“Babel was Nimrod’s hunting box, and then
A town of gardens, walls, and wealth amazing,
Where Nabuchodonosor, king of men,
Reigned till one summer’s day he took to grazing.”
BYRON.
“. . . Oh how wretched
Is that poor man that lives on princes’ favours.”
SHAKESPEARE.
Mohammed loses his head—A ride with the Emir—The mountain fortress of
Agde—Farewell to Haïl—We join the Persian Haj—Ways and manners of the
pilgrims—A clergyman of Medina.
I HAVE hinted at a mystification in which we found ourselves involved a
few days after our arrival at Haïl, and which at the time caused us no
little anxiety. It had its origin in a piece of childishness on
Mohammed’s part, whose head was completely turned by the handsome
reception given him as an Ibn Arûk by the Emir, and a little too, I fear,
by our own spoiling. To the present day I am not quite sure that we
heard all that happened, and so forbear entering upon the matter in
detail; but as far as we could learn, Mohammed’s vanity seems to have led
him to aggrandise his own position in the eyes of Ibn Rashid’s court, by
representing us as persons whom he had taken under his protection, and
who were in some way dependent on him; boasting that the camels, horses,
and other property were his own, and our servants his people. This under
ordinary circumstances might have been a matter of small consequence, and
we should not have grudged him a little self-glorification at our
expense, conscious as we were of having owed the success of our journey
hitherto, mainly to his fidelity. But unfortunately the secondary _rôle_
which he would thus have assigned to us, made our relations with the Emir
not only embarrassing, but positively dangerous. Our reception at first
had been cordial to a degree that made it all the more annoying to find,
that when we had been four days at Haïl, we no longer received the
attentions which had hitherto been paid us. The presents of game ceased,
and the lamb, with which we had hitherto been regaled at dinner, was
replaced by camel meat. Instead of two soldiers being sent to escort us
to the palace, a slave boy came with a message. On the fifth day we were
not invited to the evening party, and on the sixth Wilfrid, calling at
the palace, was told curtly that the Emir was not at home. We could not
imagine the cause of this change, and Mohammed, usually so cheerful and
so open-hearted, had become moody and embarrassed, keeping almost
entirely with the servants in the outer house. Hanna, the faithful
Hanna, began to hint darkly that things were not well, and Abdallah and
the rest of the Mussulman servants seemed unwilling to do their duty. We
remembered that we were among Wahhabi fanatics, and we began to be very
much alarmed. Still we were far from guessing the real reason, and it
was not till we had been a week at Haïl that Wilfrid, happening to meet
the Emir’s chief slave Mubarek, learned from him how matters stood. It
was no use being angry; indeed Mohammed’s conduct was rather childish
than disloyal, and the _dénouement_ would have not been worth mentioning
except as an illustration of Arab manners and ways of thought, and also
as explaining why our stay at Haïl was cut shorter than we had originally
intended it to be; and why, instead of going on to Kasim, we joined the
Persian pilgrimage on their homeward road to Meshhed Ali.
Matters of course could not rest there, and on returning home from his
interview with Mubarek, Wilfrid upbraided Mohammed with his folly, and
then sent to the palace for Mufurraj, the master of ceremonies, and the
same dignified old gentleman who had received us on our arrival, and
having explained the circumstances bade him in his turn explain them to
the Emir. The old man promised to do this, and I have no doubt kept his
word, for that very evening we were sent for once more to the palace, and
received with the old cordiality. It is, too, I think very creditable to
the arrangements of the Haïl court, that no explanations of any sort were
entered into. Mohammed, though put in his proper place, was still
politely received; and only an increase of amiable attentions made us
remember that we had ever had cause to complain. As to Mohammed, I am
bound to say, that once the fumes of his vanity evaporated, he bore no
kind of malice for what we had been obliged to do, and became once more
the amiable, attentive and serviceable friend he had hitherto been.
Ill-temper is not an Arab failing. Still the incident was a lesson and a
warning, a lesson that we were Europeans still among Asiatics, a warning
that Haïl was a lion’s den, though fortunately we were friends with the
lion. We began to make our plans for moving on.
I have said little as yet about the Persian pilgrimage which, encamped
just outside the walls of Haïl, had all along been a main feature in the
goings on of the place. On a certain Tuesday, however, the Emir sent us
a message that he expected us to come out riding with him, and that he
would meet us at that gate of the town where the pilgrims were. It was a
fortunate day for us, not indeed because we saw the pilgrims, but because
we saw what we would have come the whole journey to see, and had almost
despaired of seeing,—all the best of the Emir’s horses out and galloping
about. We were delighted at the opportunity, and made haste to get
ready. In half an hour we were on our mares, and in the street. There
was a great concourse of people all moving towards the camp, and just
outside the town we found the Emir’s cavalcade. This for the moment
absorbed all my thoughts, for I had not yet seen any of the Haïl horses
mounted. The Emir, splendidly dressed but barefooted, was riding a
pretty little white mare, while the chestnut Krushieh followed him
mounted by a slave.
