CHAPTER II.—OF UMRAH, OR THE LITTLE PILGRIMAGE.

Scanned and proofread by William Thierens and Robert Sinton

PERSONAL NARRATIVE OF A PILGRIMAGE TO AL-MADINAH & MECCAH

BY

CAPTAIN SIR RICHARD F. BURTON,

K.C.M.G., F.R.G.S., &c., &c., &c.

EDITED BY HIS WIFE, ISABEL BURTON.

“Our notions of Mecca must be drawn from the Arabians; as no unbeliever

is permitted to enter the city, our travellers are silent.”—Gibbon, chap.

50.

MEMORIAL EDITION.

IN TWO VOLUMES

VOLUME II.

[p.xii]

[Arabic]

Dark and the Desert and Destriers me ken,

And the Glaive and the Joust, and Paper and Pen.

Al-Mutanabbi

PART II.

AL-MADINAH.

(Continued.)

[p.1]

A PILGRIMAGE

TO

AL-MADINAH AND MECCAH.

CHAPTER XXI.

THE PEOPLE OF AL-MADINAH.

AL-MADINAH contains but few families descended from the Prophet’s

Auxiliaries. I heard only of four whose genealogy is undoubted. These

were,—

1. The Bayt al-Ansari, or descendants of Abu Ayyub, a most noble race

whose tree ramifies through a space of fifteen hundred years. They keep

the keys of the Kuba Mosque, and are Imams in the Harim, but the family

is no longer wealthy or powerful.

2. The Bayt Abu Jud: they supply the Harim with Imams and

Mu’ezzins.[FN#l] I was told that there are now but two surviving members

of this family, a boy and a girl.

3. The Bayt al-Sha’ab, a numerous race. Some of the members travel

professionally, others trade, and others are employed in the Harim.

4. The Bayt al-Karrani, who are mostly engaged in commerce.

There is also a race called Al-Nakhawilah,[FN#2] who,

[p.2]according to some, are descendants of the Ansar, whilst others

derive them from Yazid, the son of Mu’awiyah: the latter opinion is

improbable, as the Caliph in question was a mortal foe to Ali’s family,

which is inordinately venerated by these people. As far as I could

ascertain, they abuse the Shaykhayn (Abu Bakr and Omar): all my

informants agreed upon this point, but none could tell me why they

neglected to bedevil Osman, the third object of hatred to the Shi’ah

persuasion. They are numerous and warlike, yet they are despised by the

townspeople, because they openly profess heresy, and are moreover of

humble degree. They have their own priests and instructors, although

subject to the orthodox Kazi; marry in their own sect, are confined to

low offices, such as slaughtering animals, sweeping, and gardening, and

are not allowed to enter the Harim during life, or to be carried to it

after death. Their corpses are taken down an outer street called the

Darb al-Janazah—Road of Biers—to their own cemetery near Al-Bakia. They

dress and speak Arabic, like the townspeople; but the Arabs pretend to

distinguish them by a peculiar look denoting their degradation: it is

doubtless the mistake of effect for cause, about all such

“Tribes of the wandering foot and weary breast.”

number of reports are current about the horrid

[p.3]customs of these people, and their community of women[FN#3] with

the Persian pilgrims who pass through the town. It need scarcely be

said that such tales coming from the mouths of fanatic foes are not to

be credited. I regret not having had an opportunity to become intimate

with any of the Nakhawilah, from whom curious information might be

elicited. Orthodox Moslems do not like to be questioned about such

hateful subjects; when I attempted to learn something from one of my

acquaintance, Shaykh Ula al-Din, of a Kurd family, settled at

Al-Madinah, a man who had travelled over the East, and who spoke five

languages to perfection, he coldly replied that he had never consorted

with these heretics. Sayyids and Sharifs,[FN#4] the descendants of the

Prophet, here abound. The Benu Hosayn of Al-Madinah have their

head-quarters at Suwayrkiyah:[FN#5] the former place contains six or

seven families; the latter, ninety-three or ninety-four. Anciently they

were much more numerous, and such was their power, that for centuries

they retained charge of the Prophet’s tomb. They

[p.4]subsist principally upon their Amlak, property in land, for which

they have title-deeds extending back to Mohammed’s day, and Aukaf,

religious bequests; popular rumour accuses them of frequent murders for

the sake of succession. At Al-Madinah they live chiefly at the Hosh Ibn

Sa’ad, a settlement outside the town and south of the Darb al-Janazah.

There is, however, no objection to their dwelling within the walls; and

they are taken to the Harim after death, if there be no evil report

against the individual. Their burial-place is the Bakia cemetery. The

reason of this toleration is, that some are supposed to be Sunni, or

orthodox, and even the most heretical keep their “Rafz[FN#6]” (heresy) a

profound secret. Most learned Arabs believe that they belong, like the

Persians, to the sect of Ali: the truth, however, is so vaguely known,

that I could find out none of the peculiarities of their faith, till I

met a Shirazi friend at Bombay. The Benu Hosayn are spare dark men of

Badawi appearance, and they dress in the old Arab style still affected

by the Sharifs,—a Kufiyah (kerchief) on the head,[FN#7] and a Banish, a

long and wide-sleeved garment resembling our magicians’ gown, thrown over

the white cotton Kamis (shirt): in public they always carry swords,

even when others leave weapons at home. There are about two hundred

families of Sayyid Alawiyah,—descendants of Ali by any of his wives but

Fatimah, they bear no distinctive mark in dress or appearance, and are

either employed at the

[p.5]temple or engage at trade. Of the Khalifiyah, or descendants of

Abbas, there is, I am told, but one household, the Bayt Al-Khalifah,

who act as Imams in the Harim, and have charge of Hamzah’s tomb. Some

declare that there are a few of the Siddikiyah, or descendants from Abu

Bakr; others ignore them, and none could give me any information about

the Benu Najjar.

The rest of the population of Al-Madinah is a motley race composed of

offshoots from every nation in Al-Islam. The sanctity of the city

attracts strangers, who, purposing to stay but a short time, become

residents; after finding some employment, they marry, have families,

die, and are buried there with an eye to the spiritual advantages of

the place. I was much importuned to stay at Al-Madinah. The only known

physician was one Shaykh Abdullah Sahib, an Indian, a learned man, but

of so melancholic a temperament, and so ascetic in his habits, that his

knowledge was entirely lost to the public. “Why dost thou not,” said my

friends, “hire a shop somewhere near the Prophet’s Mosque? There thou wilt

eat bread by thy skill, and thy soul will have the blessing of being on

holy ground.” Shaykh Nur also opined after a short residence at

Al-Madinah that it was bara jannati Shahr, a “very heavenly City,” and

little would have induced him to make it his home. The present ruling

race at Al-Madinah, in consequence of political vicissitudes, is the

“Sufat,[FN#8]” sons of Turkish fathers by Arab mothers. These half-castes

are now numerous, and have managed to secure the highest and most

lucrative offices. Besides Turks, there are families originally from

the Maghrib, Takruris, Egyptians in considerable numbers, settlers from

Al-Yaman and other parts of Arabia, Syrians, Kurds, Afghans,

Daghistanis from the Caucasus, and a few Jawis—Java Moslems. The Sindis,

I was told, reckon about one hundred families, who are exceedingly

despised for their

[p.6]cowardice and want of manliness, whilst the Baluch and the Afghan

are respected. The Indians are not so numerous in proportion here as at

Meccah; still Hindustani is by no means uncommonly heard in the

streets. They preserve their peculiar costume, the women persisting in

showing their faces, and in wearing tight, exceedingly tight,

pantaloons. This, together with other reasons, secures for them the

contempt of the Arabs. At Al-Madinah they are generally small

shopkeepers, especially druggists and sellers of Kumash (cloth), and

they form a society of their own. The terrible cases of misery and

starvation which so commonly occur among the improvident Indians at

Jeddah and Meccah are here rare.

The Hanafi school holds the first rank at Al-Madinah, as in most parts

of Al-Islam, although many of the citizens, and almost all the Badawin,

are Shafe’is. The reader will have remarked with astonishment that at one

of the fountain-heads of the faith, there are several races of

schismatics, the Benu Hosayn, the Benu Ali, and the Nakhawilah. At the

town of Safra there are said to be a number of the Zuyud

schismatics,[FN#9] who visit Al-Madinah, and have settled in force at

Meccah, and some declare that the Bayazi sect[FN#10] also exists.

The citizens of Al-Madinah are a favoured race, although the city is

not, like Meccah, the grand mart of the Moslem world or the

meeting-place of nations. They pay no taxes, and reject the idea of a

“Miri,” or land-cess, with extreme disdain. “Are we, the children of the

Prophet,” they exclaim, “to support or to be supported?” The Wahhabis, not

understanding the argument, taxed them,

[p.7]as was their wont, in specie and in materials, for which reason

the very name of those Puritans is an abomination. As has before been

shown, all the numerous attendants at the Mosque are paid partly by the

Sultan, partly by Aukaf, the rents of houses and lands bequeathed to

the shrine, and scattered over every part of the Moslem world. When a

Madani is inclined to travel, he applies to the Mudir al-Harim, and

receives from him a paper which entitles him to the receipt of a

considerable sum at Constantinople. “The “Ikram” (honorarium), as it is

called, varies with the rank of the recipient, the citizens being

divided into these four orders, viz.

First and highest, the Sadat (Sayyids),[FN#11] and Ima[m]s, who are

entitled to twelve purses, or about £60. Of these there are said to be

three hundred families.

The Khanahdan, who keep open house and receive poor strangers gratis.

Their Ikram amounts to eight purses, and they number from a hundred to

a hundred and fifty families.

The Ahali[FN#12] (burghers) or Madani properly speaking, who have homes

and families, and were born in Al-Madinah. They claim six purses.

The Mujawirin, strangers, as Egyptians or Indians, settled at, though

not born in, Al-Madinah. Their honorarium is four purses.

The Madani traveller, on arrival at Constantinople, reports his arrival

to his Consul, the Wakil al-Haramayn. This “Agent of the two Holy Places”

applies to the Nazir al-Aukaf, or “Intendant of Bequests”; the latter,

[p.8]after transmitting the demand to the different officers of the

treasury, sends the money to the Wakil, who delivers it to the

applicant. This gift is sometimes squandered in pleasure, more often

profitably invested either in merchandise or in articles of home-use,

presents of dress and jewellery for the women, handsome arms,

especially pistols and Balas[FN#13] (yataghans), silk tassels, amber

pipe-pieces, slippers, and embroidered purses. They are packed up in

one or two large Sahharahs, and then commences the labour of returning

home gratis. Besides the Ikram, most of the Madani, when upon these

begging trips, are received as guests by great men at Constantinople.

The citizens whose turn it is not to travel, await the Aukaf and

Sadakat (bequests and alms),[FN#14] forwarded every year by the

Damascus Caravan; besides which, as has been before explained, the

Harim supplies even those not officially employed in it with many

perquisites.

Without these advantages Al-Madinah would soon be abandoned to

cultivators and Badawin. Though commerce is here honourable, as

everywhere in the East, business is “slack,[FN#15]” because the higher

classes prefer the idleness of administering their landed estates, and

being servants to the Mosque. I heard of only four respectable houses,

Al-Isawi, Al-Sha’ab, Abd al-Jawwad, and a family from Al-Shark (the

Eastern Region).[FN#16] They all deal in grain, cloth, and provisions,

and perhaps the richest have a capital of twenty thousand dollars.

