“Here lie I down, and measure out my grave,
Farewell, kind master.”—SHAKESPEARE.
Muttlak Ibn Arûk and the Ketherin—Their horses—We are adopted by the
tribe—The Haj again—Ambar sends round the hat—A forced march of one
hundred and seventy miles—Terrible loss of camels—Nejef.
_February_ 16.—Two Asian Shammar of the Jezireh came last night, and
recognised us as having been in Ferhan Pasha’s camp, last year, in
Mesopotamia,—a very pleasant meeting, though we have no distinct
recollection of either of them. They gave us all the latest Jezireh news
in politics. Ferhan and his brother Faris are now at open war, though
Ferhan is no fighter himself, and leaves the conduct of affairs to his
eldest son, Aassa. All the Shammar of the Jezireh are with Faris, except
Ferhan’s own tail, and the Abde, and the Asslan, Muttany’s men, and our
old friend Smeyr ibn-Zeydan. It is true also that Faris is now friends
with Jedaan. All this we are glad to hear.
This morning, Jedur and his mother left us, as they are not going any
further our way. I like them both, and should have been glad to give the
mother some small remembrance of our journey together, but, as Arabs do,
they went away without saying good-bye. Our march to-day was a short
one, nine or ten miles, still down the Wady Roseh, where water has
actually been running since the late storm, and where there are pools
still here and there, and a large swamp full of ducks, storks, and
snipe,—the first water above ground we have seen since the Wady er-Rajel,
nearly two months ago. There is capital grass, too, in the wady, a few
inches high, which our hungry mares enjoy thoroughly. As we were
stopping to let them and the camels graze on a particularly inviting
spot, suddenly we perceived about thirty delúl riders coming over the
hill to our right. Although it was probable that this was Muttlak, we
all prepared for defence, making the camels kneel down, and seizing each
his best weapon,—Wilfrid the rifle, I the gun, and Mohammed his large
revolver. Awwad stood ready, sword in hand, and Abdallah squatted with
his long gun pointed towards the new-comers; the rest, except Izzar, who
possesses a sword, had only sticks, but made a formidable appearance.
There was no need, however, for alarm, for, presently, one of the
approaching party detached himself from the rest, and trotting his
dromedary towards us, saluted us in a loud voice, and we saw that it was
Hazzam, the man who had gone on to announce our coming to Muttlak. In
another five minutes the Sheykh himself had dismounted. There was of
course a great deal of kissing and embracing between Mohammed and his new
found relations, and Wilfrid came in for a share of it. Muttlak is a
charming old man, very quiet and very modest, but possessed of
considerable dignity. He has an expression of extreme kindness and
gentleness which is very attractive, and we already like him better than
any of Mohammed’s Jôf relations. Unlike the Ibn Arûks of Jôf and Tudmur,
this branch of the family has remained Bedouin, and unmixed by any
fellahin alliances. Mohammed’s rather vulgar pretensions to birth and
dignity have fallen, ashamed before the simplicity of this good old man,
the true representative of the Ibn Arûks of Aared, and though the kasíd
has been trotted out once more, and the family genealogy stated and
compared, it has been with modesty and decorum, and the sadness which
befits decayed fortunes. There can be no question here who shall take
the upper place, the Sheykh himself being always ready to take the
lowest. To us he is charming in his attentions, and without false
dignity in his thanks for the small presents {75} we have made him. He
is to stay with us to-night, and then he will take us to his tents
to-morrow.
Muttlak has brought us three sheep for a present. He has with him a very
handsome falcon, a lanner like ours, but larger.
