PALGRAVE’S TRAVELS—EASTERN ARABIA.
“OUR stay at Hofhoof was very pleasant and interesting, not indeed
through personal incidents and hair-breadth escapes—of which we had our
fair portion at Ri’ad and elsewhere—but in the information here acquired,
and in the novel character of everything around us, whether nature, art,
or man. Aboo-’Eysa was very anxious that we should see as much as
possible of the country, and procured us all means requisite for so
doing, while the shelter of his roof, and the precautions which he
adopted or suggested, obviated whatever dangers and inconveniences we had
experienced in former stages of the journey. Besides, the general
disposition of the inhabitants of Hasa is very different from that met
with in Nedjed, and even in Shomer or Djowf, and much better adapted to
make a stranger feel himself at home. A sea-coast people, looking mainly
to foreign lands and the ocean for livelihood and commerce, accustomed to
see among them not unfrequently men of dress, manners, and religion
different from their own, many of them themselves travellers or voyagers
to Basrah, Bagdad, Bahreyn, Oman, and some even farther, they are
commonly free from that half-wondering, half-suspicious feeling which the
sight of a stranger occasions in the isolated, desert-girded centre. In
short, experience, that best of masters, has gone far to unteach the
lessons of ignorance, intolerance, and national aversion.
“Hofhoof, whose ample circuit contained during the last generation about
thirty thousand inhabitants, now dwindled to twenty-three or twenty-four
thousand, is divided into three quarters or districts. The general form
of the town is that of a large oval. The public square, an oblong space
of about three hundred yards in length by a fourth of the same in width,
occupies the meeting point of these quarters; the Kôt lies on its
northeast, the Rifey’eeyah on the northwest and west, and the Na’athar on
the east and south. In this last quarter was our present home; moreover,
it stood in the part farthest removed from the Kôt and its sinister
influences, while it was also sufficiently distant from the overturbulent
neighborhood of the Rifey’eeyah, the centre of anti-Wahabee movements,
and the name of which alone excited distrust and uneasiness in Nedjean
minds.
“The Kôt itself is a vast citadel, surrounded by a deep trench, with
walls and towers of unusual height and thickness, earth-built, with an
occasional intermixture of stone, the work of the old Carmathian rulers;
it is nearly square, being about one-third of a mile in length by
one-quarter in breadth.
“On the opposite side of the square, and consequently belonging to the
Rifey’eeyah, is the vaulted market-place, or ‘Keysareeyah,’ a name by
which constructions of this nature must henceforth be called up to Mascat
itself, though how this Latinism found its way across the peninsula to
lands which seem to have had so little commerce with the Roman or
Byzantine empires, I cannot readily conjecture. This Keysareeyah is in
form a long barrel-vaulted arcade, with a portal at either end; the
folding doors that should protect the entrances have here in Hofhoof been
taken away, elsewhere they are always to be found. The sides are
composed of shops, set apart in general for wares of cost, or at least
what is here esteemed costly; thus, weapons, cloth embroidery, gold and
silver ornament, and analogous articles, are the ordinary stock-in-hand
in the Keysareeyah. Around it cluster several alleys, roofed with
palm-leaves against the heat, and tolerably symmetrical; in the shops we
may see the merchandise of Bahreyn, Oman, Persia, and India exposed for
sale, mixed with the manufactured produce of the country; workshops,
smithies, carpenters’ and shoemakers’ stalls, and the like, are here
also. In the open square itself stand countless booths for the sale of
dates, vegetables, wood, salted locusts, and small ware of many kinds.
“The Rifey’eeyah, or noble quarter, covers a considerable extent, and is
chiefly composed of tolerable, in some places of even handsome,
dwellings. The comparative elegance of domestic architecture in Hofhoof
is due to the use of the arch, which, after the long interval from Ma’an
to Hasa, now at last reappears, and gives to the constructions of this
province a lightness and a variety unknown in the monotonous and heavy
piles of Nedjed and Shomer. Another improvement is that the walls,
whether of earth or stone, or of both mixed, as is often the case, are
here very generally coated with fine white plaster, much resembling the
‘chunam’ of Southern India; ornament, too, is aimed at about the doorways
and the ogee-headed windows, and is sometimes attained.