Caravans in

[p.9]the cold weather are constantly passing between Al-Madinah and

Egypt, but they are rather bodies of visitors to Constantinople than

traders travelling for gain. Corn is brought from Jeddah by land, and

imported into Yambu’ or via Al-Rais, a port on the Red Sea, one day and a

half’s journey from Safra. There is an active provision trade with the

neighbouring Badawin, and the Syrian Hajj supplies the citizens with

apparel and articles of luxury—tobacco, dried fruits, sweetmeats, knives,

and all that is included under the word “notions.” There are few

store-keepers, and their dealings are petty, because articles of every

kind are brought from Egypt, Syria, and Constantinople. As a general

rule, labour is exceedingly expensive,[FN#17] and at the Visitation

time a man will demand fifteen or twenty piastres from a stranger for

such a trifling job as mending an umbrella. Handicraftsmen and

artisans—carpenters, masons, locksmiths, potters, and others—are either

slaves or foreigners, mostly Egyptians.[FN#18] This proceeds partly

from the pride of the people. They are taught from their childhood that

the Madani is a favoured being, to be respected however vile or

schismatic; and that the vengeance of Allah will fall upon any one who

ventures to abuse, much more to strike him.[FN#19] They receive a

stranger at the shop window with the haughtiness of Pashas, and take

pains to show him, by words as well as by looks, that they consider

themselves as

[p.10]“good gentlemen as the king, only not so rich.” Added to this pride

are indolence, and the true Arab prejudice, which, even in the present

day, prevents a Badawi from marrying the daughter of an artisan. Like

Castilians, they consider labour humiliating to any but a slave; nor is

this, as a clever French author remarks, by any means an unreasonable

idea, since Heaven, to punish man for disobedience, caused him to eat

daily bread by the sweat of his brow. Besides, there is degradation,

moral and physical, in handiwork compared with the freedom of the

Desert. The loom and the file do not conserve courtesy and chivalry

like the sword and spear; man “extends his tongue,” to use an Arab phrase,

when a cuff and not a stab is to be the consequence of an injurious

expression. Even the ruffian becomes polite in California, where his

brother-ruffian carries his revolver, and those European nations who

were most polished when every gentleman wore a rapier, have become the

rudest since Civilisation disarmed them.

By the tariff quoted below it will be evident that Al-Madinah is not a

cheap place.[FN#20] Yet the citizens,

[p.11]despite their being generally in debt, manage to live well. Their

cookery, like that of Meccah, has borrowed something from Egypt,

Turkey, Syria, Persia, and India: as all Orientals, they are

exceedingly fond of clarified butter.[FN#21]

[p.12]I have seen the boy Mohammed drink off nearly a tumbler-full,

although his friends warned him that it would make him as fat as an

elephant. When a man cannot enjoy clarified butter in these countries,

it is considered a sign that his stomach is out of order, and all my

excuses of a melancholic temperament were required to be in full play

to prevent the infliction of fried meat swimming in grease, or that

guest-dish,[FN#22] rice saturated with melted—perhaps I should say—rancid

butter. The “Samn” of Al-Hijaz, however, is often fresh, being brought in

by the Badawin; it has not therefore the foul flavour derived from the

old and impregnated skin-bag which distinguishes the “ghi” of India.[FN#23]

The house of a Madani in good circumstances is comfortable, for the

building is substantial, and the attendance respectable. Black

slave-girls here perform the complicated duties of servant-maids in

England; they are taught to sew, to cook, and to wash, besides sweeping

the house and drawing water for domestic use. Hasinah (the “Charmer,” a

decided misnomer) costs from $40 to $50; if she be a mother, her value

is less; but neat-handedness, propriety of demeanour, and skill in

feminine accomplishments, raise her to $100=£25. A little black boy,

perfect in all his points, and tolerably intelligent, costs about a

thousand piastres; girls are dearer, and eunuchs fetch double that sum.

The older the children become, the

[p.13]more their value diminishes; and no one would purchase[,] save

under exceptional circumstances, an adult slave, because he is never

parted with but for some incurable vice. The Abyssinian, mostly Galla,

girls, so much prized because their skins are always cool in the

hottest weather, are here rare; they seldom sell for less than £20, and

they often fetch £60. I never heard of a Jariyah Bayza, a white slave

girl, being in the market at Al-Madinah: in Circassia they fetch from

£100 to £400 prime cost, and few men in Al-Hijaz could afford so expensive

a luxury. The Bazar at Al-Madinah is poor, and as almost all the slaves

are brought from Meccah by the Jallabs, or drivers, after exporting the

best to Egypt, the town receives only the refuse.[FN#24]

The personal appearance of the Madani makes the stranger wonder how

this mongrel population of settlers has acquired a peculiar and almost

an Arab physiognomy. They are remarkably fair, the effect of a cold

climate; sometimes the cheeks are lighted up with red, and the hair is

a dark chestnut—at Al-Madinah I was not stared at as a white man. The

cheeks and different parts of the children’s bodies are sometimes marked

with Mashali or Tashrih, not the three long stripes of the

Meccans,[FN#25] but little scars generally in threes. In some points

they approach very near the true Arab type, that is to say, the Badawi

of ancient and noble family. The cheek-bones are high and saillant, the

eye small, more round than long,

[p.14] piercing, fiery, deep-set, and brown rather than black. The head

is small, the ears well-cut, the face long and oval, though not

unfrequently disfigured by what is popularly called the “lantern-jaw”; the

forehead high, bony, broad, and slightly retreating, and the beard and

mustachios scanty, consisting of two tufts upon the chin, with,

generally speaking, little or no whisker. These are the points of

resemblance between the city and the country Arab. The difference is

equally remarkable. The temperament of the Madani is not purely

nervous, like that of the Badawi, but admits a large admixture of the

bilious, and, though rarely, the lymphatic. The cheeks are fuller, the

jaws project more than in the pure race, the lips are more fleshy, more

sensual and ill-fitting; the features are broader, and the limbs are

stouter and more bony. The beard is a little thicker, and the young

Arabs of the towns are beginning to imitate the Turks in that

abomination to their ancestors—shaving. Personal vanity, always a ruling

passion among Orientals, and a hopeless wish to emulate the flowing

beards of the Turks and the Persians—perhaps the only nations in the

world who ought not to shave the chin—have overruled even the religious

objections to such innovation. I was more frequently appealed to at

Al-Madinah than anywhere else, for some means of removing the

opprobrium “Kusah,” or scant-bearded man. They blacken the beard with

gall-nuts, henna, and other preparations, especially the Egyptian

mixture, composed of sulphate of iron one part, ammoniure of iron one

part, and gall-nuts two parts, infused in eight parts of distilled

water. It is a very bad dye. Much refinement of dress is now found at

Al-Madinah,—Constantinople, the Paris of the East, supplying it with the

newest fashions. Respectable men wear either a Benish or a Jubbah; the

latter, as at Meccah, is generally of some light and flashy colour,

gamboge, yellow, tender green, or bright pink.

[p.15]This is the sign of a “dressy” man. If you have a single coat, it

should be of some modest colour, as a dark violet; to appear always in

the same tender green, or bright pink, would excite derision. But the

Hijazis, poor and rich, always prefer these tulip tints. The proper

Badan, or long coat without sleeves, still worn in truly Arab

countries, is here confined to the lowest classes. That ugliest of

head-dresses, the red Tunisian cap, called “Tarbush,[FN#26]” is much used,

only the Arabs have too much regard for their eyes and faces to wear

it, as the Turks do, without a turband. It is with regret that one sees

the most graceful head-gear imaginable, the Kufiyah and the Aakal,

proscribed except amongst the Sharifs and the Badawin. The women dress,

like the men, handsomely. Indoors they wear, I am told, a Sudayriyah,

or boddice of calico and other stuffs, like the Choli of India, which

supports the bosom without the evils of European stays. Over this is a

Saub, or white shirt, of the white stuff called Halaili or Burunjuk,

with enormous sleeves, and flowing down to the feet; the Sarwal or

pantaloons are not wide, like the Egyptians’, but rather tight,

approaching to the Indian cut, without its exaggeration.[FN#27] Abroad,

they throw over the head a silk or a cotton Milayah, generally

chequered white and blue. The Burka (face-veil), all over Al-Hijaz is

white, a decided improvement in point of cleanliness upon that of

Egypt. Women of all ranks die the soles of the feet and the palms of

the hands black; and trace thin lines down the inside of the

[p.16]fingers, by first applying a plaster of henna and then a mixture,

called “Shadar,” of gall-nuts, alum, and lime. The hair[,] parted in the

centre, is plaited into about twenty little twists called

Jadilah.[FN#28] Of ornaments, as usual among Orientals, they have a

vast variety, ranging from brass and spangles to gold and precious

stones; and they delight in strong perfumes, musk, civet, ambergris,

attar of rose, oil of jasmine, aloe-wood, and extract of cinnamon. Both

sexes wear Constantinople slippers. The women draw on Khuff, inner

slippers, of bright yellow leather, serving for socks, and covering the

ankle, with Papush of the same material, sometimes lined with velvet

and embroidered with a gold sprig under the hollow of the foot. In

mourning the men show no difference of dress, like good Moslems, to

whom such display of grief is forbidden. But the women, who cannot

dissociate the heart and the toilette, evince their sorrow by wearing

white clothes and by doffing their ornaments. This is a modern custom:

the accurate Burckhardt informs us that in his day the women of

Al-Madinah did not wear mourning.

The Madani generally appear abroad on foot. Few animals are kept here,

on account, I suppose, of the expense of feeding them. The Cavalry are

mounted on poor Egyptian nags. The horses generally ridden by rich men

are generally Nijdi, costing from $200 to $300. Camels are numerous,

but those bred in Al-Hijaz are small, weak, and consequently little

prized. Dromedaries of good breed, called Ahrar[FN#29] (the noble) and

Namani, from the place of that name, are to be had for any sum between

$10 and $400; they are diminutive, but exceedingly swift, surefooted,

sagacious, thoroughbred, with eyes like the

[p.17]antelope’s, and muzzles that would almost enter a tumbler. Mules

are not found at Al-Madinah, although popular prejudice does not now

forbid the people to mount them. Asses come from Egypt and Meccah: I am

told that some good animals are to be found in the town, and that

certain ignoble Badawi clans have a fine breed, but I never saw any. Of

beasts intended for food, the sheep is the only common one in this part

of Al-Hijaz. There are three distinct breeds. The larger animal comes

from Nijd and the Anizah Badawin, who drive a flourishing trade; the

smaller is a native of the country. Both are the common Arab species,

of a tawny colour, with a long fat tail. Occasionally one meets with

what at Aden is called the Berberah sheep, a totally different

beast,—white, with a black broad face, a dew-lap, and a short fat tail,

that looks as if twisted up into a knot: it was doubtless introduced by

the Persians. Cows are rare at Al-Madinah. Beef throughout the East is

considered an unwholesome food, and the Badawi will not drink cow’s milk,

preferring that of the camel, the ewe, and the goat. The flesh of the

latter animal is scarcely ever eaten in the city, except by the poorest

classes.