All our friends were there, Hamúd, Majid and the two boys his brothers,
with a still smaller boy, whom they introduced to us as a son of Metaab,
the late Emir, all in high spirits and anxious to show off their horses
and their horsemanship; while next the Emir and under his special
protection rode the youth with the tragical history, Naïf, the sole
remaining son of Tellál, whose brothers Mohammed had killed, and who, it
is whispered, will some day be called on to revenge their deaths.
Mubarek too, the white slave, was there, a slave in name only, for he is
strikingly like the princely family in feature and is one of the richest
and most important personages in Haïl. The rest of the party consisted
of friends and servants, with a fair sprinkling of black faces among
them, dressed in their best clothes and mounted on the Emir’s mares.
Conspicuous on his beautiful bay was Hamúd, who, as usual, did us the
honours, and pointed out and explained the various persons and things we
saw. It was one of those mornings one only finds in Nejd. The air
brilliant and sparkling to a degree one cannot imagine in Europe, and
filling one with a sense of life such as one remembers to have had in
childhood, and which gives one a wish to shout. The sky of an intense
blue, and the hills in front of us carved out of sapphire, and the plain,
crisp and even as a billiard table, sloping gently upwards towards them.
On one side the battlemented walls and towers of Haïl, with the palace
rising out of a dark mass of palms almost black in the sunlight; on the
other the pilgrim camp, a parti-coloured mass of tents, blue, green, red,
white, with the pilgrims themselves in a dark crowd, watching with
curious half-frightened eyes the barbaric display of which we formed a
part.
Presently the Emir gave a signal to advance, and turning towards the
south-west, our whole party moved on in the direction of a clump of
palm-trees we could see about two miles off. Hamúd then suddenly put his
mare into a gallop, and one after another the rest of the party joined
him in a sham fight, galloping, doubling, and returning to the Emir, who
remained alone with us, and shouting as though they would bring the sky
about their ears. At last the Emir could resist it no longer, and
seizing a jerid or palm stick from one of the slaves, went off himself
among the others. In a moment his dignity and his town manners were
forgotten, and he became the Bedouin again which he and all his family
really are. His silk kefiyehs were thrown back, and bare-headed with his
long Bedouin plaits streaming in the wind and bare-legged and bare-armed,
he galloped hither and thither; charging into the throng, and pursuing
and being pursued, and shouting as if he had never felt a care, and never
committed a crime in his life.
We found ourselves alone with a strange little personage whom we had
already noticed riding beside the Emir, and who seemed even more out of
place in this fantastic entertainment than ourselves. I hope at least
that we looked less ridiculous than he did. Mounted on a sorry little
kadish, and dressed in the fashion of European children fifty years ago,
with a high waisted coat, well pleated at the skirt, trousers up to his
knees, and feet shod with slippers, a little brown skull cap on his head,
and a round shaven face, sat what seemed an overgrown boy, but what in
reality was a chief person from among the Persian pilgrims. It was Ali
Koli Khan, son of the great Khan of the Bactiari, who for his father’s
sake was being treated by the Emir with all possible honour. He, with
the rest of the Haj, was now on his way back from Mecca, and it was
partly to impress him with the Emir’s magnificence that the present party
had been arranged.
We did not long stay alone, for in a few minutes the galloping ceased,
and we then went on sedately as before, and in due time arrived at the
palm trees, which, it turned out, were the Emir’s property, and contained
in a garden surrounded by a high wall. Here we were invited to dismount,
and a carpet having been spread under the trees, we all sat down. Slaves
were soon busy serving a luncheon of sweetmeats,—boys were made to climb
the lemon trees, and shake down the fruit, and coffee was handed round.
Then all the party said their prayers except ourselves and the Persian,
who, as a Shiah, could not join in their devotions, and we mounted again
and rode home. This time we too joined in the galloping, which speedily
recommenced, our mares fully enjoying the fun, and in this way we
scampered back to Haïl.
On the following day Wilfrid called on Ali Koli Khan in his tent, going
there with Mohammed, now once more a reasonable companion and follower.
