animal never moves with so much ease as when
he hears his master sing, and to while away the tediousness of the
road. Monotonous and droning as it is, their song has yet an artless
plaintiveness which admirably suits the singer and the scenery. If you
listen to the words you will surely hear allusions to bright verdure,
cool shades, bubbling rills, or something which the son of the desert
hath not, and yet which his soul desires. A common entertainment
among the Bedouins, is the reciting of tales after the manner of the
‘Arabian Nights,’ those enchanting fictions which rival even ‘Robinson
Crusoe’ in the affections of childhood. Assembled after a tedious
march round the blazing fire which cooks their simple meal of dhourra
or sour camel’s milk and flour, and quaffing the soothing fumes of
tobacco, they learn to forget their own hardships and fatigue in the
captivating narrative of ideal adventures, and become for a time the
happiest of men.
Next to the practice of hospitality and expertness in the use of arms,
the Arabs value no accomplishments more highly than eloquence and
poetry, and in these the roving hordes of the desert, living amidst
the solitary grandeur of nature, excel their more civilized brethren.
Metrical orations are particularly esteemed, for it is an old Arab
saying that fine sentiments delivered in prose are like gems scattered
at random; but when confined in verse they resemble strings of pearls.
In former times the poet ranked with the warrior among the noblest
possessions a tribe could boast of, and assemblies of different kinds
were held where rival bards and orators disputed the palm of victory.
In loud and impassioned strains the contending poets addressed the
multitude by turns, extolling the superior glory of their own tribe,
recounting the names of their eminent warriors, and challenging
their opponents to produce their equals. As from the fierce spirit
of the Bedouins, and the well-known influence of songs over the
martial virtues of a barbarous people, these intellectual tournaments
frequently ended in good earnest battles, they were expressly abolished
by the Koran; but the old spirit of poetry is still as alive as
ever among the Bedouins, who, though no longer equalling them, are
passionately fond of their ancient bards. Thus when Burckhardt read
portions of the famous romance of Antar to a Bedouin auditory they were
in ecstasies of delight, but at the same time so enraged at his bad
pronunciation, that they tore the book out of his hands.
To the advantages of a genius for poetry, and a lively fancy, the
Bedouins add the possession of a rich and harmonious language capable
of expressing every shade of meaning and every variety in the aspects
of nature. Its copiousness[10] may be inferred from the fact that it
can boast of no less than eighty expressions for honey, two hundred for
a serpent, five hundred for a lion, and, characteristic of a warlike
race, above a thousand for a sword. Fastidious critics have admitted
the remarkable delicacy of the Arabic tongue, and its energetic
sublimity, equally adapted to the simple pathos of love and elegy, the
piquancy of satire or the loftiest efforts of popular oratory.
In casting a retrospective view over the manners and habits of the
Bedouins we are struck with the strange contradictions they exhibit
both in their social and moral character. The spirit of patriotism
among them is strong and universal, yet they have no home but the
pathless waste and wretched tent. They are a nation of brothers, yet
live continually at war, jealous of their honour and yet stooping to
the meanness of theft; fierce and sanguinary in their temper, and yet
alive to the virtues of pity and gratitude; covetous and by no means of
good faith in pecuniary transactions, yet true to their pledged word
and charitable to the needy.
Their religious character is marked by the same irreconcilable
extremes. Their fanaticism is coupled with a lax observance of the
precepts and ceremonies of Islam. In a pleasant indifference about the
precepts of the Koran, they remark that the religion of Mohammed never
could have been intended for them. ‘In the desert,’ say they, ‘we have
no water; how, then, can we make the prescribed ablutions? We have no
money, and how can we bestow alms? Why should we fast in the Rhamadan
since the whole year with us is one continual abstinence; and if the
world is the house of Allah why should we go to Meccah to adore him?’
The almost absolute independence of the Arabs and of that noble race,
the North American Indians of a former generation, has produced many
similarities between them. ‘Both,’ says Captain Burton, ‘have the
same wild chivalry, the same fiery sense of honour, and the same
boundless hospitality; love elopements from tribe to tribe, the blood
feud and the vendetta. Both are grave and cautious in demeanour,
and formal in manner--princes in rags or paint. The Arabs plunder
pilgrims, the Indians backwood settlers; both glory in forays, raids,
and cattle-lifting, and both rob according to certain rules. Both are
alternately brave to desperation and shy of danger. Both are remarkable
for nervous and powerful oratory, and for the use of figurative
language. Both, addicted to war and to the chase, despise all sedentary
occupations. But the Bedouin claims the superiority over the red Indian
by his treatment of women, his greater development of intellect, and
the grand page of history which he has filled.’
[Illustration: BAOBAB TREES AT MANAAR.]