The manners of the Madani are graver and somewhat more pompous than

those of any Arabs with whom I ever mixed. This they appear to have

borrowed from their rulers, the Turks. But their austerity and

ceremoniousness are skin-deep. In intimacy or in anger the garb of

politeness is thrown off, and the screaming Arab voice, the voluble,

copious, and emphatic abuse, and the mania for gesticulation, return in

all their deformity. They are great talkers as the following little

trait shows. When a man is opposed to more than his match in disputing

or bargaining, instead of patiently saying to himself, S’il crache il est

mort, he interrupts the adversary with a Sall’ ala Mohammed,—Bless the

Prophet. Every good Moslem is obliged to obey such requisition by

responding, Allahumma

[p.18] salli alayh,—O Allah bless him! But the Madani curtails the phrase

to “A’n,[FN#30]” supposing it to be an equivalent, and proceeds in his

loquacity. Then perhaps the baffled opponent will shout out Wahhid,

i.e., “Attest the unity of the Deity”; when, instead of employing the usual

religious phrases to assert that dogma, he will briefly ejaculate “Al,” and

hurry on with the course of conversation. As it may be supposed, these

wars of words frequently end in violent quarrels; for, to do the Madani

justice, they are always ready to fight. The desperate old feud between

the “Juwwa,” and the “Barra,”—the town and the suburbs—has been put down with the

greatest difficulty. The boys, indeed, still keep it up, turning out in

bodies and making determined onslaughts with sticks and stones.[FN#31]

It is not to be believed that in a town garrisoned by Turkish troops,

full of travelled traders, and which supports itself by plundering

Hajis, the primitive virtues of the Arab could exist. The Meccans, a

dark people, say of the Madani, that their hearts are black as their

skins are white.[FN#32] This is, of course, exaggerated; but it is not

too

[p.19] much to assert that pride, pugnacity, a peculiar point of honour

and a vindictiveness of wonderful force and patience, are the only

characteristic traits of Arab character which the citizens of

Al-Madinah habitually display. Here you meet with scant remains of the

chivalry of the Desert. A man will abuse his guest, even though he will

not dine without him, and would protect him bravely against an enemy.

And words often pass lightly between individuals which suffice to cause

a blood feud amongst Badawin. The outward appearance of decorum is

conspicuous amongst the Madani. There are no places where Corinthians

dwell, as at Meccah, Cairo, and Jeddah. Adultery, if detected, would be

punished by lapidation according to the rigour of the Koranic

law[FN#33]; and simple immorality by religious stripes, or, if of

repeated occurrence, by expulsion from the city. But scandals seldom

occur, and the women, I am told, behave with great decency.[FN#34]

Abroad, they have the usual Moslem

[p.20]pleasures of marriage, lyings-in, circumcision feasts, holy

isitations, and funerals. At home, they employ themselves with domestic

matters, and especially in scolding “Hasinah” and “Za’afaran.” In this occupation

they surpass even the notable English housekeeper of the middle orders

of society—the latter being confined to “knagging” at her slavey, whereas the

Arab lady is allowed an unbounded extent of vocabulary. At Shaykh Hamid’s

house, however, I cannot accuse the women of

“Swearing into strong shudders

The immortal gods who heard them.”

They abused the black girls with unction, but without any violent

expletives. At Meccah, however, the old lady in whose house I was

living would, when excited by the melancholy temperament of her eldest

son and his irregular hours of eating, scold him in the grossest terms,

not unfrequently ridiculous in the extreme. For instance, one of her

assertions was that he—the son—was the offspring of an immoral mother;

which assertion, one might suppose, reflected not indirectly upon

herself. So in Egypt I have frequently heard a father, when reproving

his boy, address him by “O dog, son of a dog!” and “O spawn of an Infidel—of a

Jew—of a Christian!” Amongst the men of Al-Madinah I remarked a

considerable share of hypocrisy. Their mouths were as full of religious

salutations, exclamations, and hackneyed quotations from the Koran, as

of indecency and vile abuse—a point in which they resemble the Persians.

As before

[p.21] observed, they preserve their reputation as the sons of a holy

city by praying only in public. At Constantinople they are by no means

remarkable for sobriety. Intoxicating liquors, especially Araki, are

made in Al-Madinah, only by the Turks: the citizens seldom indulge in

this way at home, as detection by smell is imminent among a people of

water-bibbers. During the whole time of my stay I had to content myself

with a single bottle of Cognac, coloured and scented to resemble

medicine. The Madani are, like the Meccans, a curious mixture of

generosity and meanness, of profuseness and penuriousness. But the

former quality is the result of ostentation, the latter is a

characteristic of the Semitic race, long ago made familiar to Europe by

the Jew. The citizens will run deeply in debt, expecting a good season

of devotees to pay off their liabilities, or relying upon the next

begging trip to Turkey; and such a proceeding, contrary to the custom

of the Moslem world, is not condemned by public opinion. Above all

their qualities, personal conceit is remarkable: they show it in their

strut, in their looks, and almost in every word. “I am such an one, the

son of such an one,” is a common expletive, especially in times of

danger; and this spirit is not wholly to be condemned, as it certainly

acts as an incentive to gallant actions. But it often excites them to

vie with one another in expensive entertainments and similar vanities.

The expression, so offensive to English ears, Inshallah Bukra—Please God,

tomorrow—always said about what should be done to-day, is here common as

in Egypt or in India. This procrastination belongs more or less to all

Orientals. But Arabia especially abounds in the Tawakkal al’ Allah, ya

Shaykh!—Place thy reliance upon Allah, O Shaykh!—enjoined when a man should

depend upon his own exertions. Upon the whole, however, though alive to

the infirmities of the Madani character, I thought favourably of it,

finding among this people more of the redeeming point, manliness,

[p.22]than in most Eastern nations with whom I am acquainted.

The Arabs, like the Egyptians, all marry. Yet, as usual, they are hard

and facetious upon that ill-treated subject—matrimony. It has exercised

the brain of their wits and sages, who have not failed to indite

notable things concerning it. Saith “Harikar al-Hakim” [(]Dominie Do-All)

to his nephew Nadan (Sir Witless), whom he would dissuade from taking

to himself a wife, “Marriage is joy for a month and sorrow for a life,

and the paying of settlements and the breaking of back (i.e. under the

load of misery), and the listening to a woman's tongue!” And again we

have in verse:—

“They said ‘marry!’ I replied, ‘far be it from me

To take to my bosom a sackful of snakes.

I am free—why then become a slave?

May Allah never bless womankind!’”

And the following lines are generally quoted, as affording a kind of

bird’s-eye view of female existence:—

“From 10 (years of age) unto 20,

A repose to the eyes of beholders.[FN#35]

From 20 unto 30,

Still fair and full of flesh.

From 30 unto 40,

A mother of many boys and girls.

From 40 unto 50,

An old woman of the deceitful.

From 50 unto 60,

Slay her with a knife.

From 60 unto 70,

The curse of Allah upon them, one and all!”

Another popular couplet makes a most unsupported assertion:—

“They declare womankind to be heaven to man,

I say, ‘Allah, give me Jahannam, and not this heaven.’”

Yet the fair sex has the laugh on its side, for these railers at

Al-Madinah as at other places, invariably marry. The

[p.23]marriage ceremony is tedious and expensive. It begins with a

Khitbah or betrothal: the father of the young man repairs to the parent

or guardian of the girl, and at the end of his visit exclaims, “The

Fatihah! we beg of your kindness your daughter for our son.” Should the

other be favourable to the proposal, his reply is, “Welcome and

congratulation to you: but we must perform Istikharah[FN#36] (religious

lot casting)”; and, when consent is given, both pledge themselves to the

agreement by reciting the Fatihah. Then commence negotiations about the

Mahr or sum settled upon the bride[FN#37]; and after the smoothing of

this difficulty follow feastings of friends and relatives, male and

female. The marriage itself is called Akd al-Nikah or Ziwaj. A Walimah

or banquet is prepared by the father of the Aris (groom), at his own

house, and the Kazi attends to perform the nuptial ceremony, the girl’s

consent being obtained through her Wakil, any male relation whom she

commissions to act for her. Then, with great pomp and circumstance, the

Aris visits his Arusah (bride) at her father’s house; and finally, with a

Zuffah or procession and sundry ceremonies at the Harim, she is brought

to her new home. Arab funerals are as simple as their marriages are

complicated. Neither Naddabah (myriologist or hired keener), nor indeed

any female, even a relation, is present at burials as in other parts of

the Moslem world,[FN#38] and it is esteemed disgraceful

[p.24]for a man to weep aloud. The Prophet, ho doubtless had heard of

those pagan mournings, where an effeminate and unlimited display of woe

was often terminated by licentious excesses, like the Christian’s

half-heathen “wakes,” forbad [a]ught beyond a decent demonstration of

grief. And his strong good sense enabled him to see through the vanity

of professional mourners. At Al-Madinah the corpse is interred shortly

after decease. The bier is carried though the streets at a moderate

pace, by friends and relatives,[FN#39] these bringing up the rear.

Every man who passes lends his shoulder for a minute, a mark of respect

to the dead, and also considered a pious and a prayerful act. Arrived

at the Harim, they carry the corpse in visitation to the Prophet’s

window, and pray over it at Osman’s niche. Finally, it is interred after

the usual Moslem fashion in the cemetery Al-Bakia.

Al-Madinah, though pillaged by the Wahhabis, still abounds in books.

Near the Harim are two Madrasah or colleges, the Mahmudiyah, so called

from Sultan Mahmud, and that of Bashir Agha: both have large stores of

theological and other works. I also heard of extensive private

collections, particularly of one belonging to the Najib al-Ashraf, or

chief of the Sharifs, a certain Mohammed Jamal al-Layl, whose father is

well-known in India. Besides which, there is a large Wakf or bequest of

books, presented to the Mosque or entailed upon particular

families.[FN#40] The celebrated Mohammed Ibn Abdillah al-Sannusi[FN#41]

has removed

[p.25] his collection, amounting, it is said, to eight thousand

volumes, from Al-Madinah to his house in Jabal Kubays at Meccah. The

burial-place of the Prophet, therefore, no longer lies open to the

charge of utter ignorance brought against it by my predecessor.[FN#42]

The people now praise their Olema for learning, and boast a superiority

in respect of science over Meccah. Yet many students leave the place

for Damascus and Cairo, where the Riwak al-Haramayn (College of the Two

Shrines) in the Azhar Mosque University, is always crowded; and though

Omar Effendi boasted to me that his city was full of lore, he did not

appear the less anxious to attend the lectures of Egyptian professors.

But none of my informants claimed for Al-Madinah any facilities of

studying other than the purely religious sciences.[FN#43] Philosophy,

medicine, arithmetic, mathematics, and algebra cannot be learnt here. I

was careful to inquire about the occult sciences, remembering that

Paracelsus had travelled in Arabia, and that the Count Cagliostro

(Giuseppe Balsamo), who claimed the Meccan Sharif as his father,

asserted that about A.D. 1765 he had studied alchemy at Al-Madinah. The

only trace I could find was a superficial knowledge of the Magic

Mirror. But after denying the Madani the praise of varied learning, it

must be owned that their quick observation and retentive memories have

stored up for

[p.26]them an abundance of superficial knowledge, culled from

conversations in the market and in the camp. I found it impossible here

to display those feats which in Sind, Southern Persia, Eastern Arabia,

and many parts of India, would be looked upon as miraculous. Most

probably one of the company had witnessed the performance of some

Italian conjuror at Constantinople or Alexandria, and retained a lively

recollection of every manœuvre. As linguists they are not equal to the

Meccans, who surpass all Orientals excepting only the Armenians; the

Madani seldom know Turkish, and more rarely still Persian and Indian.