Indeed in the Persian camp assumptions of nobility on Mohammed’s part
would have been quite thrown away, for the Persians care nothing for
Arabian nobility, and treat all alike as Bedouins and barbarians. Ali
Koli, though only a younger son, was travelling in state, having his
mother with him, and a multitude of servants, male and female, besides
his _hemeldaria_ or contractor, and the Arabs managing his beasts. His
major-domo and interpreter was a magnificent personage, and his
followers, dressed in felt tunics and skull caps, gave him the appearance
of being an important chief. His tent was of the Turkish pattern, well
lined and comfortable, with fine Persian carpets on the floor, and a
divan. There Wilfrid found him sitting with a friend, Abd er-Rahim, the
son of a merchant of Kermanshah, who is also British consular agent
there. The young Persians were very amiable; but the contrast of their
manners with those of the ceremonious Arabs struck Wilfrid at once.
There were none of those elaborate compliments and polite inquiries one
gets used to at Haïl, but rather a European _sans géne_ in the form of
reception. They made Wilfrid comfortable on the divan, called for tea,
which was served in a _samovar_, and at once poured out a long history of
their sufferings on the pilgrimage. This they did in very broken Arabic,
and with an accent irresistibly absurd, for the Persians speak with a
drawl in their intonation, wholly foreign to that of the Arabs. Ali’s
natural language, he says, is Kurdish, but being an educated person, and
an officer in the Shah’s army, he talks Persian equally well. In Persia,
Arabic plays much the part in education which Latin did in Europe before
it was quite a dead language. Both he and Abd er-Rahim were loud in
complaints of every thing Arabian, and in spite of Mohammed’s presence,
abused roundly the whole Arab race, the poverty of the towns, the
ignorance of the citizens, and the robberies of the Bedouins, also the
extortionate charges of the Arab hemeldarias, contractors for camels, and
the miseries of desert travelling. “Was ever anything seen so miserable
as the bazaar at Haïl; not a bag of sweetmeats to be had for love or
money, the Arabs were mere barbarians, drinkers of coffee instead of
tea.” Every now and then, too, they would break out into conversation in
their own language. Wilfrid, however, liked Ali Koli, and they parted
very good friends, with an invitation from both the young Persians to
travel on with them to Meshhed on the Euphrates, where the Persians
always end their pilgrimage by a visit to the shrines of Ali and Huseyn.
This seemed an excellent opportunity, and having consulted the Emir, who
highly approved of the plan, we accordingly decided to travel with the
Haj as soon as it should start.
Our last days at Haïl were by no means the least pleasant. As a final
proof of his goodwill and confidence, the Emir announced that we might
pay a visit to Agde, a fortress in the mountains some miles from Haïl,
and which he had never before shown to any stranger. I do not feel at
liberty to say exactly where this is, for we were sent to see it rather
on parole, and though I hope Ibn Rashid runs no danger of foreign
invasion, I would not give a clue to possible enemies. Suffice it to say
that it lies in the mountains, in a position of great natural strength,
made stronger by some rude attempts at fortification, and that it is
really one of the most curious places in the world.
One approaches it from the plain by a narrow winding valley, reminding
one not a little of the wadys of Mount Sinai, where the granite rocks
rise abruptly on either hand out of a pure bed of sand. On one of these
is engraved an inscription in Arabic which we copied and which though not
very legible may be read thus:—
“Hadihi kharâbat Senhârib.”
“This (is) the ruin of Senacherib (’s building).”
Such at least is its meaning in the opinion of Mr. Sabunji, a competent
Arabic scholar, though I will not venture to explain on what occasion
Senacherib made his way to Nejd, nor why he wrote in Arabic instead of
his own cuneiform.
Inside the defences, the valley broadens out into an amphitheatre formed
by the junction of three or four wadys in which there is a village and a
palm garden. Besides which, the wadys are filled with wild palms
watered, the Arabs say, “min Allah,” by Providence, at least by no human
hand. They are very beautiful, forming a brilliant contrast of green
fertility with the naked granite crags which overhang them on all sides.
These are perhaps a thousand feet in height, and run down sheer into the
sandy floor of the wadys, so that one is reminded in looking at them of
that valley of diamonds where the serpents lived, and down which the
merchants threw their pieces of meat for the rocs to gather, in the tale
of Sinbad the Sailor. No serpents however live in Agde, but a population
of very honest Shammar, who entertained us with a prodigality of dates
and coffee, difficult to do justice to. We had been sent in the company
of two horsemen of the Emir’s, Shammar, who did the honours, as Agde and
all in it are really Ibn Rashid’s private property. These and the
villagers gave us a deal of information about the hills we were in, and
showed us where a great battle had been fought by Mohammed’s father and
his uncle Obeyd against the Ibn Ali, formerly Emirs of the Jebel. It
would seem that Agde was the oldest possession of the Ibn Rashids, and
that on their taking Haïl the Ibn Alis marched against them, when they
retreated to their fortress, and there gave battle and such a defeat to
the people of Kefar that it secured to the Ibn Rashids supreme power ever
after. They also showed us with great pride a wall built by Obeyd to
block the narrow valley, and made us look at everything, wells, gardens,
and houses, so that we spent nearly all the day there. They told us too
of a mysterious beast that comes from the hills by night and climbs the
palm trees for sake of the dates. “As large as a hare, with a long tail,
and very good to eat.” They describe it as sitting on its hind-legs, and
whistling, so that Wilfrid thinks it must be a marmot. Only, do marmots
climb? They call it the Webber.