_February_ 17.—We left our camp in the Wady Roseh, where Muttlak told us
there was better pasture than we should find with him, and rode off on
our mares to pay him a morning visit and return at night. Muttlak has
with him his own little mare, the counterpart of himself, old and without
other pretension than extreme purity of descent. She is a kehîlet Omm
Jerass (mother of bells), and was once in Ibn Saoud’s stables. It is
difficult to describe her, for her merits are not on the surface; I am
sure nine out of ten English dealers would pass her over, if they saw her
at Tattersall’s or Barnet Fair, as an insignificant little pony. She is
very small, hardly over 13 hands, for even Mohammed’s mokhra looks tall
beside her, chestnut with four white feet and a blaze, a good but not a
pretty head, and, but for a proud carriage of the tail, no style or
action; an old brood mare never ridden except on state occasions like the
present, for on ordinary occasions no Arab of Nejd thinks of riding
anything but a delúl. As Muttlak said, very gravely, “When God has given
you a mare that is _asil_, it is not that _you_ should ride, but that
_she_ should breed foals.” The old man stuck to his delúl, and the
little mare was ridden by his cousin Shatti, who went with us, and gave
us some valuable information by the way. The Ketherin, like all the
tribes of Nejd, were formerly under Ibn Saoud. They are a branch of the
Beni Khalid, who, in their turn, are a branch of the Beni Laam, an
ancient and noble tribe, of which the main stock is still found between
Aared and Katîf, while another branch settled some centuries ago beyond
the Tigris, on the Persian frontier. The Ketherin are now few in number
and decayed in circumstances, but Shatti informed us, with some pride,
they can still turn out a hundred khayal on occasion; that is to say, if
they are attacked and obliged to fight. This shows more than anything
the small number of horses possessed by the tribes of Nejd. I asked
Shatti which of the tribes still under Ibn Saoud are now most in repute
as breeders of horses; and he told me the Muteyr or Dushan (for it seems
they have both names), who could turn out four hundred horsemen. Their
best breeds are Kehîlan Ajuz, Kehîlan el-Krush, Abeyan Sherrak, Maneghy
Hedruj, and Rabdan Kesheyban. They have no Seglawis at all; the
Krushiehs of Ibn Rashid came originally from them, Feysul having bought
them from the tribe. It must not, however, be supposed, he said, that
all the Dushan mares were asil. The Dushan, like every other tribe in
Nejd and elsewhere, has “mehassaneh,” or half-breds, what the Ánazeh
would call “beni” or “banat hossan;” that is to say, animals with a stain
in their pedigree, and therefore not asil, though often nearly as good
and as good-looking. Their own breeds (that is to say, the Ketherin’s)
are principally Wadnan, Rishan, Rabdan, and Shueyman. As we got near the
Ketherin tents we met two men on a delúl, leading a lovely little bay
colt, one of the prettiest I ever saw, which Shatti told us was a Wadnan
Horsan.
After nearly three hours’ riding we arrived at the _buyut shaar_ (houses
of hair), and were soon being hospitably entertained. It is the custom
here, as it is in the Sahara, that the Sheykh should receive illustrious
strangers, not in his own tent, but in a special tent set up for the
purpose. It was a poor place, little more than an awning, but the
welcome was hearty and sincere. Here all the principal people of the
tribe assembled as soon as the news of our arrival spread, and a feast
was prepared of tummin and fresh butter, and naga’s milk. The Arabs,
never kill a lamb except for the evening meal.
After this entertainment I went to visit Muttlak’s family, and on my
return I found Wilfrid inspecting the mares which we had already seen
grazing near the tents. There were half-a-dozen of them, fair average
animals, but nothing first-rate, or so handsome as the Wadnan colt, nor
any over fourteen hands high. We were looking at these rather
disappointedly, when Hazzam ibn Arûk, Muttlak’s brother, rode up on a
really beautiful mare, which he told us was a Seglawieh Jedran, the only
one left in Nejd. He added that they had been obliged to conceal the
name of her breed for some years on account of the danger incurred of her
being taken by force. In former times, when the Wahhabis were all
powerful, any famous mare ran great risk of being seized for the Riad
stables. Ibn Saoud would declare war with a tribe merely as an excuse
for robbing it of its mares. Ibn Rashid, at the present day, put great
pressure on the owners of valuable mares to make them sell; but he paid
for what he took. This mare had been often asked about both for Ibn
Rashid, and for Nassr el-Ashgar, Sheykh of the Montefyk, who (or rather
his brother Fahad now) has the best collection of horses after Ibn Rashid
and Ibn Saoud. She is a fine bright bay, muttlak-el-yemin, snip on the
nose; has a splendid way of moving when ridden, action like Hamúd’s mare
at Haïl, _handsome_ rather than _racing_. The head is good, the eye
bright and large, the forehead rather flat, the jowl deep; the wither
high and back short, quarters round, like all the Nejd horses, sinews
good, and hoofs large and round.
Hazzam’s mare is under fourteen hands, but stands over much ground, and
ought to be up to weight, being wonderfully compact. We had some hopes
at one moment of being able to purchase her, and for a good price and
money down I think it might have been done, for they are all most anxious
to oblige us. But we have no money and our cheque on Bagdad would be
difficult for them to cash. The Ketherin are this year in great
distress, as there was no autumn rain, and until a month ago, nothing
that horses can eat. They are without corn or even dates, and but for
the locusts, which have been abundant all the winter, they must have
starved. Indeed locusts are still their main article of food, for man as
well as beast. Great piles of these insects, dried over the fire, may be
seen in every tent.