“The Na’athar is the largest quarter; it forms, indeed, a good half of
the town, and completes its oval. In it every description of dwelling is
to be seen—for rich and poor, for high and low, palace or hovel. Here,
too, but near the Kôt, has the pious policy of Feysul constructed the
great mosque.
“But perhaps my reader, after accompanying me thus far, may feel thirsty,
for the heat, even in December, is almost oppressive, and the sky
cloudless as though it were June or July. So let us turn aside into that
grassy plantation, where half a dozen buffaloes are cooling their ugly
hides in a pool, and drink a little from the source that supplies it.
When behold! the water is warm, almost hot. Do not be surprised; all the
fountain sources and wells of Hasa are so, more or less; in some one can
hardly bear to plunge one’s hand; others are less above the average
temperature, while a decidedly sulphurous taste is now and then
perceptible. In fact, from the extreme north of this province down to
its southern-most frontier, this same sign of subterranean fire is
everywhere to be found. The rocks, too, are here very frequently of tufa
and basalt, another mark of igneous agency.
“The products of Hasa are many and various; the monotony of Arab
vegetation, its eternal palm and ithel, ithel and palm, are here varied
by new foliage, and growths unknown to Nedjed and Shomer. True, the
date-palm still predominates, nay, here attains its greatest perfection.
But the nabak, with its rounded leaves and little crab-apple fruit, a
mere bush in Central Arabia, becomes in Hasa a stately tree; the papay,
too, so well known in the more easterly peninsula, appears, though
seldom, and stunted in growth, along with some other trees, common on the
coast from Cutch to Bombay. Indigo is here cultivated, though not
sufficiently for the demands of commerce; cotton is much more widely
grown than in Yemamah; rice fields abound, and the sugar-cane is often
planted, though not, I believe, for the extraction of the sugar. The
peasants of Hasa sell the reed by retail bundles in the market-place, and
the purchasers take it home to gnaw at leisure in their houses. Corn,
maize, millet, vetches of every kind, radishes, onions, garlic, beans, in
short, almost all legumina and cerealia, barley excepted (at least I
neither saw nor heard of any), cover the plain, and under a better
administration might be multiplied tenfold.
“The climate of Hasa, as I have already implied, is very different from
that of the uplands, and not equally favorable to health and physical
activity. Hence, a doctor, like myself, if my readers will allow me the
title, has here more work and better fees; this latter circumstance is
also owing to the greater amount of ready money in circulation, and the
higher value set on medical science by men whose intellects are much more
cultivated than those of their Nedjean neighbors. In appearance, the
inhabitants of Hasa are generally good-sized and well-proportioned, but
somewhat sallow in the face, and of a less muscular development than is
usual inland; their features, though regular, are less marked than those
of the Nedjeans, and do not exhibit the same half-Jewish type. On the
contrary, there is something in them that reminds a beholder of the
Rajpoot or the Guzeratee. They are passionately fond of literature and
poetry.
“I have already said that our great endeavor in Hasa was to observe
unobserved, and thus to render our time as barren as might be in
incidents and catastrophes. Not that we went into the opposite extreme
of leading an absolutely retired and therefore uneventful life.
Aboo-’Eysa took care from the first to bring us into contact with the
best and the most cultivated families of the town, nor had my medical
profession anywhere a wider range for its exercise, or better success
than in Hofhoof. Friendly invitations, now to dinner, now to supper,
were of daily occurrence; and we sat at tables where fish, no longer mere
salted shrimps, announced our vicinity to the coast; vermicelli, too, and
other kinds of pastry, denoted the influence of Persian art on the
kitchen. Smoking within doors was general; but the nargheelah often
replaced, and that advantageously, the short Arab pipe; perfumes are no
less here in use than in Nedjed.