We had a delightful gallop home with the two Bedouins, (Mohammed was not
with us,) of whom we learned one of the Shammar war songs, which runs
thus:—
“Ma arid ana erkobu delúl,
Lau zeynuli shedadeha,
Aridu ana hamra shenûf,
Hamra seryeh aruddeha.”
thus literally translated:—
“I would not ride a mere delúl,
Though lovely to me her shedad (camel-saddle);
Let me be mounted on a mare,
A bay mare, swift and quick to turn.”
They were mounted on very pretty ponies, but could not keep up with us
galloping. If we had been in Turkey, or indeed anywhere else but in
Arabia, we should have had to give a handsome tip after an expedition of
this kind; but at Haïl nothing of the sort was expected. Both these
Shammar were exceedingly intelligent well mannered men, with souls above
money. They were doing their duty to the prince as Sheykh, and to us as
strangers, and they did it enthusiastically.
The level of Agde is 3,780 feet above the sea, that of Haïl 3,500.
This was, perhaps, the pleasantest day of all those we spent at Haïl, and
will live long with us as a delightful remembrance. On the following day
we were to depart. Mohammed, while we were away, had been making
preparations. Two new camels had been bought, and a month’s provision of
dates and rice purchased, in addition to a gift of excellent Yemen coffee
sent us by the Emir. Our last interview with Ibn Rashid was
characteristic. He was not at the kasr, but in a house he has close to
the Mecca gate, where from a little window he can watch unperceived the
goings on of the Haj encamped below him. We found him all alone, for he
has lost all fear of our being assassins now, at his window like a bird
of prey, calculating no doubt how many more silver pieces he should be
able to make out of the Persians before they were well out of his
clutches. Every now and then he would lean out of the window, which was
partly covered by a shutter, and shout to one of his men who were
standing below some message with regard to the pilgrims. He seemed to be
enjoying the pleasure of his power over them, and it is absolute.
To us he was very amiable, renewing all his protestations of friendship
and regard, and offering to give us anything we might choose to ask for,
dromedaries for the journey, or one of his mares. This, although we
should have liked to accept the last offer, we of course declined,
Wilfrid making a short speech in the Arab manner, saying that the only
thing we asked was the Emir’s regard, and wishing him length of days. He
begged Mohammed ibn Rashid to consider him as his vakil in Europe in case
he required assistance of any kind, and thanked him for all the kindness
we had received at his hands. The Emir then proposed that we should put
off our departure, and go with him instead on a ghazú or warlike
expedition he was starting on in a few days, a very attractive offer
which might have been difficult to refuse had it been made earlier, but
which we now declined. Our heads, in fact, had been in the jaws of the
lion long enough, and now our only object was to get quietly and
decorously out of the den. We therefore pleaded want of time, and added
that our camels were already on the road; we then said good-bye and took
our leave.
There was, however, one more visit to be paid, this time of friendly
regard more than of ceremony. As we rode through the town we stopped at
Hamúd’s house and found him and all his family at home. To them our
farewells were really expressions of regret at parting, and Hamúd gave us
some very sound advice about going on with the Haj to Meshhed Ali,
instead of trying to get across to Bussora. There had been rain, he
said, on the pilgrim road, and all the reservoirs (those marked on the
map as the tanks of Zobeydeh) were full, so that our journey that way
would be exceptionally easy, whereas between this and Bussorah, we should
have to pass over an almost waterless region, without anything
interesting to compensate for the difficulty. But this we should see as
we went on—the first thing, as I have said, was to get clear away, and it
would be time enough later to settle details about our course.
Majid was there, and received from Wilfrid as a remembrance a
silver-handled Spanish knife, whereupon he sent for a black cloth cloak
with a little gold embroidery on the collar and presented it to me. It
was a suitable gift, for I had nothing of the sort, indeed no respectable
abba at all, and this one was both dignified and quiet in appearance.