Amid a general chorus of good wishes, we at last took our leave of these
good people. “You,” they said to Wilfrid, “shall be our Sheykh whenever
you return to us. Muttlak will not be jealous. We will make war for you
on all your enemies, and be friends with your friends.” Muttlak himself
has promised that there shall be a general council to-night to decide
whether the tribe shall move northwards as has been proposed, or not, and
that if it is decided that it shall be so, he will join us to-morrow
morning, and travel with us to Meshhed to make arrangements with the
intervening tribes, whose consent must first be obtained. It is strange
what friendship we have made with these simple-hearted people in a few
hours. We are the first Europeans they have seen, and they look upon us
as beings of a superior world.
As we came back to the crest of the hill overlooking Wady Roseh, we saw
away to the south a smoke rising—the Haj.
_February_ 18.—We had walked down to the birkeh to try and stalk some
ducks when the first runners of the Haj arrived, and presently the Haj
itself, now swelled to double its former size, swept past us down the
Wady. At the same moment Muttlak appeared on his delúl ready to go with
us. This gave us great pleasure. He has got the consent of his tribe,
and what is of more importance of the women of his family, to go with us
to Meshhed Ali, and see what arrangements can be made with the Ánazeh
Sheykhs for a migration of the Ketherin northwards. Such migrations
have, I fancy, taken place in all ages among the Bedouins of Arabia; the
want of pasture constantly driving them outwards from Central Arabia to
the richer deserts of Syria and Mesopotamia. In this way the Shammar and
the Ánazeh obtained their present inheritance of the Hamád and the
Jezireh, and thus in still earlier times the Taï abandoned Nejd.
[Picture: Reservoir of Zobeydeh]
Muttlak’s equipment for the journey is of the simplest kind, the clothes
in which he stands. He and a single attendant are mounted together on an
old black dromedary, the Sheykh perched on the saddle, and his man
kneeling behind, their only weapon a stick, and they guide the delúl with
a rope passed through a hole in his nostril, a primitive arrangement.
“There,” we said to Mohammed, “that is how your ancestors left Nejd.”
The old man is very pious; unlike the Ánazeh and other tribes of the
north, these Bedouins of Nejd say their prayers regularly, and profess
the Mussulman creed, and Muttlak’s first act on dismounting this evening
in camp, was to go apart with his attendant and pray. Mohammed and
Abdallah still say their prayers occasionally, though with less and less
fervour as the distance from Haïl grows greater. Awwad’s devotion is of
a very varying quality, sometimes quite imperceptible, at others almost
alarming. I have noticed that any special stress of work in loading the
camels of a morning, or pitching the tents at night, is sure to call
forth a burst of spiritual fervour. At such times his la-ilaha-illa-llah
goes on for a prodigious length of time, and may be heard a quarter of a
mile off.
Ambar, the negro emir-el-haj, has brought a polite message for us from
Ibn Rashid. He came with the Haj as far as Khuddra, and then went back
to Haïl, so we have lost nothing by not going with him on his intended
ghazú.
Having camped early we sent Abdallah and Hanna to the Haj to find out our
Persian friends there, and invite them to dine with us, as we had killed
a sheep, and just before sunset they arrived, Ali Koli Khan, Huseyn Koli
Khan, and Abd er-Rahim of Kermanshah. We seated them all on a carpet
outside our little tent, for it is a warm evening, and then the dinner
was served. But much to our vexation, for we had carefully arranged the
entertainment, they refused to eat anything, first saying that they had
already dined, and afterwards admitting that the Mollahs in whose company
they were travelling, had forbidden their eating with us during the Haj.
They were very polite, however, and made all sorts of apologies, and even
took one mouthful each to avoid being positively rude. Ali said that but
for his mother’s Mollah, he would have asked us to dine with him, for he
has a good cook, but under the circumstances it cannot be. Huseyn, who
is the son of an ex-vizier, pretended to speak French, but the only
complete phrase which he had at command, and which seemed borrowed from a
copy-book, was, “L’Arabe est charlatan.” This he repeated in and out of
season, whenever there was a pause in the conversation. These Persians
were as loud as ever in their complaints against the Arabs, and being now
out of his dominions, did not spare the Emir, whom they accused of having
plundered them terribly. They also had much to tell of the extortions of
the hemeldaria, or contractors for the Haj.
