It was on the fifth of June that she set out, secretly, for fear that
the Turkish authorities at Damascus would oppose her if they knew of
her intentions. Allowing it to be supposed that she was merely going
for a ride on horseback, she met her American-taught dragoman on the
outskirts of Damascus, and rode with him to Adra, on the fringe of the
desert, where Mahmoud Bassaam and her caravan (eight camels and camel
men, an Arabian cook and a guide) were awaiting her.
It was in September, after they had traveled for more than 900 miles
through the desert in company with the Sultan Al Tayar and his
followers that the first echoes of the European war reached these
travelers.
In the meanwhile the Countess who, from first to last, was treated
as a guest of the highest distinction by the Sultan (to whom she had
been presented by Mahmoud Bassaam) had been able to revel to the full
in the dreamy "_dolce far niente_" existence which she had so often
pictured to herself. She had become familiar with all the customs and
observances of the Bedouins--she had even witnessed a pitched battle
between her hosts and an enemy tribe--and had learned to eat with her
fingers as they did without discomfort. By some means the impression
that she was a sister of the Czar of Russia had become fixed in the
minds of these tribesmen, and when the Countess wished to disabuse them
of it, the Sultan dissuaded her, hinting that it was all to the good.
It was while crossing the Dahma Desert and heading for the wells of
Wadi-al-Mustarri that a small Arab tribe brought them the tidings that
Turkish soldiers were scouting the country, and that at Hail great
demonstrations and assemblies of Turks and Arabs had taken place. And,
on arriving at Jilfi, a small trading town, a few days later they
learned that a European war had broken out, though between whom nobody
knew.
At Jilfi the countess was arrested, a paralyzing blow for her,
considering that she had covered more than half the distance to the
Ruba-el-Khali, and that another two months would have found her on
its borders, and that she had succeeded in winning the Sultan to the
venture of attempting to cross it. He and his chiefs, who first wished
to resist, parted from their guest with keen sorrow, and the Sultan
presented her, as his parting gift, with a magnificent emerald, of
which, however, she was robbed while being brought back as a prisoner
and ill with fever to Damascus. There the Turkish authorities greeted
her with soft words, declaring that they had acted only for her safety,
but, though she was allowed to go free and to live in her own house,
she was aware all the time that she was carefully watched.