Majid at least, I am sure, regrets us, and if circumstances ever take us
again to Haïl, it would be the best fortune for us to find him or his
father on the throne. They are regarded as the natural heirs to the
Sheykhat, and Ibn Rashid’s does not look like a long life.
After this we mounted, and in another five minutes were clear of the
town. Then looking back, we each drew a long breath, for Haïl with all
the charm of its strangeness, and its interesting inhabitants, had come
to be like a prison to us, and at one time when we had had that quarrel
with Mohammed, had seemed very like a tomb.
We left Haïl by the same gate at which we had entered it, what seemed
like years before, but instead of turning towards the mountains, we
skirted the wall of the town and further on the palm gardens, which are
its continuation, for about three miles down a ravine-like wady. Then we
came out on the plain again, and at the last isolated group of ithel
trees, halted for the last time to enjoy the shade, for the sun was
almost hot, before joining the pilgrim caravan, which we could see like a
long line of ants traversing the plain between us and the main range of
Jebel Shammar.
It was, without exception, the most beautiful view I ever saw in my life,
and I will try to describe it. To begin with, it must be understood that
the air, always clear in Jebel Shammar, was this day of a transparent
clearness, which probably surpasses anything seen in ordinary deserts, or
in the high regions of the Alps, or at the North Pole, or anywhere except
perhaps in the moon. For this is the very centre of the desert, four
hundred miles from the sea, and nearly four thousand feet above the sea
level. Before us lay a foreground of coarse reddish sand, the washing
down of the granite rocks of Jebel Aja, with here and there magnificent
clumps of ithel, great pollards whose trunks measure twenty and thirty
feet {34} in circumference, growing on little mounds showing where houses
once stood—just as in Sussex the yew trees do—for the town seems to have
shifted from this end of the oasis to where it now is. Across this sand
lay a long green belt of barley, perhaps a couple of acres in extent, the
blades of corn brilliantly green, and just having shot up high enough to
hide the irrigation furrows. Beyond this, for a mile or more, the level
desert fading from red to orange, till it was again cut by what appeared
to be a shining sheet of water reflecting the deep blue of the sky—a
mirage of course, but the most perfect illusion that can be imagined.
Crossing this, and apparently wading in the water, was the long line of
the pilgrim camels, each reflected exactly in the mirage below him with
the dots of blue, red, green, or pink, representing the litter or tent he
carried. The line of the procession might be five miles or more in
length; we could not see the end of it. Beyond again rose the confused
fantastic mass of the sapphire coloured crags of Jebel Aja, the most
strange and beautiful mountain range that can be imagined—a lovely
vision.
When we had sufficiently admired all this, and I had made my sketch of
it, for there was no hurry, we got on our mares again and rejoicing with
them in our freedom, galloped on singing the Shammar song, “Ma arid ana
erkobu delúl lau zeynoli shedadeha, biddi ana hamra shenûf, hamra seriyeh
arruddeha,” a proceeding which inspired them more than any whip or spur
could have done, and which as we converged towards the Haj caravan, made
the camels caper, and startled the pilgrims into the idea that the Harb
Bedouins were once more upon them. So we went along with Mohammed
following us, till we reached the vanguard of the Haj, and the green and
red banner which goes in front of it. Close to this we found our own
camels, and soon after camped with them, not ten miles from Haïl in a bit
of a wady where the standard was planted.
Our tents are a couple of hundred yards away from the Haj camp, which is
crowded together for fear of the dangers of the desert. The pilgrim
mueddins have just chanted the evening call to prayers, and the people
are at their devotions. Our mares are munching their barley, and our
hawk (a trained bird we bought yesterday for six mejidies of a Bedouin at
Haïl), is sitting looking very wise on his perch in front of us. It is a
cold evening, but oh how clean and comfortable in the tent!
_February_ 2.—It appears after all that only about half the Haj left Haïl
yesterday. There has been a difficulty about camels some say, others
that Ibn Rashid will not let the people go, an affair of money probably
in either case. So we had hardly gone more than two miles before a halt
was ordered by the emir el-haj, one Ambar, a black slave of Ibn Rashid’s,
and the camels and their riders remained massed together on a piece of
rising ground for the purpose we think of being counted. The dervishes,
however, and other pilgrims on foot went on as they liked, and so did we,
for we do not consider ourselves bound by any of the rules of the Haj
procession, and Abdallah has orders to march our camels well outside the
main body. There was no road or track at all to-day, and we went forward
on the look-out for water which we heard was somewhere on ahead, crossing
some very rough ground and wadys which were almost ravines. We have
become so used to the desert now, that from a long distance we made out
the water, guessing its position from the white colour of the ground near
it. The whiteness is caused by a stonelike deposit the water makes when
it stands long anywhere; and in this instance it lay in a sort of natural
reservoir or series of reservoirs in the bed of a shallow wady. These
must have been filled some time during the winter by rain, and we hurried
on to fill our goat skins at them while they were still clean, for the
pilgrims would soon drink up and pollute them. They are but small pools.