“We had passed about a week in the town when Aboo-’Eysa entered the side
room where Barakat and I were enjoying a moment of quiet, and copying out
‘Nabtee’ poetry, and shut the door behind him. He then announced to us,
with a face and tone of serious anxiety, that two of the principal
Nedjean agents belonging to the Kôt had just come into the k’hawah, under
pretext of medical consultation, but in reality, said he, to identify the
strangers. We put on our cloaks—a preliminary measure of decorum
equivalent to face- and hand-washing in Europe—and presented ourselves
before our inquisitors with an air of conscious innocence and scientific
solemnity. Conversation ensued, and we talked so learnedly about bilious
and sanguine complexions, cephalic veins, and Indian drugs, with such
apposite citations from the Koran, and such loyal phrases for Feysul,
that Aboo-’Eysa was beside himself for joy; and the spies, after
receiving some prescriptions of the bread-pill and aromatic-water
formula, left the house no wiser than before. Our friends, too, and they
were now many, well guessing what we might really be, partly from our own
appearance and partly from the known character of our host (according to
old Homer’s true saying, _Heaven always leads like to like_), did each
and all their best to throw sand into Wahabee eyes, and everything went
on sociably and smoothly. A blessing on the medical profession! None
other gives such excellent opportunities for securing everywhere
confidence and friendship.
“Before we leave Hasa I must add a few remarks to complete the sketch
given of the province and of its inhabitants. Want of a suitable
opportunity for inserting them before has thrown them together at this
point of my narrative.
“My fair readers will be pleased to learn that the veil and other
restraints inflicted on the gentle sex by Islamitic rigorism, not to say
worse, are much less universal, and more easily dispensed with in Hasa;
while in addition, the ladies of the land enjoy a remarkable share of
those natural gifts which no institutions, and even no cosmetics, can
confer; namely, beauty of face and elegance of form. Might I venture on
the delicate and somewhat invidious task of constructing a ‘beauty-scale’
for Arabia, and for Arabia alone, the Bedouin women would, on this
kalometer, be represented by zero, or at most 1°; a degree higher would
represent the female sex of Nedjed; above them rank the women of Shomer,
who are in their turn surmounted by those of Djowf. The fifth or sixth
degree symbolizes the fair ones of Hasa; the seventh those of Katar; and
lastly, by a sudden rise of ten degrees at least, the seventeenth or
eighteenth would denote the pre-eminent beauties of Oman. Arab poets
occasionally languish after the charmers of Hedjaz; I never saw anyone to
charm me, but then I only skirted the province. All bear witness to the
absence of female loveliness in Yemen; and I should much doubt whether
the mulatto races and dusky complexions of Hadramaut have much to vaunt
of. But in Hasa a decided improvement on this important point is
agreeably evident to the traveller arriving from Nedjed, and he will be
yet further delighted on finding his Calypsos much more conversible, and
having much more, too, in their conversation than those he left behind
him in Sedeyr and ’Aared.
“During our stay at Hofhoof, Aboo-’Eysa left untried no arts of Arab
rhetoric and persuasion to determine me to visit Oman, assuring me again
and again that whatever we had yet seen, even in his favorite Hasa, was
nothing compared to what remained to see in that more remote country. My
companion, tired of our long journey, and thinking the long distance
already laid between him and his Syrian home quite sufficient in itself
without further leagues tacked on to it, was very little disposed for a
supplementary expedition. Englishmen, on the contrary, are rovers by
descent and habit; my own mind was now fully made up to visit Oman at all
risks, whether Barakat came with me or not. Meanwhile, we formed our
plan for the next immediate stage of our route. My companion and I were
to quit Hofhoof together, leaving Aboo-’Eysa behind us for a week or two
at Hasa, while we journeyed northward to Kateef, and thence took ship for
the town of Menamah in Bahreyn. In this latter place Aboo-’Eysa was to
rejoin us. Our main reason for thus separating our movements in time and
in direction, was to avoid the too glaring appearance of acting in
concert while yet in a land under Wahabee government and full of Wahabee
spies and reporters, especially after the suspicions thrown on us at
Ri’ad. The Oman arrangements were to be deferred till we should all meet
again.