It appears that each pilgrim, when he starts for Mecca, puts himself into
the hands of an Arab contractor, generally a native of Meshhed Ali, who
undertakes to provide him with transport, either in the shape of riding
dromedaries, or litters, or even in some cases, mules or horses. He does
this for a sum of money down, accepting all risks, and is bound to
replace any animal that breaks down or dies on the road, with another at
a moment’s notice. It is a very speculative business, as if all goes
well with the Haj, the hemeldaria makes a fortune, whereas if things go
badly, he may lose one. In some years great numbers of camels die, and
then the contractors are ruined; but generally they make a very good
thing out of it, as their charges are enormous. At any rate they seem
very rich, and ride about themselves on the finest dromedaries in the
Haj, and wear the finest clothes. There are twenty of these contractors
now with the Haj, who divide the two thousand Persian pilgrims amongst
them. Besides the Persians there are about a hundred Shias from Bagdad
and Bussorah, but these do not mix much with the Persians, and a
body-guard of about a thousand Bedouins, Ibn Rashid’s people. In all,
over three thousand persons, with five thousand camels. It must be like
the journey of the children of Israel to Mount Sinai.
Ali Koli Khan left Haïl with the Emir, nearly a week after we did, so we
did not need to be in any hurry, but I think we were right to get clear
away while we could.
_February_ 19.—An early start before sunrise, though there were
stragglers till seven o’clock. We were the last to go, but we had sent
our camels on as there was good grass, and we wanted our mares to have a
comfortable feed. Occasionally one of the pilgrims would come and sit
down a moment by our fire to warm his hands. We have now quite left the
Nefûd, and are travelling over broken stony ground. The Haj marches
fast, quite three miles an hour, and there is no stopping on the way. We
are halted this evening at the last of the reservoirs of Zobeydeh, the
Birkeh Jemaymeh (Jemima’s pool). Here there are considerable ruins and a
very large well.
The boy Izzar has left us, I am sorry to say, and he is sorry too. He
was very serviceable and pleasant, and we lose with him his naga’s milk,
which we have been drinking fresh every morning. (N.B. We will never
travel again without a she camel for milk.) But his delúls have been
impressed for the Haj. We gave him three mejidies (about ten shillings)
for his ten days’ service, which brought down blessings on our heads. I
do not think he expected anything.
_February_ 20.—Again the Haj has come to a stand-still, to the renewed
wrath of the pilgrims. It is now twenty days since they left Haïl and
not more than half the journey has been accomplished. There are two
hundred miles more of road, and their provisions, calculated for three
weeks, are all but run out. What makes this new delay the more
aggravating to them is that it has been ordered by the negro Ambar, so
that he may send the hat round for a private contribution to his own
benefit. He has made it known that two mejidies a head is what he
expects, and that he will not move till the sum is forthcoming. This
will be a nice little purse for him, something like eight hundred pounds,
and we maintain a fleet in the Red Sea to suppress the slave trade, out
of motives of humanity! The Persians are powerless to resist, for
without the black man’s order, not a camel would move. We, as Ibn
Rashid’s guests, are exempted from all toll or tax whatever, but we want
to get on. Fortunately we laid in a whole month’s provisions at Haïl.
The day has been a very hot one, and we have had the tent propped up all
round, so that it resembles a gigantic umbrella. It is pitched on a hill
overlooking the Haj, and has attracted a good many visitors. The first
of them was a certain Seyd Mustafa, a native of Shustar in Persia, but
speaking Arabic well. He is travelling as interpreter with Ali Koli
Khan, and has given us some information about the country between Bagdad
and his own town. Ali Koli has several times proposed that we should go
on with him from Bagdad, to pay a visit to his father in the Bactiari
mountains, and Wilfrid is very much bent on doing this.
He himself is going round by the river to Bussorah, and then up the Karun
to Shustar, a plan which would not suit us; but Seyd Mustafa says he will
go with us by land, though it is a very difficult country to get through.
The frontier between Turkey and Persia is occupied by the Beni Laam who
recognise neither the Sultan nor the Shah. The Beni Laam however, ought
to receive us well from our connection with the Ibn Arûks, and a visit to
them would almost complete our acquaintance with the Arab tribes north of
Nejd.