We found Awwad already there, he having been sent on in front with a
delúl to make sure of our supply, and the process of filling the skins
was hardly over before the dervishes who always march ahead of the Haj
began to arrive. They have an unpleasant habit of washing in the water
first, and drinking it afterwards, which we are told is part of their
religious ritual.
The wind has been very violent all day with a good deal of sand in it,
but it has now gone down. Our course since leaving Haïl has been east by
north, and is directed towards a tall hill, Jebel Jildiyeh, which is a
very conspicuous landmark. Our camp to-night is a pleasanter one than
yesterday’s, being further from the pilgrims, and we have a little wady
all to ourselves, with plenty of good firewood, and food for the camels.
_February_ 3.—Though fires were lit this morning at four o’clock as if in
preparation of an early start, no move has been made to-day. Half the
pilgrimage they tell us is still at Haïl, and must be waited for.
Wilfrid went to-day into the camp to find our friend Ali Koli Khan, but
neither he nor Abd er-Rahim, nor anyone else he knew had arrived.
The Persian pilgrims, though not very agreeable in person or in habits
(for they are without the sense of propriety which is so characteristic
of the Arabs), are friendly enough, and if we could talk to them, would,
I dare say, be interesting, but on a superficial comparison with the
Arabs they seem coarse and boorish. They are most of them fair
complexioned, and many have fair hair and blue eyes; but their features
are heavy, and there is much the same difference between them and the
Shammar who are escorting them, as there is between a Dutch cart-horse
and one of Ibn Rashid’s mares. In spite of their washings, which are
performed in season and out of season all day long, they look unutterably
dirty in their greasy felt dresses, as no unwashed Arab ever did. Awwad
and the rest of our people now and then get into disputes with them when
they come too near our tents in search of firewood, and it is evident
that there is no love lost between Persian and Arab.
My day has been spent profitably at home re-stuffing my saddle, which was
sadly in want of it. Mohammed has become quite himself again, no airs or
graces of any kind, and, as he says, the air of Haïl did not agree with
him. He seems anxious now to efface all recollection of the past, and
has made himself very agreeable, telling us histories connected with the
Sebaa and their horses, all of them instructive, some amusing.
_February_ 4.—Another day’s waiting, the pilgrims as well as we ourselves
impatient, but impatience is no good. Wilfrid, by way of occupying the
time, went off on a surveying expedition by himself, with his mare and
the greyhounds. He went in a straight line northwards, towards a line of
low hills which are visible here from the high ground. They are about
twelve miles off. He met nobody except a couple of Bedouins on delúls,
going to Atwa, where they told him there is a well. They looked on him
and his gun with suspicion, and did not much like being cross-questioned.
After that he found the desert absolutely empty of life, a succession of
level sandy plains, and rough ridges of sandstone. The hills themselves,
which he reached before turning back, were also of yellow sandstone,
weathered black in patches, and from the top of the ridge he could make
out the Nefûd, like a red sea. He galloped to the ridge and back in
three hours. The ride was useful, as it enabled him to get the position
of several of the principal hills, Yatubb, Jildiyeh, and others, and to
mark them on his chart. He did not say where he intended to go, but as
it happened, he returned before there was time for me to become anxious.
In the meanwhile, Awwad and Abdallah had been giving the falcon a lesson
with a lure they have made out of one of the nosebags. The bird seems
very tame, and comes to Awwad when he calls it, shouting “Ash’o, ash’o,”
which he explains is the short for its name, Rasham, a corruption of the
word _rashmon_, which means shining like lightning. We may hope now with
Rasham’s assistance to keep ourselves supplied with meat, for hares are
in plenty.
In the afternoon visitors came, some Shammar Bedouins of the Ibn Duala
family, who have preferred to camp beside us, as more congenial
neighbours to them than the Persians. They are on their way from Haïl to
their tents in the Nefûd with a message from the Emir that more camels
are wanted; and they are going on afterwards with the Haj as far as
Meshhed Ali, or perhaps to Samawa on the Euphrates, to buy rice (tummin),
and wheat. It is only twice a year that the tribes of Jebel Shammar can
communicate with the outside world; on the occasion of the two Haj
journeys, coming and going. It is then that they lay in their provision
for the year. The eldest of these Ibn Duala, a man of sixty, is very
well-mannered and amiable. He dined with Mohammed and the servants in
their tent, and came to sit with us afterwards in ours. We are in half a
mind to leave this dawdling Haj, and go on with him to-morrow. But his
tents lie some way to the left out of our road.