“Barakat and myself prepared for our departure; we purchased a few
objects of local curiosity, got in our dues of medical attendance, paid
and received the customary P. P. C. visits, and even tendered our
respects to the negro governor Belal, where he sat at his palace door in
the Kôt, holding a public audience, and looking much like any other
well-dressed black. No passport was required for setting out on the road
to Kateef, which in the eyes of government forms only one and the same
province with Hasa, though in many respects very different from it. The
road is perfectly secure; plundering Bedouins or highway robbers are here
out of the question. However, we stood in need of companions, not for
escort, but as guides. Aboo-’Eysa made inquiries in the town, and found
three men who chanced to be just then setting out on their way for
Kateef, who readily consented to join band with us for the road. Our
Abyssinian hostess supplied us with a whole sack of provisions, and our
Hofhoof associates found us in camels. Thus equipped and mounted, we
took an almost touching leave of Aboo-’Eysa’s good-natured wife, kissed
the baby, exchanged an _au revoir_ with its father, and set out on the
afternoon of December 19th, leaving behind us many pleasant
acquaintances, from some of whom I received messages and letters while at
Bahreyn. So far as inhabitants are concerned, to no town in Arabia
should I return with equal confidence of finding a hearty greeting and a
welcome reception, than to Hofhoof and its amiable and intelligent
merchants.
“We quitted the town by the northeastern gate of the Rifey-’eeyah, where
the friends, who, according to Arab custom, had accompanied us thus far
in a sort of procession, wished us a prosperous journey, took a last
adieu, and returned home. After some hours we bivouacked on a little
hillock of clean sand, with the dark line of the Hofhoof woods on our
left, while at some distance in front a copious fountain poured out its
rushing waters with a noise distinctly audible in the stillness of the
night, and irrigated a garden worthy of Damascus or Antioch. The night
air was temperate, neither cold like that of Nedjed, nor stifling like
that of Southern India; the sky clear and starry. From our commanding
position on the hill I could distinguish Soheyl or Canopus, now setting;
and following him, not far above the horizon, the three upper stars of
the Southern Cross, an old Indian acquaintance; two months later in Oman
I had the view of the entire constellation.
“Next morning we traversed a large plain of light and sandy soil,
intersected by occasional ridges of basalt and sandstone.
“We journeyed on all day, meeting no Bedouins and few travellers. At
evening we encamped in a shallow valley, near a cluster of brimming
wells, some sweet, some brackish, where the traces of half-obliterated
watercourses and the vestiges of crumbling house-walls indicated the
former existence of a village, now also deserted. We passed a
comfortable night under the shelter of palms and high brushwood, mixed
with gigantic aloes and yuccas, and rose next morning early to our way.
Our direction lay northeast. In the afternoon we caught our first
glimpse of Djebel Mushahhar, a pyramidical peak some seven hundred feet
high and about ten miles south of Kateef. But the sea, though I looked
toward it and for it with an eagerness somewhat resembling that of the
Ten Thousand on their approach to the Euxine, remained shut out from view
by a further continuation of the heights.
“Next day we rose at dawn, and crossed the hills of Kateef by a long
winding path, till after some hours of labyrinthine track we came in
sight of the dark plantation-line that girdles Kateef itself landward.
The sea lies immediately beyond; this we knew, but we could not obtain a
glimpse of its waters through the verdant curtain stretched between.
