The first night of travel was spent at a village occupied by a colony of
Circassians. Here, naturally, they met with a warm welcome. The guest
chamber of the head man was allotted to Hassan and Shems-ud-dìn; Alia and
Fatmeh were accommodated in the same house; and the rest of the party
found hospitable quarters, though the most part slept, from choice, under
the open sky.
Shems-ud-dìn retired early, craving leave to mount to the housetop and
drink the fresh air of night. For long he paced the terrace roof in the
darkness, then sat crosslegged awhile, then, as his limbs felt cramp,
arose and walked again.
The great heart of the night beat loud in his ears, and he fancied he
could hear respirations, as its cool breath fanned his cheeks.
By and by the eastern hill grew black and imminent; a coronal of light
appeared; and the moon pushed up her horn, a golden spearpoint against
the stars. The flat-roofed houses took shape suddenly, cube by cube. A
minute since they had been lost in night’s mystery, at one with the dim
hills, the starry sky.
Shems-ud-dìn’s prayer ceased not. He prayed for strength in submission.
An instant fear haunted him, making this night most terrible. He thought
that God would take the life of Alia at once, without delay, and so
ratify the covenant of the tree. In tearing down the idolatrous rag from
off the branch, he had accepted his daughter’s death at the hand of the
Lord. He prayed for perfect resignation. But a wish would outrun the
prayer—oh, that Allah would appoint some other victim, as He did of old
for Ibrahìm, His friend!
With the first dawn he went down into the house to wash before the
morning prayer. When his host inquired if he had spent a happy night,
he answered Yes, and thanked him kindly. Alia yet lived; nay, Fatmeh
pronounced her better than on their arrival the evening before. So the
sunrise smiled to him.
That day their road led through a forest of terebinths, not dense, but
growing singly, or else by clumps of two and three. The path was pied
with shade, affording a pleasant diversity; and Alia often looked out
from the palanquin with cheerful words to her father.
It was late afternoon when they came forth from among the trees. From a
bald crown they surveyed a waste of yellow hills tossed and crumpled in
the likeness of a stormy sea. They halted, without dismounting, to inhale
the keen air of those highlands.
Of a sudden Hassan laughed out, and pointed to the valley right below
them. In the midst of a green-stained dell swelled a brown mound, in
shape nearly oval. By one end of the mound moved a camel, by the other a
man.
“He must have been to sleep,” laughed Hassan, “and have let go the rope.
And now if he catch it ere the Day of Judgment, it will surprise me.”
When the man stole round to one side of the hillock, his camel, which
till then had been browsing peacefully, lifted its head and stepped round
to the other. They could see the headrope dangling as it ran.
The man stood still, in thought apparently; for soon, as if struck by a
new idea, he started to climb the mound. From the top he caught sight
of the camel beneath him, placidly chewing. They could hear his yell of
triumph as he rushed down upon it. But he pitched headlong—and by the
time he reached level ground his camel was not there.
The man sat nursing himself.
“Now he weeps, I assure you,” cried Hassan, exultant.
“Let us go down and help the poor man,” said Shems-ud-dìn.
“No, that we will not! It were a sin! But I am with thee, my dear, to go
down and hear his tale. It must be a rare one. Ma sh’ Allah!”
Already Shibli and the younger men were urging their horses down the
steep decline. Old Hassan followed at a breakneck pace. Only Shems-ud-dìn
and Mâs the negro stayed by the litter. Care for the sick girl obliging
them to descend very slowly, step by step, by the time they reached the
foot the rest of the party had been some time gathered round the lord of
that froward camel. Shems-ud-dìn drew near the group.
The fellâh was about finishing his tale of woe. He moaned:
“O Lord, I possess but this one only, and a person in Es-Salt, the lord
of much wealth, would buy him of me for a journey he makes to-morrow. The
price offered is a high one. I would fain receive it. But to-morrow will
be too late; the merchant will have gone his way. Would to Allah I had
not lain down to sleep! Would that I had never been born to need sleep
upon the earth! Be kind now, I entreat you, O my masters! Help me to
recover my camel.”
But the Circassians, and Shibli with them, mocked his anguish, saying:
“We sympathize with thee, that is understood. But we be plain men. We
meddle not with signs and wonders. Who ever saw the like of this thy
quandary? Surely it is upon thee from the hand of Allah.”
At that the poor man put his knuckles to his eyes and wept aloud, cursing
the stock of men so heartless.
Shems-ud-dìn frowned upon their wickedness. He was about to use his
authority on the man’s behalf when lo! the camel itself came striding
round a shoulder of the hill and stood within a few paces of him. The
rest beheld not the chance, intent on their evil game.
Very quietly the sheykh walked his horse toward the great beast, which
watched his approach without concern, nor demurred even when he grasped
the headrope.
“O fellâh, behold thy camel!”
For a moment all were petrified. Then wild cries arose: “A wonder!”—“A
sign from Allah!”—“The Lord has ordained a miracle at the hand of the
saintly Shems-ud-dìn!”—“Run, O poor man! Make haste to kiss the earth
between his horse’s feet!”
The fellâh did as they bade him. He ran, and falling on the ground,
flattened himself before the horse of Shems-ud-dìn, crying:
“Deign to ride over me, O favored of Allah! Behold, I am the dust of thy
pathway!”
The sheykh made him rise, and explained to him the occurrence as most
natural. “Seeing thou hadst ceased from pursuing, thy camel tired of
playing alone and came of his own accord to look for thee.”
But the owner of the camel would not be convinced, any more than would
the bystanders, that the event was less than a miracle. The Circassians
congratulated one another, whispering:
“Now is it clear that he knows the language of beasts; for how else could
he read the mind of this camel, that he is tired of playing alone? By
Allah, he is no less than a prophet. Praise to the Highest, who has made
us his companions.”
“Where sleep you to-night?” asked the camel’s master, wiping his eyes on
the sleeve of his robe.
They answered him: “At Es-Salt, whither thou also goest.”
“Good. Then I travel with you.”
Throughout the rest of the journey, which was very monotonous, the eyes
of that fellâh dwelt upon Shems-ud-dìn, raptly staring as at a vision.
In the town of Es-Salt it would have been hard to find a lodging for
the women, since the only khan was filled with a caravan bound to Bûsra
from the Holy City; but this man took them to the house of a friend of
his, who, on hearing the case explained, turned out with his family into
the adjoining stable, and so made room for them. And when Shems-ud-dìn
arose in the morning and looked forth, there was this same man squatting
patiently beside the threshold.
At sight of the sheykh, he fell down and kissed his feet.
“May thy day be happy, O my master! I seek a boon of thee. Grant me but
leave to journey with thee to the Holy Place. I will be no charge upon
thee; for I have this hour received the price of my camel.”
“But thy business!—thy house!—thy woman!”
“Those are always with me. They await my return. But as for thee, thou
passest. It is an occasion to be seized.”
“But—Merciful Allah!—I travel not for pastime, O my son.”
“I know, O my lord. Thy companions have already told me; and I sorrow
with thee. How is the health of the lady, thy daughter, this morning?”
“In sh’ Allah, it is no worse. She yet lives,” said Shems-ud-dìn sadly.
“May Allah heal her quickly! Deign now to give me the saddlebags. I will
make ready the horse for thy Grace.”
He would not be gainsaid.