Those only who have studied in Egypt chaunt the Koran well. The

citizens speak and pronounce[FN#44] their language purely; they are not

equal to the people of the southern Hijaz, still their Arabic is

refreshing after the horrors of Cairo and Maskat.

The classical Arabic, be it observed, in consequence of an extended

empire, soon split up into various dialects, as the Latin under similar

circumstances separated into the Neo-Roman patois of Italy, Sicily,

Provence, and Languedoc. And though Niebuhr has been deservedly

[p.27]censured for comparing the Koranic language to Latin and the

vulgar tongue to Italian, still there is a great difference between

them, almost every word having undergone some alteration in addition to

the manifold changes and simplifications of grammar and syntax. The

traveller will hear in every part of Arabia that some distant tribe

preserves the linguistic purity of its ancestors, uses final vowels

with the noun, and rejects the addition of the pronoun which apocope in

the verb now renders necessary.[FN#45] But I greatly doubt the

existence of such a race of philologists. In Al-Hijaz, however, it is

considered graceful in an old man, especially when conversing publicly,

to lean towards classical Arabic. On the contrary, in a youth this

would be treated as pedantic affectation, and condemned in some such

satiric quotation as

“There are two things colder than ice,

A young old man, and an old young man.”

[FN#1] Ibn Jubayr relates that in his day a descendant of Belal, the

original Mu’ezzin of the Prophet, practised his ancestral profession at

Al-Madinah.

[FN#2] This word is said to be the plural of Nakhwali,—one who cultivates

the date tree, a gardener or farmer. No one could tell me whether these

heretics had not a peculiar name for themselves. I hazard a conjecture

that they may be identical with the Mutawalli (also written Mutawilah,

Mutaalis, Metoualis, &c., &c.), the hardy, courageous, and hospitable

mountaineers of Syria, and Cœlesyria Proper. This race of sectarians,

about 35,000 in number, holds to the Imamship or supreme pontificate of

Ali and his descendants. They differ, however, in doctrine from the

Persians, believing in a transmigration of the soul, which, gradually

purified, is at last “orbed into a perfect star.” They are scrupulous of

caste, and will not allow a Jew or a Frank to touch a piece of their

furniture: yet they erect guest-houses for Infidels. In this they

resemble the Shi’ahs, who are far more particular about ceremonial purity

than the Sunnis. They use ablutions before each meal, and herein remind

us of the Hindus.

[FN#3] The communist principles of Mazdak the Persian (sixth century)

have given his nation a permanent bad fame in this particular among the

Arabs.

[FN#4] In Arabia the Sharif is the descendant of Hasan through his two

sons, Zaid and Hasan al-Musanna: the Sayyid is the descendant of Hosayn

through Zayn al-Abidin, the sole of twelve children who survived the

fatal field of Kerbela. The former devotes himself to government and

war; the latter, to learning and religion. In Persia and India, the

Sharif is the son of a Sayyid woman and a common Moslem. The Sayyid

“Nejib al-Taraf” (noble on one side) is the son of a Sayyid father and a

common Moslemah. The Sayyid “Nejib al-Tarafayn” (noble on both sides) is

one whose parents are both Sayyids.

[FN#5] Burckhardt alludes to this settlement when he says, “In the

Eastern Desert, at three or four days’ journey from Medinah, lives a

whole Bedouin tribe, called Beni Aly, who are all of this Persian creed.”

I travelled to Suwayrkiyah, and found it inhabited by Benu Hosayn. The

Benu Ali are Badawin settled at the Awali, near the Kuba Mosque: they

were originally slaves of the great house of Auf, and are still

heretical in their opinions.

[FN#6] “Refusing, rejecting.” Hence the origin of Rafizi,—“a rejector, a

heretic.” “Inna rafaznahum,”—“verily we have rejected them,” (Abu Bakr, Omar, and

Osman,) exclaim the Persians, glorying in the opprobrious epithet.

[FN#7] Sayyids in Al-Hijaz, as a general rule, do not denote their

descent by the green turband. In fact, most of them wear a red Kashmir

shawl round the head, when able to afford the luxury. The green turband

is an innovation in Al-Islam. In some countries it is confined to the

Sayyids; in others it is worn as a mark of distinction by pilgrims.

Khudabakhsh, the Indian, at Cairo generally dressed in a tender green

suit like a Mantis.

[FN#8] Plural of Suftah—a half-caste Turk.

[FN#9] Plural of Zaydi. These are well-known schismatics of the Shi’ah

persuasion, who abound in Southern Arabia.

[FN#10] The Bayazi sect flourishes near Maskat, whose Imam or Prince,

it is said, belongs to the heretical persuasion. It rejects Osman, and

advocates the superiority of Omar over the other two Caliphs.

[FN#11] Sadat is the plural of Sayyid. This word in the Northern Hijaz

is applied indifferently to the posterity of Hasan and Hosayn.

[FN#12] The plural of Ahl, an inhabitant (of a particular place). The

reader will excuse my troubling him with these terms. As they are

almost all local in their application, and therefore are not explained

in such restricted sense by lexicographers, the specification may not

be useless to the Oriental student.

[FN#13] The Turkish “yataghan.” It is a long dagger, intended for thrusting

rather than cutting, and has a curve, which, methinks, has been wisely

copied by the Duke of Orleans, in the bayonet of the Chasseurs de

Vincennes.

[FN#14] See chapter xvii.

[FN#15] Omar Effendi’s brothers, grandsons of the principal Mufti of

Al-Madinah, were both shopkeepers, and were always exhorting him to do

some useful work, rather than muddle his brains and waste his time on

books.

[FN#16] See chapter xiv.

[FN#17] To a townsman, even during the dead season, the pay of a

gardener would be 2 piastres, a carpenter 8 piastres per diem, and a

common servant (a Bawwab or porter, for instance), 25 piastres per

mensem, or £3 per annum, besides board and dress. Considering the value

of money in the country, these are very high rates.

[FN#18] Who alone sell milk, curds, or butter. The reason of their

monopoly has been given in Chapter xiii.

[FN#19] History informs us that the sanctity of their birth-place has

not always preserved the people of Al-Madinah. But the memory of their

misfortunes is soon washed away by the overwhelming pride of the race.

[FN#20] The market is under the charge of an Arab Muhtasib or

Bazar-master, who again is subject to the Muhafiz or Pasha governing

the place. The following was the current price of provisions at

Al-Madinah early in August, 1853: during the Visitation season

everything is doubled:—

1 lb. mutton, 2 piastres, (beef is half-price, but seldom eaten; there

is no buffalo meat, and only Badawin will touch the camel).

A fowl, 5 piastres.

Eggs, in summer 8, in winter 4, for the piastre.

1 lb. clarified butter, 4 piastres, (when cheap it falls to 2 1/2

Butter is made at home by those who eat it, and sometimes by the

Egyptians for sale).

1 lb. milk, 1 piastre.

1 lb. cheese, 2 piastres, (when cheap it is 1, when dear 3 piastres per

lb.)

A Wheaten loaf weighing 12 dirhams, 10 parahs. (There are loaves of 24

dirhams, costing 1/2 piastre.)

1 lb. dry biscuits, (imported), 3 piastres.

1 lb. of vegetables, 1/2 piastre.

1 Mudd dates, varies according to quality from 4 piastres to 100.

1 lb. grapes, 1 1/2} piastre.

A lime, 1 parah.

A pomegranate, from 20 parahs to 1 piastre.

A water-melon, from 3 to 6 piastres each.

1 lb. peaches, 2 piastres.

1 lb. coffee, 4 piastres, (the Yamani is the only kind drunk here).

1 lb. tea, 15 piastres, (black tea, imported from India).

1 lb. European loaf-sugar, 6 piastres, (white Egyptian, 5 piastres

brown Egyptian, 3 piastres; brown Indian, for cooking and conserves, 3

piastres).

1 lb. spermaceti candles, 7 piastres, (called wax, and imported from

Egypt).

1 lb. tallow candles, 3 piastres.

1 Ardeb wheat, 295 piastres.

1 Ardeb onions, 33 piastres, (when cheap 20, when dear 40).

1 Ardeb barley, 120 piastres, (minimum 90, maximum 180).

1 Ardeb rice, Indian, 302 piastres, (it varies from 260 to 350

piastres, according to quality).

Durrah or maize is generally given to animals, and is very cheap.

Barsim (clover, a bundle of) 3 Wakkiyahs, (36 Dirhams), costs 1 parah.

Adas or Lentil is the same price as rice.

1 lb. Latakia tobacco, 16 piastres.

1 lb. Syrian tobacco, 8 piastres.

1 lb. Tumbak (Persian), 6 piastres.

1 lb. olive oil, 6 piastres, (when cheap it is 4).

A skin of water, 1/2 piastre.

Bag of charcoal, containing 100 Wukkah, 10 piastres. The best kind is

made from an Acacia called “Samur.”

The Parah (Turkish), Faddah (Egyptian), or Diwani (Hijazi word), is the

40th part of a piastre, or nearly the quarter of a farthing. The

piastre is about 2 and two-fifths pence. Throughout Al-Hijaz there is

no want of small change, as in Egypt, where the deficiency calls for

the attention of the Government.

[FN#21] Physiologists have remarked that fat and greasy food,

containing a quantity of carbon, is peculiar to cold countries; whereas

the inhabitants of the tropics delight in fruits, vegetables, and

articles of diet which do not increase caloric. This must be taken cum

grano. In Italy, Spain, and Greece, the general use of olive oil

begins. In Africa and Asia—especially in the hottest parts—the people

habitually eat enough clarified butter to satisfy an Esquimaux.

[FN#22] In Persia, you jocosely say to a man, when he is threatened

with a sudden inroad of guests, “Go and swamp the rice with Raughan

(clarified butter).”

[FN#23] Among the Indians, ghi, placed in pots carefully stopped up and

kept for years till a hard black mass only remains, is considered a

panacea for diseases and wounds.

[FN#24] Some of these slaves come from Abyssinia: the greater part are

driven from the Galla country, and exported at the harbours of the

Somali coast, Berberah, Tajurrah, and Zayla. As many as 2000 slaves

from the former place, and 4000 from the latter, are annually shipped

off to Mocha, Jeddah, Suez, and Maskat. It is strange that the Imam of

the latter place should voluntarily have made a treaty with us for the

suppression of this vile trade, and yet should allow so extensive an

importation to his dominions.

[FN#25] More will be said concerning the origin of this strange custom,

when speaking of Meccah and the Meccans.

[FN#26] The word Tarbush is a corruption from the Persian

Sarpush,—“head-covering,” “head-dress.” The Anglo-Saxon further debases it to

“Tarbush.” The other name for the Tarbush, “Fez,” denotes the place where the

best were made. Some Egyptians distinguish between the two, calling the

large high crimson cap “Fez,” the small one “Tarbush.”

[FN#27] In India, as in Sind, a lady of fashion will sometimes be

occupied a quarter of an hour in persuading her “bloomers” to pass over the

region of the ankle.

[FN#28] In the plural called Jadail. It is a most becoming head-dress

when the hair is thick, and when—which I regret to say is rare in

Arabia—the twists are undone for ablution once a day.

[FN#29] Plural of “Hurrah,” the free, the noble.

[FN#30] See vol. i., p. 436, ante.