“About midday we descended the last slope, a steep sandstone cliff, which
looks as though it had been the sea-limit of a former period. We now
stood on the coast itself. Its level is as nearly as possible that of
the Gulf beyond; a few feet of a higher tide than usual would cover it up
to the cliffs. Hence it is a decidedly unhealthy land, though fertile
and even populous; but the inhabitants are mostly weak in frame and
sallow in complexion. The atmosphere was thick and oppressive, the heat
intense, and the vegetation hung rich and heavy around; my companions
talked about suffocation, and I remembered once more the Indian coast.
Another hour of afternoon march brought us to Kateef itself, at its
western portal; a high stone arch of elegant form, and flanked by walls
and towers, but all dismantled and ruinous. Close by the two
burial-grounds, one for the people of the land, the other for the Nedjean
rulers and colony—divided even after death by mutual hatred and anathema.
Folly, if you will, but folly not peculiar to the East.
“The town itself is crowded, damp, and dirty, and has altogether a
gloomy, what for want of a better epithet I would call a _mouldy_, look;
much business was going on in the market and streets, but the ill-favored
and very un-Arab look of the shopkeepers and workmen confirms what
history tells of the Persian colonization of this city. Indeed, the
inhabitants of the entire district, but more especially of the capital,
are a mongrel race, in which Persian blood predominates, mixed with that
of Bassora, Bagdad, and the ’Irak.
“We urged our starting dromedaries across the open square in front of the
market-place, traversed the town in its width, which is scarce a quarter
of its length (like other coast towns), till we emerged from the opposite
gate, and then looked out with greedy eyes for the sea, now scarce ten
minutes distant. In vain as yet, so low lies the land, and so thick
cluster the trees. But after a turn or two we came alongside of the
outer walls, belonging to the huge fortress of Karmoot, and immediately
afterward the valley opening out showed us almost at our feet the dead
shallow flats of the bay. How different from the bright waters of the
Mediterranean, all glitter and life, where we had bidden them farewell
eight months before at Gaza! Like a leaden sheet, half ooze, half sedge,
the muddy sea lay in view, waveless, motionless; to our left the massive
walls of the castle went down almost to the water’s edge, and then turned
to leave a narrow esplanade between its circuit and the Gulf. On this
ledge were ranged a few rusty guns of large calibre, to show how the
place was once guarded; and just in front of the main gate a crumbling
outwork, which a single cannon-shot would level with the ground,
displayed six pieces of honey-combed artillery, their mouths pointing
seaward. Long stone benches without invited us to leave our camels
crouching on the esplanade, while we seated ourselves and rested a little
before requesting the governor to grant us a day’s hospitality, and
permission to embark for Bahreyn.
“Barakat and I sat still to gaze, speculating on the difference between
the two sides of Arabia. But our companions, like true Arabs, thought it
high time for ‘refreshment,’ and accordingly began their inquiries at the
castle-gate where the governor might be, and whether he was to be spoken
to. When, behold! the majesty of Feysul’s vicegerent issuing in person
from his palace to visit the new man-of-war. My abolitionist friends
will be gratified to learn that this exalted dignitary is, no less than
he of Hofhoof, a negro, brought up from a curly-headed imp to a
woolly-headed black in Feysul’s own palace, and now governor of the most
important harbor owned by Nedjed on the Persian Gulf, and of the town
once capital of that fierce dynasty which levelled the Kaabah with the
dust, and filled Kateef with the plunder of Yemen and Syria. Farhat, to
give him his proper name, common among those of his complexion, was a
fine tall negro of about fifty years old, good-natured, chatty,
hospitable, and furnished with perhaps a trifle more than the average
amount of negro intellect.