Next two poor women came, an old and a young one, dressed alike in white
rags. They are from Bagdad, and have made the pilgrimage barefoot and
begging their bread. One of them carries a tin mug, into which somebody
had just thrown a handful of barley. I gave them a loaf of bread, with
which they went away invoking blessings on me. They seem perfectly
contented and happy.
Then we had a visit from some Bagdadis; one had been a soldier, the
others shopkeepers. They were pilgrims, however, now, and not on
business, as most of the Arabs here are.
Next a Dafir boy, with a lamb and a skin of fresh butter to sell, the
butter mixed up with date-skins and hair, and coloured yellow with a
plant called saffron. After much haggling (for stinginess in a purchaser
inspires respect) we bought the lamb and the butter for a mejidie—four
shillings.
Next a Jinfaneh Shammar, with a bay horse, also for sale, a Kehîlan Ajuz
fourteen hands, with good jowl, good shoulder, and tail well carried, but
rather small eye, thick nose, and coarse hind quarter—altogether strong
with plenty of bone—aged, very much aged! We do not want him.
Then an Ibn Duala, with a Wadneh mare, also bay, thirteen hands three
inches, or fourteen hands—pretty head, with projecting forehead, very
good jowl, good shoulder, but thick nose and coarse hindquarter, rather
high on the legs, with a good deal of hair on the fetlocks. They all
seem to have the same faults.
I asked the Jinfaneh Shammar about the well of Wakisa, marked on
Chesney’s map as eight hundred feet deep, but he laughed and said, “forty
of these,” holding out his arms, and Muttlak confirmed the statement;
this would make it two hundred and forty, a much more probable depth.
Wilfrid in the meanwhile had been with Seyd Mustafa and Mohammed to the
Haj, and had had tea with Huseyn Koli Khan. They also called on Ambar
and Ali Koli Khan; but both were out. Most of the pilgrims were lying on
their backs asleep in the sun. It was very hot.
Ambar’s little white mare has been brought to graze near our tents, for
as usual we have chosen the best pasture for our camp. The slave with
her says she is a Krushieh. She is a flea-bitten grey, very old and very
small, but for her size powerful, with a good head, though not a handsome
one, a very fine shoulder with high wither, the usual Nejd hindquarter
and manner of carrying the tail, legs like iron. To complete the
picture, I must mention one knee swelled, all four feet much out of shape
with long standing in the yard at Haïl, and very hairy heels. There are
with the Haj several yearling colts bought by the hemeldaria for sale at
Bagdad, scraggy little things more like goats than horses.
The sun has brought out a huge tarantula from the sand close to our tent.
It is the first venomous reptile I have seen on the journey.
_February_ 21.—Ambar seems determined to make up for lost time, and he
has hurried the Haj on all day so that we have done over thirty miles.
Our road has been through broken ground, the Wady el-Buttn (the valley of
the stomach), where we saw a fox and some hares. One of these last the
dogs caught after a long course, and another was run to ground. Abd
er-Rahim, the Kermanshahi, rode with us a part of the day, mounted on the
most lovely delúl that was ever seen; she is of a bright chestnut colour,
with a coat like satin, a light fine mane rather darker than the rest,
eyes more beautiful than those of the gazelle, and a style of going which
I have not seen equalled by any other camel. This delúl can canter and
gallop as well as trot, and kept up with us very fairly when we were
chasing the hare, though of course she could not really command a horse’s
pace. Abd er-Rahim and Ali Koli Khan now both ride delúls, and have
dressed themselves up in Arab fashion, all silk and gold, the
mean-looking little Kurd being thus transformed into a fine gentleman.
Their saddles, bridles, and trappings are also very gay, got up
regardless of expense. They hired their delúls of Ibn Rashid for the
journey, I forget exactly for what sum, but it was a good deal of money.
The Persians will not eat hare; and Ali Koli Khan, who is travelling with
a private chaplain, would not join us in our sport. Indeed he seems now
to keep rather aloof from us, but Abd er-Rahim has no such scruples. We
hear that a sermon was preached yesterday in camp, against the sin of
holding intercourse with kaffirs.
This has been a long, tedious march, two of our camels being tired. We
have come to the end of our provision of flour for them, and there is
really very little they can eat on the road. Wilfrid makes it still a
hundred and forty miles to Meshhed.
_February_ 22.—We travelled yesterday through a low-lying district,
bounded by cliffs a little in the style of Jôf (it is all called _el
buttn_, the stomach), and this morning, soon after starting, we reached
the end of it, and had to ascend two or three hundred feet, the last
_akabah_ or ascent being very steep.