[FN#31] This appears to be, and to have been, a favourite weapon with

the Arabs. At the battle of Ohod, we read that the combatants amused

themselves with throwing stones. On our road to Meccah, the Badawi

attacked a party of city Arabs, and the fight was determined with these

harmless weapons. At Meccah, the men, as well as the boys, use them

with as much skill as the Somalis at Aden. As regards these feuds

between different quarters of the Arab towns, the reader will bear in

mind that such things can co-exist with considerable amount of

civilization. In my time, the different villages in the Sorrentine

plain were always at war. The Irish still fight in bodies at

Birkenhead. And in the days of our fathers, the gamins of London amused

themselves every Sunday by pitched battles on Primrose Hill, and the

fields about Marylebone and St. Pancras.

[FN#32] Alluding especially to their revengefulness, and their habit of

storing up an injury, and of forgetting old friendships or benefits,

when a trivial cause of quarrel arises.

[FN#33] The sentence is passed by the Kazi: in cases of murder, he

tries the criminal, and, after finding him guilty, sends him to the

Pasha, who orders a Kawwas, or policeman, to strike off his head with a

sword. Thieves are punished by mutilation of the hand. In fact, justice

at Al-Madinah is administered in perfect conformity with the Shariat or

Holy Law.

[FN#34] Circumcisio utriusque sexus apud Arabos mos est vetustissimus.

Aiunt theologi mutilationis hujus religiosae inventricem esse Saram,

Abrahami uxorem quae, zelotypia incitata, Hagaris amorem minuendi

gratia, somnientis puellae clitoridem exstirpavit. Deinde, Allaho

jubente, Sara et Abrahamus ambo pudendorum partem cultello abscissere.

Causa autem moris in viro mundities salusque, in puella impudicitiae

prophylactica esse videntur. Gentes Asiaticae sinistra tantum manu

abluentes utuntur; omnes quoque feminarem decies magis quam virorum

libidinem aestimant. (Clitoridem amputant, quia, ut monet Aristoteles,

pars illa sedes est et scaturigo veneris—rem plane profanam cum Sonninio

exclamemus!) Nec excogitare potuit philosophus quanti et quam

portentosi sunt talis mutilationis effectus. Mulierum minuuntur

affectus, amor, voluptas. Crescunt tamen feminini doli, crudelitas,

vitia et insatiabilis luxuria. (Ita in Eunuchis nonnunquam, teste

Abelardo, suberstat cerebelli potestas, quum cupidinis satiandi

facultas plane discessit.) Virilis quoque circumcisio lentam venerem et

difficilem efficit. Glandis enim mollities frictione induratur, dehinc

coitus tristis, tardus parumque vehemens. Forsitan in quibusdam populis

localis quoque causa existit; caruncula immoderate crescente,

amputationis necessitas exurgit. Deinde apud Somalos, gentem Africanam,

excisio nympharum abscissioni clitoridis adjungitur. “Feminina

circumcisio in Kahira Egyptiana et El Hejazio mos est universalis. Gens

Bedouina uxorem salvam ducere nolit.”—Shaykh al-Nawawi “de Uxore ducenda,” &c.,

&c.

[FN#35] A phrase corresponding with our “beaute du diable.”

[FN#36] This means consulting the will of the Deity, by praying for a

dream in sleep, by the rosary, by opening the Koran, and other such

devices, which bear blame if a negative be deemed necessary. It is a

custom throughout the Moslem world, a relic, doubtless, of the Azlam or

Kidah (seven divining-arrows) of the Pagan times. At Al-Madinah it is

generally called Khirah.

[FN#37] Among respectable citizens 400 dollars would be considered a

fair average sum; the expense of the ceremony would be about half. This

amount of ready money (£150) not being always procurable, many of the

Madani marry late in life.

[FN#38] Boys are allowed to be present, but they are not permitted to

cry. Of their so misdemeaning themselves there is little danger; the

Arab in these matters is a man from his cradle.

[FN#39] They are called the Asdikah; in the singular, Sadik.

[FN#40] From what I saw at Al-Madinah, the people are not so

unprejudiced on this point as the Cairenes, who think little of selling

a book in Wakf. The subject of Wakf, however, is an extensive one, and

does not wholly exclude the legality of sale.

[FN#41] This Shaykh is a Maliki Moslem from Algiers, celebrated as an

Alim (sage), especially in the mystic study Al-Jafr. He is a Wali or

saint; but opinions differ as regards his Kiramat (saint’s miracles):

some disciples look upon him as the Mahdi (the forerunner of the

Prophet), others consider him a clever impostor. His peculiar dogma is

the superiority of live over dead saints, whose tombs are therefore not

to be visited—a new doctrine in a Maliki! Abbas Pasha loved and respected

him, and, as he refused all presents, built him a new Zawiyah (oratory)

at Bulak; and when the Egyptian ruler’s mother was at Al-Madinah, she

called upon him three times, it is said, before he would receive her.

His followers and disciples are scattered in numbers about Tripoli and,

amongst other oases of the Fezzan, at Siwah, where they saved the Abbe

Hamilton’s life in A.D[.] 1843.

[FN#42] Burckhardt’s Travels in Arabia, vol. ii. p. 174.

[FN#43] Of which I have given an account in chapter xvi.

[FN#44] The only abnormal sound amongst the consonants heard here and

in Al-Hijaz generally is the pronouncing of k (A[rabic]) a hard g—for

instance, “Gur’an” for “Kur’an” (a Koran), and Haggi or Hakki (my right). This g,

however, is pronounced deep in the throat, and does not resemble the

corrupt Egyptian pronunciation of the jim (j, [Arabic]), a letter which

the Copts knew not, and which their modern descendants cannot

articulate. In Al-Hijaz, the only abnormal sounds amongst the vowels

are o for u, as Khokh, a peach, and [Arabic] for [Arabic], as Ohod for

Uhud. The two short vowels fath and kasr are correctly pronounced, the

former never becoming a short e, as in Egypt (El for Al and Yemen for

Yaman), or a short i, as in Syria (“min” for “man” who? &c.) These vowels,

however, are differently articulated in every part of the Arab world.

So says St. Jerome of the Hebrew: “Nec refert atrum Salem aut Salim

nominetur; cum vocalibus in medio literis perraro utantur Hebraei; et

pro voluntate lectorum, ac varietate regionum, eadem verba diversis

sonis atque accentibus proferantur.”

[FN#45] e.g., Ant Zarabt—thou struckedst—for Zarabta. The final vowel,

suffering apocope, would leave “Zarabt” equally applicable to the first

person singular and the second person singular masculine.

[p.28]CHAPTER XXII.

A VISIT TO THE SAINTS’ CEMETERY.

A splendid comet, blazing in the western sky, had aroused the

apprehensions of the Madani. They all fell to predicting the usual

disasters—war, famine, and pestilence,—it being still an article of Moslem

belief that the Dread Star foreshows all manner of calamities. Men

discussed the probability of Abd al-Majid’s immediate decease; for here

as in Rome,

“When beggars die, there are no comets seen:

The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes:”

and in every strange atmospheric appearance about the time of the Hajj,

the Hijazis are accustomed to read tidings of the dreaded Rih

al-Asfar.[FN#l]

Whether the event is attributable to the Zu Zuwabah—the “Lord of the

Forelock,”—or whether it was a case of post hoc, ergò, propter hoc, I would

not commit myself by deciding; but, influenced by some cause or other,

the Hawazim and the Hawamid, sub-families of the Benu-Harb, began to

fight about this time with prodigious fury. These tribes are generally

at feud, and the least provocation fans their smouldering wrath into a

flame. The Hawamid number, it is said, between three and four thousand

fighting men, and the Hawazim not more than seven hundred: the latter

however, are considered a race of desperadoes who pride themselves upon

never retreating,

[p.29]and under their fiery Shaykhs, Abbas and Abu Ali, they are a

thorn in the sides of their disproportionate foe. On the present

occasion a Hamidah[FN#2] happened to strike the camel of a Hazimi which

had trespassed; upon which the Hazimi smote the Hamidah, and called him

a rough name. The Hamidah instantly shot the Hazimi, the tribes were

called out, and they fought with asperity for some days. During the

whole of the afternoon of Tuesday, the 30th of August, the sound of

firing amongst the mountains was distinctly heard in the city. Through

the streets parties of Badawin, sword and matchlock in hand, or merely

carrying quarterstaves on their shoulders, might be seen hurrying

along, frantic at the chance of missing the fray. The townspeople

cursed them privily, expressing a hope that the whole race of vermin

might consume itself. And the pilgrims were in no small trepidation,

fearing the desertion of their camel-men, and knowing what a blaze is

kindled in this inflammable land by an ounce of gunpowder. I afterwards

heard that the Badawin fought till night, and separated after losing on

both sides ten men.

This quarrel put an end to any lingering possibility of my prosecuting

my journey to Maskat,[FN#3] as originally intended. I had on the way

from Yambu’ to Al-Madinah privily made a friendship with one Mujrim of

the Benu-Harb. The “Sinful,” as his name, ancient and classical amongst the

Arabs, means, understood that I had some motive of secret interest to

undertake the perilous journey. He could not promise at first to guide

me, as his beat lay between Yambu’, Al-Madinah, Mec[c]ah, and Jeddah. But

he offered to make all inquiries about the route, and to

[p.30] bring me the result at noonday, a time when the household was

asleep. He had almost consented at last to travel with me about the end

of August, in which case I should have slipped out of Hamid’s house and

started like a Badawi towards the Indian Ocean. But when the war

commenced, Mujrim, who doubtless wished to stand by his brethren the

Hawazim, began to show signs of recusancy in putting off the day of

departure to the end of September. At last, when pressed, he frankly

told me that no traveller—nay, not a Badawi—could leave the city in that

direction, even as far as historic Khaybar,[FN#4] which information I

afterwards ascertained to be correct. It was impossible to start alone,

and when in despair I had recourse to Shaykh Hamid, he seemed to think

me mad for wishing to wend Northwards when all the world was hurrying

towards the South. My disappointment was bitter at first, but

consolation soon suggested itself. Under the most favourable

circumstances, a Badawi-trip from Al-Madinah to Maskat, fifteen or

sixteen hundred miles, would require at least ten months; whereas,

under pain of losing my commission,[FN#5] I was ordered to be at Bombay

before the end of March. Moreover, entering Arabia by Al-Hijaz, as has

before been said, I was obliged to leave behind all my instruments

except a watch and a pocket-compass, so the benefit rendered to

geography by my trip would have been scanty. Still remained

[p.31] to me the comfort of reflecting that possibly at Meccah some

opportunity of crossing the Peninsula might present itself. At any rate

I had the certainty of seeing the strange wild country of the Hijaz,

and of being present at the ceremonies of the Holy City. I must request

the reader to bear with a Visitation once more: we shall conclude it

with a ride to Al-Bakia.[FN#6] This venerable spot is frequented by the

pious every day after the prayer at the Prophet’s Tomb, and especially on

Fridays.

Our party started one morning,—on donkeys, as usual, for my foot was not

yet strong,—along the Darb al-Janazah round the Southern wall of the

town. The locomotion was decidedly slow, principally in consequence of

the tent-ropes which the Hajis had pinned down literally all over the

plain, and falls were by no means unfrequent. At last we arrived at the

end of the Darb, where I committed myself by mistaking the decaying

place of those miserable schismatics the Nakhawilah[FN#7] for Al-Bakia,

the glorious cemetery of the Saints. Hamid corrected my blunder with

tartness, to which I replied as tartly, that in our country—Afghanistan—we

burned the body of every heretic upon whom we could lay our hands. This

truly Islamitic custom was heard with general applause, and as the

little dispute ended, we stood at the open gate of Al-Bakia. Then

having dismounted I sat down on a low Dakkah or stone bench within the

walls, to obtain a general view and to prepare for the most fatiguing

of the Visitations.