“Aboo-’Eysa, who had friends and acquaintances everywhere, and whose
kindly manner made him always a special favorite with negroes high or
low, had furnished us with an introductory letter to Farhat, intended to
make matters smooth for our future route. But as matters went there was
little need of caution. The fortunate coincidence of a strong north
wind, just then blowing down the Gulf, gave a satisfactory reason for not
embarking on board of a Bassora cruiser, while it rendered a voyage to
Bahreyn, our real object, equally specious and easy. Besides, Farhat
himself, who was a good, easy-going sort of man, had hardly opened
Aboo-’Eysa’s note, than without more ado he bade us a hearty welcome,
ordered our luggage to be brought within the castle precincts, and
requested us to step in ourselves and take a cup of coffee, awaiting his
return for further conversation after his daily visit of inspection to
Feysul’s abridged fleet.
“The next day passed, partly in Farhat’s k’hawah, partly in strolling
about the castle, town, gardens, and beach, making, meanwhile, random
inquiries after boats and boatmen.
“It was noon when we fell in with a ship captain, ready to sail that very
night, wind and tide permitting. Farhat’s men had spoken with him, and
he readily offered to take us on board. We then paid a visit to the
custom-house officer to settle the embarkation dues for men and goods.
This foreman of the Ma’asher, whether in accordance with orders from
Farhat, or of his own free will and inclination, I know not, proved
wonderfully gracious, and declared that to take a farthing of duty from
such useful servants of the public as doctors, would be ‘sheyn w’khata’,
‘shame and sin.’ Alas, that European custom house officials should be
far removed from such generous and patriotic sentiments! Lastly, of his
own accord he furnished us with men to carry our baggage through
knee-deep water and thigh-deep mud to the little cutter, where she lay
some fifty yards from shore. Evening now came on, and Farhat sent for us
to congratulate us, but with a polite regret on having found so speedy
conveyance for our voyage. Meanwhile he let us understand how he was
himself invited for the evening to supper with a rich merchant of the
town, and that we were expected to join the party; nor need that make us
anxious about our passage, since our ship captain was also invited, nor
could the vessel possibly sail before the full tide at midnight.
“From our town supper we returned by torchlight to the castle; our
baggage, no great burden, had been already taken down to the sea gate,
where stood two of the captain’s men waiting for us. In their company we
descended to the beach, and then with garments tucked up to the waist
waded to the vessel, not without difficulty, for the tide was rapidly
coming in, and we had almost to swim for it. At last we reached the ship
and scrambled up her side; most heartily glad was I to find myself at sea
once more on the other side of Arabia.”
After a slow voyage of three days Palgrave reached Bahreyn, the
headquarters of the pearl fisheries, and established himself in the
little town of Moharrek, to wait for the arrival of Aboo-’Eysa before
undertaking his projected exploration of Oman. He and his companion
enjoyed a grateful feeling of rest and security in this seaport among the
sailors, to whom all varieties of foreigners were well known, and who,
having no prejudices, felt no suspicion.
On January 9, 1863, Aboo-’Eysa arrived, and after much earnest
consultation the following plan was adopted: Aboo-’Eysa was to send
twenty loads of the best Hasa dates, and a handsome mantle, as presents
to the Sultan of Oman, with three additional mantles for the three chiefs
whose territories intervened between Bahreyn and Muscat. Palgrave was to
accompany these gifts, under his character of a skilled physician in
quest of certain rare and mysterious herbs of Oman. Meanwhile,
Aboo-’Eysa and Barakat would take passage for Aboo-Shahr (Busheer), in
Persia, where the former would be employed for three months in making up
his next caravan of Mecca pilgrims. Here Palgrave was to rejoin them
after his journey.
In place of Barakat his companion was a curious individual named Yoosef,
whom Aboo-’Eysa had rescued from misery and maintained in a decent
condition. He was a native of Hasa, half a jester and half a knave;
witty, reckless, hare brained to the last degree, full of jocose or
pathetic stories, of poetry, traditions, and fun of every description.