Here there was a great confusion, as the road was narrowed to a single
track, and the Haj had to go almost in single file, instead of in line,
its usual way of travelling. The steepness of the cliff proved too much
for more than one camel, tired as they were with yesterday’s march and
want of food. Among them poor Shenuan, the ugly camel of our string,
gave in. He is not old, but has long been ailing, and for the last week
has carried nothing but his pack-saddle, and been nothing but a trouble
to us, still it cost us a pang to abandon him. He has had mange from the
very beginning of our journey; in fact, he was the only camel of those
originally purchased by Mohammed for us, to which we demurred at the
outset. Our objections were overruled by Mohammed’s arguments, that
Shenuan’s youth and strength would enable him to get over the effects of
mange, but he never prospered, and did not recover from the fatigue of
the Nefûd. Poor fellow, he was very loath to be left behind, and
struggled on till he came to this hill, which was too much for him. We
left him, I am glad to say, in a bit of wady where there was some grass,
but I fear his chance is a small one. Camels seldom recover when they
get past a certain stage of exhaustion. They break their hearts, like
deer, and die. Poor Shenuan! I shall not easily forget his face,
looking wistfully after his companions as they disappeared over the crest
of the hill. He is the first of our small party that has fallen out of
the ranks, and we are depressed with the feeling that he may not be the
last.
At the top of the cliff we came to a perfectly level plain, strewn with
fine flints, and across this we have travelled all day. Its height above
the sea is 1460 feet, and we find that ever since leaving Shaybeh, where
the road turned north, we have been descending at an average rate of
about ten feet per mile, but the descent is not regular, because of these
cliffs which we have come to, which have all been, in a sense, contrary
to the general declivity of the ground. About mid-day we came to a great
pool of rain-water, at which the camels drank and the goat-skins were
filled, a very welcome accident. Our march to-day was twenty-four miles.
_February_ 23.—The flinty plain is called Mahamiyeh, and with the Buttn
forms a neutral ground between the Shammar and the Ánazeh, who are here
represented by the Amarrat, their Sheykh Ibn Haddal. It was somewhere
about here that the battle was fought the other day, in which the Dafir
got the best of it, and some of the Ibn Haddal were killed. The
consequence of its being thus neutral is, that the Mahamiyeh is covered
with dry grass of last year, uneaten by any flocks, a great boon to us;
for there is no fresh grass yet.
Beyond the Mahamiyeh we came again to hills, amongst which we found the
wells of Sherab, and beyond this again the ground sloped downwards until
we came to a regular valley, which we followed in its windings all the
afternoon. This is the Wady Shebekkeh, which narrows in one place almost
to a ravine. There water had evidently flowed not long ago, and we found
some beautiful clear pools, beside which the Haj is camped. We ourselves
are some two miles further on, where there is better pasture. The Haj
camels are getting terribly thin. These forced marches (we came
twenty-eight miles to-day) are telling on them, and their owners are
complaining loudly. The pilgrims having only hired the camels, of course
care nothing for their welfare, and will not let them graze as they go,
because riding a camel which eats as it goes is rather tiresome. Then in
the evening the tents have to be pitched in some spot where a large camp
can stand altogether, irrespective of considerations of pasture, the poor
camels often having to go two or three miles to their food. We manage
better, and always choose our spot for their sakes more than our own.
Two of our camels nevertheless are tired, but our camels are loaded far
more heavily than those of the pilgrimage.
To-night we have had a long and serious talk with Muttlak about the
Ketherin tribe, in which we now consider we have an interest. He
promises that he will really come north as soon as he can make
arrangements with the Sebaa, and we have in return promised him that we
will set up a “house of hair” with them, and keep a few nagas and a mare
or two, and a small flock of sheep. This would be very agreeable, and
serve as a _pied à terre_ in the desert, quite independent of all the
world.
_February_ 24.—Another _akabah_ had to be climbed to-day—another long
winding road followed across another open plain. The wonder is why the
road should wind where there is no obstacle to avoid and no object to
reach by a circuit. But such is always the case. Everybody seemed cross
with the hard work, enlivened only by an occasional course, in which the
hare sometimes ran right in among the pilgrims, when there was a
scrimmage with the dervishes for possession of the quarry. The
dervishes, who are mostly from Bagdad, are ready to eat hare or anything
else they can get, indeed everybody is at starvation point. The only
cheerful one of our party is the stalwart Ibrahim, who has come out again
now as a wag. To-day, as we were marching along, we passed a fat Persian
on a very little donkey, whom Ibrahim began chaffing, but finding the
Persian did not understand him, he ran up, and seizing hold, lifted
donkey and man in his arms. I could not have believed it possible, had I
not seen that the donkey’s four legs were off the ground. The Persian
did not seem to understand this joke better than the rest, but they are
stolid people, and have had a long breaking in and experience in patience
during the last four months.