There is a tradition that seventy thousand, or according to others a

hundred thousand saints, all with faces like full moons, shall cleave

on the last day the yawning bosom

[p.32] of Al-Bakia.[FN#8] About ten thousand of the Ashab (Companions

of the Prophet) and innumerable Sadat are here buried: their graves are

forgotten, because, in the olden time, tombstones were not placed over

the last resting-places of mankind. The first of flesh who shall arise

is Mohammed, the second Abu Bakr, the third Omar, then the people of

Al-Bakia (amongst whom is Osman, the fourth Caliph), and then the

incol[ae] of the Jannat al-Ma’ala, the Meccan cemetery. The Hadis, “whoever

dies at the two Harims shall rise with the Sure on the Day of judgment,”

has made these spots priceless in value. And even upon earth they might

be made a mine of wealth. Like the catacombs at Rome, Al-Bakia is

literally full of the odour of sanctity, and a single item of the great

aggregate here would render any other Moslem town famous. It is a pity

that this people refuses to exhume its relics.

The first person buried in Al-Bakia was Osman bin Maz’un, the first of

the Muhajirs, who died at Al-Madinah. In the month of Sha’aban, A.H. 3,

the Prophet kissed the forehead of the corpse and ordered it to be

interred within sight of his abode.[FN#9] In those days the field was

covered with the tree Gharkad; the vegetation was cut down, the ground

was levelled, and Osman was placed in the centre of the new cemetery.

With his own hands Mohammed planted two large upright stones at the

head and the feet of his faithful follower[FN#10]; and in process of

time a dome covered the spot. Ibrahim, the Prophet’s infant second

[p.33] son, was laid by Osman’s side, after which Al-Bakia became a

celebrated cemetery.

The Burial-place of the Saints is an irregular oblong surrounded by

walls which are connected with the suburb at their south-west angle.

The Darb al-Janazah separates it from the enceinte of the town, and the

eastern Desert Road beginning from the Bab al-Jumah bounds it on the

North. Around it palm plantations seem to flourish. It is small,

considering the extensive use made of it: all that die at Al-Madinah,

strangers as well as natives, except only heretics and schismatics,

expect to be interred in it. It must be choked with corpses, which it

could never contain did not the Moslem style of burial greatly favour

rapid decomposition; and it has all the inconveniences of “intramural

sepulture.” The gate is small and ignoble; a mere doorway in the wall.

Inside there are no flower-plots, no tall trees, in fact none of the

refinements which lightens the gloom of a Christian burial-place: the

buildings are simple, they might even be called mean. Almost all are

the common Arab Mosque, cleanly whitewashed, and looking quite new. The

ancient monuments were levelled to the ground by Sa’ad the Wahhabi and

his puritan followers, who waged pitiless warfare against what must

have appeared to them magnificent mausolea, deeming as they did a loose

heap of stones sufficient for a grave. In Burckhardt’s time the whole

place was a “confused accumulation of heaps of earth, wide pits, and

rubbish, without a singular regular tomb-stone.” The present erections

owe their existence, I was told, to the liberality of the Sultans Abd

al-Hamid and Mahmud.

A poor pilgrim has lately started on his last journey, and his corpse,

unattended by friends or mourners, is carried upon the shoulders of

hired buriers into the cemetery. Suddenly they stay their rapid steps,

and throw the body upon the ground. There is a life-like pliability

[p.34] about it as it falls, and the tight cerements so define the

outlines that the action makes me shudder. It looks almost as if the

dead were conscious of what is about to occur. They have forgotten

their tools; one man starts to fetch them, and three sit down to smoke.

After a time a shallow grave is hastily scooped out.[FN#11] The corpse

is packed in it with such unseemly haste that earth touches it in all

directions,—cruel carelessness among Moslems, who believe this to torture

the sentient frame.[FN#12] One comfort suggests itself. The poor man

being a pilgrim has died “Shahid”—in martyrdom. Ere long his spirit shall

leave Al-Bakia,

“And he on honey-dew shall feed,

And drink the milk of Paradise.”

I entered the holy cemetery right foot forwards, as if it were a

Mosque, and barefooted, to avoid suspicion of being a heretic. For

though the citizens wear their shoes in the Bakia, they are much

offended at seeing the Persians follow their example. We began by the

general benediction[FN#13]: “Peace be upon Ye, O People of Al-Bakia!

Peace be upon Ye, O Admitted to the Presence of the

[p.35] Most High! Receive Ye what Ye have been promised! Peace be upon

Ye, Martyrs of Al-Bakia, One and All! We verily, if Allah please, are

about to join You! O Allah, pardon us and Them, and the Mercy of God,

and His Blessings!” After which we recited the Chapter Al-Ikhlas and the

Testification, then raised our hands, mumbled the Fatihah, passed our

palms down our faces, and went on.

Walking down a rough narrow path, which leads from the western to the

eastern extremity of Al-Bakia, we entered the humble mausoleum of the

Caliph Osman—Osman “Al-Mazlum,” or the “ill-treated,” he is called by some

Moslems. When he was slain,[FN#14] his friends wished to bury him by

the Prophet in the Hujrah, and Ayishah made no objection to the

measure. But the people of Egypt became violent; swore that the corpse

should neither be buried nor be prayed over, and only permitted it to

be removed upon the threat of Habibah (one of the “Mothers of the Moslems,”

and daughter of Abu Sufiyan) to expose her countenance. During the

night that followed his death, Osman was carried out by several of his

friends to Al-Bakia, from which, however, they were driven away, and

obliged to deposit their burden in a garden, eastward of and outside

the saints’ cemetery. It was called Hisn Kaukab, and was looked upon as

an inauspicious place of sepulture, till Marwan included it in

Al-Bakia. We stood before Osman’s monument, repeating, “Peace be upon Thee,

O our Lord Osman, Son of Affan![FN#15] Peace be upon

[p.36] Thee, O Caliph of Allah’s Apostle! Peace be upon Thee, O Writer of

Allah’s Book! Peace be upon Thee, in whose Presence the Angels are

ashamed![FN#16] Peace be upon Thee, O Collector of the Koran! Peace be

upon Thee, O Son-in-Law of the Prophet! Peace be upon Thee, O Lord of

the Two Lights (the two daughters of Mohammed)![FN#17] Peace be upon

Thee, who fought the Battle of the Faith! Allah be satisfied with Thee,

and cause Thee to be satisfied, and render Heaven thy Habitation! Peace

be upon Thee, and the Mercy of Allah and His Blessing, and Praise be to

Allah, Lord of the (three) Worlds!” This supplication concluded in the

usual manner. After which we gave alms, and settled with ten piastres

the demands of the Khadim[FN#18] who takes charge of the tomb: this

double-disbursing process had to be repeated at each station.

Then moving a few paces to the North, we faced Eastwards, and performed

the Visitation of Abu Sa’id al-Khazari, a Sahib or Companion of the

Prophet, whose sepulchre lies outside Al-Bakia. The third place visited

was a dome containing the tomb of our lady Halimah, the Badawi

wet-nurse who took charge of Mohammed[FN#19]:

[p.37] she is addressed hus; “Peace be upon Thee, O Halimah the

Auspicious![FN#20] Peace be upon Thee, who performed thy Trust in

suckling the Best of Mankind! Peace be upon Thee, O Wet-nurse of

Al-Mustafa (the chosen)! Peace be upon Thee, O Wet-nurse of Al-Mujtaba

(the (accepted)![FN#21] May Allah be satisfied with Thee, and cause

Thee to be satisfied, and render Heaven thy House and Habitation! and

verily we have come visiting Thee, and by means of Thee drawing near to

Allah’s Prophet, and through Him to God, the Lord of the Heavens and the

Earths.[FN#22]”

After which, fronting the North, we stood before a low enclosure,

containing ovals of loose stones, disposed side by side. These are the

Martyrs of Al-Bakia, who received the crown of glory at the hands of

Al-Muslim,[FN#23] the general of the arch-heretic Yazid[FN#24] The

prayer here recited differs so little from that addressed to the

martyrs of Ohod, that I will not transcribe it. The fifth station is

near the centre of the cemetery at the tomb of Ibrahim, who died, to

the eternal regret of Al-Islam, some say six months old, others in his

second year. He was the son

[p.38] of Mariyah, the Coptic girl, sent as a present to Mohammed by

Jarih, the Mukaukas or governor of Alexandria. The Prophet with his own

hand piled earth upon the grave, and sprinkled it with water,—a ceremony

then first performed,—disposed small stones upon it, and pronounced the

final salutation. For which reason many holy men were buried in this

part of the cemetery, every one being ambitious to lie in ground which

has been honored by the Apostle’s hands. Then we visited Al-Nafi Maula,

son of Omar, generally called Imam Nafi al-Kari, or the Koran chaunter;

and near him the great doctor Imam Malik ibn Anas, a native of

Al-Madinah, and one of the most dutiful of her sons. The eighth station

is at the tomb of Ukayl bin Abi Talib, brother of Ali.[FN#25] Then we

visited the spot where lie interred all the Prophet’s wives, Khadijah,

who lies at Meccah, alone excepted. Mohammed married fifteen wives of

whom nine survived him. After the “Mothers of the Moslems,” we prayed at

the tombs of Mohammed’s daughters, said to be ten in number.

In compliment probably to the Hajj, the beggars mustered strong that

morning at Al-Bakia. Along the walls and at the entrance of each

building squatted ancient dames, all engaged in anxious contemplation

of every approaching face, and in pointing to dirty cotton napkins

spread upon the ground before them, and studded with a few coins, gold,

silver, or copper, according to the expectations of the proprietress.

They raised their voices to demand largesse: some promised to recite

Fatihahs, and the most audacious seized visitors by the skirts of their

[p.39] garments. Fakihs, ready to write “Y.S.,” or anything else demanded

of them, covered the little heaps and eminences of the cemetery, all

begging lustily, and looking as though they would murder you, when told

how beneficent is Allah—polite form of declining to be charitable. At the

doors of the tombs old housewives, and some young ones also, struggled

with you for your slippers as you doffed them, and not unfrequently the

charge of the pair was divided between two. Inside, when the boys were

not loud enough or importunate enough for presents, they were urged on

by the adults and seniors, the relatives of the “Khadims” and hangers-on.

Unfortunately for me, Shaykh Hamid was renowned for taking charge of

wealthy pilgrims: the result was, that my purse was lightened of three

dollars. I must add that although at least fifty female voices loudly

promised that morning, for the sum of ten parahs each, to supplicate

Allah in behalf of my lame foot, no perceptible good came of their

efforts.