When everything had been arranged the four parted company, Palgrave and
his new companion sailing for the port of Bedaa’, on the Arabian coast,
where resided the first of the three chiefs whose protection it was
necessary to secure. They reached there after a cruise of five or six
days, finding the place very barren and desolate, with scarcely a tree or
a garden; but, as the chief said to Palgrave, “We are all, from the
highest to the lowest, the slaves of one master—Pearl.” The bay contains
the best pearl-fishery on the coast, and the town depends for its
existence on the trade in these gems.
The chief was intelligent and friendly, and appears to have interposed no
obstacle to the proposed journey into the interior, but Palgrave decided
to go on by sea to the town of Sharjah, on the northern side of the
peninsula of Oman. Embarking again on February 6th, the vessel was
driven by violent winds across to the Persian shore, and ten days elapsed
before it was possible to reach Sharjah. Here, again, although their
reception was hospitable, the travellers gave up their land journey and
re-embarked in another vessel to pass around the peninsula, through the
Straits of Ormuz, and land on the southern shore, in the territory of
Muscat.
In three days they reached the island of Ormuz, of which Palgrave says:
“I was not at all sorry to have an opportunity of visiting an island once
so renowned for its commerce, and of which its Portuguese occupants used
to say, ‘that, were the world a golden ring Ormuz would be the diamond
signet.’ The general appearance of Ormuz indicates an extinguished
volcano, and such I believe it really is; the circumference consists of a
wide oval wall, formed by steep crags, fire-worn and ragged; these
enclose a central basin, where grow shrubs and grass; the basaltic slopes
of the outer barrier run in many places clean down into the sea, amid
splinter-like pinnacles and fantastic crags of many colors, like those
which lava often assumes on cooling. Between the west and north a long
triangular promontory, low and level, advances to a considerable
distance, and narrows into a neck of land, which is terminated by a few
rocks and a strong fortress, the work of Portuguese builders, but worthy
of taking rank among Roman ruins—so solid are the walls, so compact the
masonry and well-selected brickwork, against which three long centuries
of sea-storm have broken themselves in vain. The greater part of the
promontory itself is covered with ruins. Here stood the once thriving
town, now a confused extent of desolate heaps, amid which the vestiges of
several fine dwellings, of baths, and of a large church may yet be
clearly made out. Close by the fort cluster a hundred or more wretched
earth-hovels, the abode of fishermen or shepherds, whose flocks pasture
within the crater; one single shed, where dried dates, raisins, and
tobacco are exposed for sale, is all that now remains of the trade of
Ormuz.”
After being detained three days at Ormuz by a storm, the vessel passed
through the Strait, skirted the southern coast of the peninsula, and
reached the harbor of Sohar on March 3d. Palgrave determined to set off
with Yoosef the same evening on the land-journey of eight or nine days to
Muscat; but he had already lost so much time by delays since leaving
Bahreyn that he yielded to the persuasions of the captain of another
vessel, who promised to take him to Muscat by sea in two days. He sailed
on the 6th, weighed down with a vague presentiment of coming evil, which
was soon to be justified. His wanderings in Arabia, and also in this
world, very nearly came to an end. The vessel slowly glided on for two
days, and Muscat was almost in sight when a dead, ominous calm befell
them near the Sowadah Islands—some low reefs of barren rocks, about three
leagues from shore. It proved to be a calm, ominous indeed for Palgrave,
as well as for the captain of the vessel and all on board. It was
followed by a furious storm that ended in the wreck of the dhow, and the
loss of several lives, together with the entire outfit of the expedition.
Palgrave and the survivors of the crew and passengers, nine in number,
barely escaped with their lives, and reached the shore utterly exhausted,
with nothing but the shirts they wore.
In sorry plight the traveller made his way along the coast to Muscat. He
was obliged to give up the idea of exploring the interior of Oman, partly
on account of the loss of the stores but chiefly because his identity as
a European had been disclosed; and so in this disastrous manner ended the
most important and interesting journey that had yet been made by any
traveller in Arabia.