We have found a peaceful spot for the night, with plenty of pasture and
plenty of “jelleh” for fuel. The sun has set, but in the clear cold sky
there is a nearly new moon, which gives a certain amount of light.
Wilfrid is making plans for spending the spring in Persia, and the summer
in India, regardless of such news as may meet us at Bagdad from England
or elsewhere. Such plans, however pleasant as they are in the planning,
cannot be counted on. Much may have happened in the three months since
we have been cut off from all communication with Europe, or indeed any
part of the world out of Arabia, and even the traveller most detached
from all affections or thoughts of his distant home is liable to be
seized by a sudden longing for green fields with buttercups and daisies.
The passing note of a bird or the scent of a flower may be enough to
upset a most admirably contrived plan.
_February_ 25.—Twenty-seven miles of march yesterday, and thirty to-day.
The camels cannot last at this pace, but the Haj is pushing on now
because the men are starving. It is said that to-morrow we may reach
Kasr Ruheym, the first outpost of the Euphrates district, and there they
may find supplies, but it must still be a long distance off, if our
reckoning is not altogether incorrect. Wilfrid has kept a dead reckoning
now ever since we left Damascus, calculating the direction by the
compass, and the distance of each day’s march by the pace of the camels,
and in the thousand miles we have travelled, it may well be a little
out—but according to it we should now be forty-seven miles from Meshhed
Ali, which should be to the north-west, not to the north of our present
position.
The weather has become cold, and all day long a bitter wind blew in our
faces. The vegetation has changed. In one place we saw some acacias,
the first trees since we left Haïl, and some of those broom bushes which
bear a flower smelling sweet like the flower of the bean, and called here
by the Arabs, “_gurrtheh_.” The acacias have given their name to the
wady, Wady Hasheb (the Valley of timber).
We had a good view of the berak unfurled to-day, and a
respectable-looking pilgrim, who lives, he tells us, in the mosque of
Abd-el-Kader at Bagdad, pointed out to us the motto and device in the
centre of it; the sword, he says, is the sword of God, and under it is
written “La ilaha ila’llahi, wa Mohammed rasuluhu” (There is no God but
God and Mohammed is his prophet). On the other side of the flag is
written “Nasron min Allahi wa fathon karîbon” (Victory is from God and
success is near).
_February_ 26.—This has been a long and hard day, over ten hours, and the
whole time beating against a wind which cut through everything, the sky
darkened with sand, driving right in our faces. We have however reached
Kasr Ruheym, and all our camels are still alive. Many of the pilgrims’
camels, sixty or some say seventy, lay down and died on the road. The
beautiful thoroughbred delúls cannot stand the cold, which is very
unusual at this latitude so late in the season, and their owners are in
despair. All the Haj is furious with Ambar, not the Persians only, but
the Bedouin escort and the camel owners, for his dawdling marches at
first, and his forced ones afterwards. In the last six days we have
marched a hundred and seventy miles, the greater part of the Haj on foot,
and almost fasting. What would an English army say to that? Yet not one
of the men—nor even of the poor women—who have had to trudge along thus,
has been left behind. For ourselves we have had no extra fatigue, for
the change from camel-back to horse-back and back again is of itself a
rest. Khrer, my delúl, has very even paces, so that one is not soon
tired riding him.
We are here in clover, not actually at the Kasr, but in sight of it,
encamped at the edge of a running stream! The stream rises here and is
said to be perennial. There is a quantity of coarse sword grass growing
beside it, and everything looks green and pretty to eyes wearied of
desert scenes. A pair of francolins, disturbed by the sudden invasion of
their resting-place, which they doubtless thought safely secluded from
the world, are flying backwards and forwards, put up continually by the
grazing camels, and are calling to each other from the bushes. This
shows that we are approaching the Euphrates.
There is a village near the Kasr, about two miles from where we are; and
a good many felláhin on donkeys and horses have arrived with provisions
for sale, but they have not brought a twentieth part of what is wanted
for the Haj. A cry of “stop thief” already announces that we have
returned to the Turkish Empire. It has not been heard since we left
Mezárib.