Before leaving Al-Bakia, we went to the eleventh station, [FN#26] the

Kubbat al-Abbasiyah, or Dome of Abbas. Originally built by the Abbaside

Caliphs in A.H. 519, it is a larger and a handsomer building than its

fellows, and it is situated on the right-hand side of the gate as you

enter. The crowd of beggars at the door testified to its importance:

they were attracted by the Persians who assemble here in force to weep

and to pray. Crossing the threshold with some difficulty, I walked

round a mass of tombs which occupies the centre of the building,

leaving but a narrow passage between it and the walls. It is railed

round, and covered over with several “Kiswahs” of green cloth worked with

white letters: it looked like a confused

[p.40] heap, but it might have appeared irregular to me by the reason

of the mob around. The Eastern portion contains the body of Al-Hasan,

the son of Ali and grandson of the Prophet[FN#27]; the Imam Zayn

al-Abidin, son of Al-Hosayn, and great-grandson to the Prophet; the

Imam Mohammed al-Bakir (fifth Imam), son to Zayn al-Abidin; and his son

the Imam a’afar al-Sadik—all four descendants of the Prophet, and buried in

the same grave with Abbas ibn Abd al-Muttalib, uncle to Mohammed. It is

almost needless to say that these names are subjects of great

controversy. Al-Musudi mentions that here was found an inscribed stone

declaring it to be the tomb of the Lady Fatimah, of Hasan her brother,

of Ali bin Hosayn, of Mohammed bin Ali, and of Ja’afar bin Mohammed. Ibn

Jubayr, describing Al-Bakia, mentions only two in this tomb, Abbas and

Hasan; the head of the latter, he says, in the direction of the former’s

feet. Other authors

[p.41] relate that in it, about the ninth century of the Hijrah, was

found a wooden box covered with fresh-looking red felt cloth, with

bright brass nails, and they believe it to have contained the corpse of

Ali, placed here by his own son Hasan.

Standing opposite this mysterious tomb, we repeated, with difficulty by

reason of the Persians weeping, the following supplication:—“Peace be upon

Ye, O Family of the Prophet! O Lord Abbas, the free from Impurity and

Uncleanness, and Father’s Brother to the Best of Men! And Thou too O Lord

Hasan, Grandson of the Prophet! And thou also O Lord Zayn

al-Abidin[FN#28]! Peace be upon Ye, One and All, for verily God hath

been pleased to deliver You from all Guile, and to purify You with all

Purity. The Mercy of Allah and His Blessings be upon Ye, and verily He

is the Praised, the Mighty!” After which, freeing ourselves from the

hands of greedy boys, we turned round and faced the southern wall,

close to which is a tomb attributed to the Lady Fatimah.[FN#29] I will

not repeat the prayer, it being the same as that recited in the Harim.

[p.42] Issuing from the hot and crowded dome, we recovered our slippers

after much trouble, and found that our garments had suffered from the

frantic gesticulations of the Persians. We then walked to the gate of

Al-Bakia, stood facing the cemetery upon an elevated piece of ground,

and delivered the general benediction.

“O Allah! O Allah! O Allah! O full of Mercy! O abounding in Beneficence!

Lord of Length (of days), and Prosperity, and Goodness! O Thou, who

when asked, grantest, and when prayed for aid, aidest! Have Mercy upon

the Companions of thy Prophet, of the Muhajirin, and the Ansar! Have

Mercy upon them, One and All!

[p.43] Have Mercy upon bdullah bin Hantal” (and so on, specifying their

names), “and make Paradise their Resting-place, their Habitation, their

Dwelling, and their Abode! O Allah! accept our Ziyarat, and supply our

Wants, and lighten our Griefs, and restore us to our Homes, and comfort

our Fears, and disappoint not our Hopes, and pardon us, for on no other

do we rely; and let us depart in Thy Faith, and after the Practice of

Thy Prophet, and be Thou satisfied with us! O Allah! forgive our past

Offences, and leave us not to our (evil) Natures during the Glance of

an Eye, or a lesser Time; and pardon us, and pity us, and let us return

to our Houses and Homes safe,” (i.e., spiritually and physically)

“fortunate, abstaining from what is unlawful, re-established after our

Distresses, and belonging to the Good, thy Servants upon whom is no

Fear, nor do they know Distress. Repentance, O Lord! Repentance, O

Merciful! Repentance, O Pitiful! Repentance before Death, and Pardon

after Death! I beg pardon of Allah! Thanks be to Allah! Praise be to

Allah! Amen, O Lord of the (three) Worlds!”

After which, issuing from Al-Bakia,[FN#30] we advanced

[p.44] northwards, leaving the city gate on the left hand, till we came

to a small Kubbah (dome) close to the road. It is visited as containing

the tomb of the Prophet’s paternal aunts, especially of Safiyah, daughter

of Abd al-Muttalib, sister of Hamzah, and one of the many heroines of

early Al-Islam. Hurrying over our devotions here,—for we were tired

indeed,—we applied to a Sakka for water, and entered a little

coffee-house near the gate of the town: after which we rode home.

I have now described, at a wearying length I fear, the spots visited by

every Zair at Al-Madinah. The guide-books mention altogether between

fifty and fifty-five Mosques and other holy places, most of which are

now unknown even by name to the citizens. The most celebrated of these

are the few following, which I describe from hearsay. About three miles

to the North-west of the town, close to the Wady al-Akik, lies the

Mosque called Al-Kiblatayn—“The Two Directions of Prayer.” Some give this

title to the Masjid al-Takwa at Kuba.[FN#31] Others assert that the

Prophet, after visiting and eating

[p.45] at the house of an old woman named Umm Mabshar, went to pray the

mid-day prayer in the Mosque of the Benu Salmah. He had performed the

prostration with his face towards Jerusalem, when suddenly warned by

revelation he turned Southwards and concluded his orisons in that

direction.[FN#32] I am told it is a mean dome without inner walls,

outer enclosures, or minaret.

The Masjid Benu Zafar (some write the word Tifr) is also called Masjid

al-Baghlah—of the She-mule,—because, according to Al-Matari, on the ridge

of stone to the south of this Mosque are the marks where the Prophet

leaned his arm, and where the she-mule, Duldul, sent by the Mukaukas as

a present with Mariyah the Coptic girl and Yafur the donkey, placed its

hoofs. At the Mosque was shown a slab upon which the Prophet sat

hearing recitations from the Koran; and historians declare that by

following his example many women have been blessed with

offspring.[FN#33] This Mosque is to the East of Al-Bakia.

The Masjid al-Jumah—of Friday,—or Al-Anikah—of the Sand-heaps,—is in the valley

near Kuba, where Mohammed prayed and preached on the first Friday after

his flight from Meccah [FN#34]

The Masjid al-Fazikh—of Date-liquor—is so called because when Abu Ayyub and

others of the Ansar were sitting with cups in their hands, they heard

that intoxicating

[p.46] draughts were for the future forbidden, upon which they poured

the liquor upon the ground. Here the Prophet prayed six days whilst he

was engaged in warring down the Benu Nazir Jews. The Mosque derives its

other name, Al-Shams—of the Sun—because, being erected on rising ground

East of and near Kuba, it receives the first rays of morning light.

To the Eastward of the Masjid al-Fazikh lies the Masjid al-Kurayzah,

erected on a spot where the Prophet descended to attack the Jewish

tribe of that name. Returning from the battle of the Moat, wayworn and

tired with fighting, he here sat down to wash and comb his hair, when

suddenly appeared to him the Archangel Gabriel in the figure of a

horseman dressed in a corslet and covered with dust. “The Angels of Allah,”

said the preternatural visitor, “are still in Arms, O Prophet, and it is

Allah’s Will that Thy foot return to the Stirrup. I go before Thee to

prepare a Victory over the Infidels, the Sons of Kurayzah.” The legend

adds that the dust raised by the angelic host was seen in the streets

of Al-Madinah, but that mortal eye fell not upon horseman’s form. The

Prophet ordered his followers to sound the battle-call, gave his flag

to Ali,—the Arab token of appointing a commander-in-chief,—and for

twenty-five days invested the habitations of the enemy. This hapless

tribe was exterminated, sentence of death being passed upon them by Sa’ad

ibn Ma’az, an Ausi whom they constituted their judge because he belonged

to an allied tribe. Six hundred men were beheaded in the Market-place

of Al-Madinah, their property was plundered, and their wives and

children were reduced to slavery.

“Tantane relligio potuit suadere malorum!”

The Masjid Mashrabat Umm Ibrahim, or Mosque of the garden of Ibrahim’s

mother, is a place where Mariyah the Copt had a garden, and became the

mother of

[p.47] Ibrahim, the Prophet’s second son.[FN#35] It is a small building

in what is called the Awali, or highest part of the Al-Madinah plain,

to the North of the Masjid Benu Kurayzah, and near the Eastern Harrah

or ridge.[FN#36]

Northwards of Al-Bakia is, or was, a small building called the Masjid

al-Ijabah—of Granting,—from the following circumstance. One day the Prophet

stopped to perform his devotions at this place, which then belonged to

the Benu Mu’awiyah of the tribe of Aus. He made a long Dua or

supplication, and then turning to his Companions, exclaimed, “I have

asked of Allah three favours, two hath he vouchsafed to me, but the

third was refused!” Those granted were that the Moslems might never be

destroyed by famine or by deluge. The third was that they might not

perish by internecine strife.

The Masjid al-Fath (of Victory), vulgarly called the “Four Mosques,” is

situated in the Wady Al-Sayh,[FN#37] which comes from the direction of

Kuba, and about half a mile to the East of “Al-Kiblatayn.” The largest is

called the Masjid al-Fath, or Al-Ahzab—of the Troops,—and is alluded to in

the Koran. Here it is said the Prophet prayed for three days during the

Battle of the Moat, also called the affair “Al-Ahzab,” the last fought with

the Infidel Kuraysh under Abu Sufiyan. After three days of devotion, a

cold and violent blast arose, with rain

[p.48] and sleet, and discomfited the foe. The Prophet’s prayer having

here been granted, it is supposed by ardent Moslems that no petition

put up at the Mosque Al-Ahzab is ever neglected by Allah. The form of

supplication is differently quoted by different authors. When Al-Shafe’i

was in trouble and fear of Harun al-Rashid, by the virtue of this

formula he escaped all danger: I would willingly offer so valuable a

prophylactory to my readers, only it is of an unmanageable length. The

doctors of Al-Islam also greatly differ about the spot where the

Prophet stood on this occasion; most of them support the claims of the

Masjid al-Fath, the most elevated of the four, to that distinction.

Below, and to the South of the highest ground, is the Masjid Salman

al-Farsi, the Persian, from whose brain emanated the bright idea of the

Moat. At the mature age of two hundred and fifty, some say three

hundred and fifty, after spending his life in search of a religion,

from a Magus (fire-worshipper)[FN#38] becoming successively a Jew and a

Nazarene, he ended with being a Moslem, and a Companion of Mohammed.

During his eventful career he had been ten times sold into slavery.

Below Salman’s Mosque is the Masjid Ali, and the smallest building on the

South of the hill is called Masjid Abu Bakr. All these places owe their

existence to Al-Walid the Caliph: they were repaired at times by his

successors.

The Masjid al-Rayah—of the Banner—was originally built by Al-Walid upon a

place where the Prophet pitched his tent during the War of the Moat.

Others call it Al-Zubab, after a hill upon which it stands. Al-Rayah is

separated from the Masjid al-Fath by a rising ground called Jabal Sula

or Jabal Sawab[FN#39]: the former

[p.49] being on the Eastern, whilst the latter lies upon the Western

declivity of the hill. The position of this place is greatly admired,

as commanding the fairest view of the Harim.