Besides the Ibn Dualas, there are some poor Bedouins with their camels
crouched down in our wady to be out of sight. They are afraid of being
impressed for the Haj, and at first it was difficult to understand why,
if so, they should have come so close to it. But they explained that
they hoped to get lost in the crowd, and hoped to have the advantage of
its company, without having their camels loaded. They, like everybody
else, are on their way to Meshhed to buy corn.
There is a report that the Emir is coming from Haïl to-morrow, and will
travel three days with the pilgrimage, going on afterwards, nobody knows
where, on a ghazú. This would be tiresome, as now we have wished him
good-bye we only want to get away.
_February_ 5.—We have moved at last, but only another ten miles, to a
larger wady, which seems to drain the whole country, and which they call
Wady Hanasser (the valley of the little fingers), why so called I cannot
say. Here there are numerous wells, and a large tract of camel pasture,
of the sort called _rimh_. There are a good number of hares in this
cover, and we have had some coursing with our greyhounds, aided by a sort
of lurcher who has attached himself to us. The servants call him
“Merzug,” which may be translated a “windfall” literally a gift from God,
an unattractive animal, but possessed of a nose.
Two hours after starting we came to a curious tell standing quite alone
in the plain. It is, like all the rest of the country now, of sandstone,
and we were delighted to find it covered with inscriptions, {41} and
pictures of birds and beasts of the sort we had already seen, but much
better executed, and on a larger scale. The character, whatever its
name, is a very handsome one, as distinct and symmetrical as the Greek or
Latin capitals, and some of the drawings have a rude, but real artistic
merit. They cannot be the work of mere barbarians, any more than the
alphabet. It is remarkable that all the animals represented are
essentially Arabian, the gazelle, the camel, the ibex, the ostrich. I
noticed also a palm tree conventionally treated, but nothing like a
house, or even a tent. The principal subject is a composition of two
camels with necks crossed, of no small merit. It is combined with an
inscription very regularly cut. That these things are very ancient is
proved by the colour of the indentations. The rock is a reddish
sandstone weathered black, and it is evident that when fresh, the letters
and drawings stood out red against a dark back-ground, but now many of
these have been completely weathered over again, a process it must have
taken centuries in this dry climate to effect.
We were in front of the Haj when we came to this tell (Tell es Sayliyeh),
and we waited on the top of it while the whole procession passed us, an
hour or more. It was a curious spectacle. From the height where we
were, we could see for thirty or forty miles back over the plain, as far
as Jebel Aja, at the foot of which Haïl lies. The procession, three
miles long, was composed of some four thousand camels (nor was this the
whole Haj), with a great number of men on foot besides. In front were
the dervishes, walking very fast, almost running; wild dirty people, but
amiable, and quite ready to converse if they know Arabic; then, a group
of respectably dressed people walking out of piety, a man with an immense
blue turban, we believe to be an Afghan; a slim, very neat-looking youth,
who might be a clerk or a shopkeeper’s assistant, reading as he walks a
scroll, and others carrying leather bottles in their hands containing
water for their ablutions, which they stop every now and then to perform.
Sometimes they chant or recite prayers. All these devotees are very rude
to us, answering nothing when we salute them, and being thrown into
consternation if the greyhounds come near them lest they should be
touched by them and defiled. One of them, the youth with the scroll,
stopped this morning at our fire to warm his hands as he went by, and we
offered him a cup of coffee, but he said he had breakfasted, and turned
to talk to the servants, his fellow Mussulmans, but the servants told him
to move on. Among Arabs, to refuse a cup of coffee is the grossest
offence, and is almost tantamount to a declaration of war. The Arabs do
not understand the religious prejudices of the Shiyite Persians.
Some way behind these forerunners comes the _berak_, or banner, carried
in the centre of a group of mounted dromedaries magnificently caparisoned
and moving on at a fast walk. These most beautiful creatures have coats
like satin, eyes like those of the gazelle, and a certain graceful action
which baffles description. Not even the Arabian horse has such a look of
breeding as these thorough-bred camels. They are called _naamiyeh_,
because one may go to sleep while riding them without being disturbed by
the least jolting.
The berak, Ibn Rashid’s standard, is a square of purple silk with a
device and motto in white in the centre, and a green border. It is
carried by a servant on a tall dromedary, and is usually partly furled on
the march. Ambar, the negro emir el-Haj, generally accompanies this
group. He has a little white mare led by a slave which follows him, and
which we have not yet seen him ride.