_February_ 27.—No abatement of the wind, but less sand. It appears that
our acquaintances, Ali Koli Khan and Abd er-Rahim are missing, lost in
yesterday’s storm. They rode with us part of the afternoon, and then,
hearing that Ruheym was not far off, they started away on their delúls in
front of the Haj at a trot, and of course being Persians, lost their way,
for the Persians are helpless people in the desert. The sand was very
thick at the time, and they must have got out of the track. Ambar has
sent people to look all over the country for them, but without result.
They never reached Ruheym, and it is feared that they may have perished
of cold in the night.
This delayed the Haj from starting early, and at one time it was given
out that no move at all would be made to-day, which would have suited us
well, as there was plenty of camel pasture at Ruheym, and two of our
animals were quite at the end of their strength. But at eight o’clock
the drum beat, and we were obliged to load and be off, for now that we
had entered Turkish territory, there was danger on the road, and all must
keep together. Ibn Rashid’s protection would no longer avail.
The march was tedious, on account of the weariness of the camels, though
cheered by the sight of the gilt dome of Meshhed Ali, shining like a star
across the blue sea of Nejef, itself a lovely apparition. The sea of
Nejef (or as the Arabs call it, the Sheríet-Ibn Haddal), is the
counterpart of the Birket el-Korn in the Egyptian Fayum, an artificial
lake, formed by cutting a canal from the Euphrates; it is about twenty
miles long, by six or seven broad. It is probably of Babylonian origin,
though the Arabs say it was made by an Ibn Haddal ancestor of the present
Amarrat Sheykhs, so that his camels might have a drinking pool. The Ibn
Haddal were, till comparatively lately, lords of the whole of this
district, and levied tribute on Meshhed Ali and Huseyn. The town stands
upon the eastern shore above a fine line of limestone cliffs, and
remained in sight all day long, as we wound slowly round the lake. It
was a beautiful sight as far as nature was concerned, but made horrible
by the sufferings of the poor dying camels, which now lay thick upon the
road, with their unfortunate owners, poor Bedouins perhaps with nothing
else in the world, standing beside them, luggage and bedding strewn
about, which the pilgrims were trying to carry off on their heads, seeing
the journey so nearly over.
Many of the camels had rushed into the lake, to drink, and lain down
there, never to get up again. Others could just move one foot before the
other, following at the rate of perhaps a mile an hour, with hopeless
glazed eyes, and poor emaciated bodies bare of all burden, even of the
shedad. We who started late because we were not ready, and had thought
to remain quiet at Ruheym, passed all these, amongst others our friend
Izzar, the Shammar boy, who was weeping over his delúls—two out of the
three were dead. All were loud in their execrations of Ambar, and one or
two of Ibn Rashid himself, whom they held responsible for part of the
delay. Ibn Rashid’s government is less popular in the desert than in the
towns, especially on account of his conduct of the Haj. He impresses the
camels and men at a fixed rate, ten mejidies, and gives no compensation
for losses. They say, however, that Ambar runs some risk of losing his
head, when all his mismanagement becomes known at Haïl, and I confess I
think he deserves it.
At last we got to the _akabah_, or ascent, where the road leads up the
cliff, and here the camels lay down by scores, among the rest our
beautiful camel, Amud (the pillar), so called from his great height. He
was younger than the rest, except poor Shenuan, and had been out of sorts
for several days past. A camel that lies down under such circumstances,
seldom rises again. It is not the labour, but the want of food that
kills; and unless food can be brought to the exhausted animal, he never
gets strength to rise. Between five and six hundred must have perished
thus to-day.
At the top of the _akabah_ Meshhed Ali lay close before us, a long line
of magnificent old walls with twelve round towers, all of burnt brick,
the only building appearing over them being the mosque with its cupola of
burnished gold, and its four minarets. The whole was reddened by the
afternoon sun, and the dome looked like a sun itself.
Through a crowd of dirty children perched on the tombs of the vast
burying-ground which, on this side, stretches for some distance from the
walls of the city, we approached the gate of Meshhed Ali. These
disorderly ragamuffins shouted jeers and rude remarks at the pilgrims,
and threw stones at our dogs, and we were glad when, turning an angle of
the wall, we reached the camping ground, a short distance from the
north-eastern corner of the city, and found ourselves at peace, with
leisure to reflect that our pilgrimage is over.
[Picture: Persian Pilgrims in front of the Haj]