After the berak comes the mass of pilgrims, mounted sometimes two on one
camel, sometimes with a couple of boxes on each side, the household
furniture. The camels are the property of Bedouins, mostly Shammar, but
many of them Dafir, Sherârat, or Howeysin. They follow their animals on
foot, and are at perpetual wrangle with the pilgrims, although, if they
come to blows, Ibn Rashid’s police mounted on dromedaries interfere,
deciding the quarrel in a summary manner.
A Persian riding on a camel is the most ridiculous sight in the world.
He insists on sitting astride, and seems absolutely unable to learn the
ways and habits of the creature he rides; and he talks to it with his
falsetto voice in a language no Arabian camel could possibly understand.
The jokes cut on the Persians by the Arabs never cease from morning till
night. The better class of pilgrims, and of course all the women except
the very poor, travel in _mahmals_ or litters—panniers, of which a camel
carries two—covered over like a tradesman’s van with blue or red canvas.
One or two persons possess _tahteravans_, a more expensive kind of
conveyance, which requires two mules or two camels, one before and one
behind, to carry it. In either of these litters the traveller can squat
or even lie down and sleep. The camels chosen for the mahmals are strong
and even-paced; and some of these double panniers are fitted up with a
certain care and elegance, and the luxuries of Persian rugs and hangings.
A confidential driver leads the camel, and servants sometimes walk beside
it. One of the pilgrims keeps a man to march in front with his
narghileh, which he smokes through a very long tube sitting in the
pannier above. There are a few horses, perhaps about half a dozen. One,
a white Kehilan Harkan, was bought the other day by a rich pilgrim from a
Shammar Bedouin of the escort. This horse seems to be thoroughbred as
far as can be judged from his head, tail, and pasterns; the rest of him
is hidden by a huge _pallan_, or pack-saddle, with trappings, in which
his new owner rides him. I have seen no others worth mentioning.
The whole of this procession defiled before us as we sat perched on the
Tell es Sayliyeh just above their heads.
We have made some new acquaintances, Hejazis from Medina, who came to our
tent to-day and sat down in a friendly way to drink coffee with us. The
Hejazi, though accounted pure Arabs, are almost as black as negroes, and
have mean squat features, very unlike those of the Shammar and other pure
races we have seen. They are also wanting in dignity, and have a sort of
Gascon reputation in this part of Arabia. These were extremely outspoken
people. The chief man among them, one Saleh ibn Benji, is keeper of the
grand mosque at Medina, and is now travelling to collect alms in Persia
for the shrine.
[Picture: The Meccan Pilgrimage leaving Haïl]
He told us that although quite willing to make friends with us here and
drink our coffee, he could not advise us to go to Medina. Not but what
Englishmen as Englishmen were in good repute there; but it was against
their rule to allow any except Mussulmans inside the town. If we came as
Mussulmans it would be all very well, but as Nasrani it would not do. He
himself would be the first to try and compass our deaths. They had found
a Jew in Medina last year and executed him; and the people were very
angry because the Sultan had sent a Frank engineer to survey the
district, and had given out that he was a Moslem. The rule only applied
to the two holy cities, Mecca and Medina, not to the rest of the country.
The Mussulman subjects of the Queen who came from India were (even though
Shias) always well received; so should we be if we conformed to Islam.
The Persians, though tolerated by the Hejazi, were disliked as Persians
as well as heretics, and often got beaten in Medina. He (Saleh) was
going to collect money from them, as they were fools enough to give it
him, but he did not care for their company. He would sooner travel with
us. We might all go together on this tour through Persia. One thing he
could not understand about the English Government, and that was, what
earthly interest they had in interfering with the slave trade. We said
it was to prevent cruelty. But there was no cruelty in it, he insisted.
“Who ever saw a negro ill-treated?” he asked. We could not say that we
had ever done so in Arabia; and, indeed, it is notorious that with the
Arabs the slaves are like spoiled children rather than servants. We had
to explain that in other countries slaves were badly used; but as Saleh
remained unconvinced, we could only wind up with a general remark, that
this interference with the slave trade was a “shoghl hukm,” a matter
concerning the Government, and no affair of ours. He seemed pretty well
informed of what was going on in the world, having heard of the Russian
war, though not the full circumstances of its termination; and of the
cession of Cyprus, as to which he remarked, that the English Queen has
been given Kubros as a bakshish by the Sultan. His last words were,
“Plain speaking is best. I am your friend here; but, remember, not in
Medina, on account of religion.”
[Picture: Edible Locust]