About a mile and a half South-east of Al-Bakia is a dome called Kuwwat

Islam, the “Strength of Al-Islam.” Here the Apostle planted a dry

palm-stick, which grew up, blossomed, and bore fruit at once. Moreover,

on one occasion when the Moslems were unable to perform the pilgrimage,

Mohammed here produced the appearance of a Ka’abah, an Arafat, and all

the appurtenances of the Hajj. I must warn my readers not to condemn

the founder of Al-Islam for these puerile inventions.

The Masjid Onayn lies South of Hamzah’s tomb. It is on a hill called

Jabal al-Rumat, the Shooters’ Hill, and here during the battle of Ohod

stood the archers of Al-Islam. According to some, the Prince of Martyrs

here received his death-wound; others place that event at the Masjid

al-Askar or the Masjid al-Wady.[FN#40]

Besides these fourteen, I find the names, and nothing but the names, of

forty Mosques. The reader loses little by my unwillingness to offer him

a detailed list of such appellations as Masjid Benu Abd al-Ashhal,

Masjid Benu Harisah, Masjid Benu Harim, Masjid al-Fash, Masjid

al-Sukiya, Masjid Benu Bayazah, Masjid Benu Hatmah,

“Cum multis aliis quæ nunc perscribere longum est.”

[FN#1] The cholera. See chapter xviii.

[FN#2] The word Hawamid is plural of Hamidah, Hawazin of Hazimi.

[FN#3] Anciently there was a Caravan from Maskat to Al-Madinah. My

friends could not tell me when the line had been given up, but all were

agreed that for years they had not seen an Oman caravan, the pilgrims

preferring to enter Al-Hijaz via Jeddah.

[FN#4] According to Abulfeda, Khaybar is six stations N.E. of

Al-Madinah; it is four according to Al-Idrisi; but my informants

assured me that camels go there easily, as the Tarikh al-Khamisy says,

in three days. I should place it 80 miles N.N.E. of Al-Madinah.

Al-Atwal locates it in 65° 20' E. lon., and 25° 20' N. lat; Al-Kanun in

lon. 67° 30', and lat. 24° 20'; Ibn Sa’id in lon. 64° 56', and lat. 27°; and

D’Anville in lon. 57°, and lat. 25°. In Burckhardt’s map, and those copied from

it, Khaybar is placed about 2° distant from Al-Madinah, which I believe

to be too far.

[FN#5] The Parliamentary limit of an officer’s leave from India is five

years: if he overstay that period, he forfeits his commission.

{to me the comfort of reflecting that possibly at Meccah some

opportunity of crossing the Peninsula might present itself. At any rate

I had the certainty of seeing the strange wild country of the Hijaz,

and of being present at the ceremonies of the Holy City. I must request

the reader to bear with a Visitation once more: we shall conclude it

with a ride to Al-Bakia.[FN#6] This venerable spot is frequented by the

pious every day after the prayer at the Prophet’s Tomb, and especially on

Fridays.

[FN#6] The name means “the place of many roots.” It is also called Bakia

Al-Gharkad—the place of many roots of the tree Rhamnus. Gharkad is

translated in different ways: some term it the lote, others the tree of

the Jews (Forskal, sub voce).

[FN#7] See chapter xxi., ante.

[FN#8] The same is said of the Makbarah Benu Salmah or Salim, a

cemetery to the west of Al-Madinah, below rising ground called Jabal

Sula. It has long ago been deserted. See chapter xiv.

[FN#9] In those days Al-Madinah had no walls, and was clear of houses

on the East of the Harim.

[FN#10] These stones were removed by Al-Marwan, who determined that

Osman’s grave should not be distinguished from his fellows. For this act,

the lieutenant of Mu’awiyah was reproved and blamed by pious Moslems.

[FN#11] It ought to be high enough for the tenant to sit upright when

answering the interrogatory angels.

[FN#12] Because of this superstition, in every part of Al-Islam, some

contrivance is made to prevent the earth pressing upon the body.

[FN#13] This blessing is in Mohammed’s words, as the beauty of the Arabic

shows. Ayishah relates that in the month Safar, A.H. 11, one night the

Prophet, who was beginning to suffer from the headache which caused his

death, arose from his couch, and walked out into the darkness;

whereupon she followed him in a fit of jealousy, thinking he might be

about to visit some other wife. He went to Al-Bakia, delivered the

above benediction (which others give somewhat differently), raised his

hands three times, and turned to go home. Ayishah hurried back, but she

could not conceal her agitation from her husband, who asked her what

she had done. Upon her confessing her suspicions, he sternly informed

her that he had gone forth, by order of the Archangel Gabriel, to bless

and to intercede for the people of Al-Bakia. Some authors relate a more

facetious termination of the colloquy.—M.C. de Perceval (Essai, &c., vol.

iii. p. 314.)

[FN#14] “Limping Osman,” as the Persians contemptuously call him, was slain

by rebels, and therefore became a martyr according to the Sunnis. The

Shi’ahs justify the murder, saying it was the act of an “Ijma al-Muslimin,”

or the general consensus of Al-Islam, which in their opinion ratifies

an act of “lynch law.”

[FN#15] This specifying the father Affan, proves him to have been a

Moslem. Abu Bakr’s father, “Kahafah,” and Omar’s “Al-Khattab,” are not mentioned by

name in the Ceremonies of Visitation.

[FN#16] The Christian reader must remember that the Moslems rank

angelic nature, under certain conditions, below human nature.

[FN#17] Osman married two daughters of the Prophet, a circumstance

which the Sunnis quote as honourable to him: the Shi’ahs, on the

contrary, declare that he killed them both by ill-treatment.

[FN#18] These men are generally descendants of the Saint whose tomb

they own: they receive pensions from the Mudir of the Mosque, and

retain all fees presented to them by visitors. Some families are

respectably supported in this way.

[FN#19] This woman, according to some accounts, also saved Mohammed’s

life, when an Arab Kahin or diviner, foreseeing that the child was

destined to subvert the national faith, urged the bystanders to bury

their swords in his bosom. The Sharifs of Meccah still entrust their

children to the Badawin, that they may be hardened by the discipline of

the Desert. And the late Pasha of Egypt gave one of his sons in charge

of the Anizah tribe, near Akabah. Burckhardt (Travels in Arabia, vol.

i. p. 427) makes some sensible remarks about this custom, which cannot

be too much praised.

[FN#20] Al- “Sadiyah,” a double entendre; it means auspicious, and also

alludes to Halimah’s tribe, the Benu Sa’ad.

[FN#21] Both these words are titles of the Prophet. Al-Mustafa means

the “Chosen”; Al-Mujtaba, the “Accepted.”

[FN#22] There being, according to the Moslems, many heavens and many

earths.

[FN#23] See chapter xx.

[FN#24] The Shafe’i school allows its disciples to curse Al-Yazid, the

son of Mu’awiyah, whose cruelties to the descendants of the Prophet, and

crimes and vices, have made him the Judas Iscariot of Al-Islam. I have

heard Hanafi Moslems, especially Sayyids, revile him; but this is not,

strictly speaking, correct. The Shi’ahs, of course, place no limits to

their abuse of him. You first call a man “Omar,” then “Shimr,” (the slayer of

Al-Hosayn), and lastly, “Yazid,” beyond which insult does not extend.

[FN#25] Ukayl or Akil, as many write the name, died at Damascus, during

the Caliphate of Al-Mu’awiyah. Some say he was buried there, others that

his corpse was transplanted to Al-Madinah, and buried in a place where

formerly his house, known as “Dar Ukayl,” stood.

[FN#26] Some are of opinion that the ceremonies of Ziyarat formerly

did, and still should begin here. But the order of visitation differs

infinitely, and no two authors seem to agree. I was led by Shaykh

Hamid, and indulged in no scruples.

[FN#27] Burckhardt makes a series of mistakes upon this subject. “Hassan

ibn Aly, whose trunk only lies buried here (in El Bakia), his head

having been sent to Cairo, where it is preserved in the fine Mosque

called El-Hassanya.” The Mosque Al-Hasanayn (the “two Hasans”) is supposed to

contain only the head of Al-Hosayn, which, when the Crusaders took

Ascalon, was brought from thence by Sultan Salih or Beybars, and

conveyed to Cairo. As I have said before, the Persians in Egypt openly

show their contempt of this tradition. It must be remembered that

Al-Hasan died poisoned at Al-Madinah by his wife Ja’adah. Al-Hosayn, on

the other hand, was slain and decapitated at Kerbela. According to the

Shi’ahs, Zayn al-Abidin obtained from Yazid, after a space of forty days,

his father’s head, and carried it back to Kerbela, for which reason the

event is known to the Persians as “Chilleyeh sar o tan,” the “forty days of

(separation between) the head and trunk.” They vehemently deny that the

body lies at Kerbela, and the head at Cairo. Others, again, declare

that Al-Hosayn’s head was sent by Yazid to Amir bin al-As, the governor

of Al-Madinah, and was by him buried near Fatimah’s Tomb. Nor are they

wanting who declare, that after Yazid’s death the head was found in his

treasury, and was shrouded and buried at Damascus. Such is the

uncertainty which hangs over the early history of Al-Islam[.]

[FN#28] The names of the fifth and sixth Imams, Mohammed al-Bakia and

Ja’afar al-Sadik, were omitted by Hamid, as doubtful whether they are

really buried here or not.

[FN#29] Moslem historians seem to delight in the obscurity which hangs

over the lady’s last resting-place, as if it were an honour even for the

receptacle of her ashes to be concealed from the eyes of men. Some

place her in the Harim, relying upon this tradition: “Fatimah, feeling

about to die, rose up joyfully, performed the greater ablution, dressed

herself in pure garments, spread a mat upon the floor of her house near

the Prophet’s Tomb, lay down fronting the Kiblah, placed her hand under

her cheek, and said to her attendant, “I am pure and in a pure dress; now

let no one uncover my body, but bury me where I lie!” When Ali returned

he found his wife dead, and complied with her last wishes. Omar bin Abd

al-Aziz believed this tradition, when he included the room in the

Mosque; and generally in Al-Islam Fatimah is supposed to be buried in

the Harim. Those who suppose the Prophet’s daughter to be buried in

Al-Bakia rely upon a saying of the Imam Hasan, “If men will not allow me

to sleep beside my grandsire, place me in Al-Bakia, by my mother.” They

give the following account of his death and burial. His body was bathed

and shrouded by Ali and Omar Salmah. Others say that Asma Bint Umays,

the wife of Abu Bakr, was present with Fatimah, who at her last hour

complained of being carried out, as was the custom of those days, to

burial like a man. Asma promised to make her a covered bier, like a

bride’s litter, of palm sticks, in shape like what she had seen in

Abyssinia: whereupon Fatimah smiled for the first time after her father’s

death, and exacted from her a promise to allow no one entrance as long

as her corpse was in the house. Ayishah, shortly afterwards knocking at

the door, was refused admittance by Asma; the former complained of this

to her father, and declared that her stepmother had been making a bride’s

litter to carry out the corpse. Abu Bakr went to the door, and when

informed by his wife that all was the result of Fatimah’s orders, he

returned home making no objection. The death of the Prophet’s daughter

was concealed by her own desire from high and low; she was buried at

night, and none accompanied her bier, or prayed at her grave, except

Ali and a few relatives. The Shi’ahs found a charge of irreverence and

disrespect against Abu Bakr for absence on this occasion. The third

place which claims Fatimah’s honoured remains, is a small Mosque in

Al-Bakia, South of the Sepulchre of Abbas. It was called Bayt

al-Huzn—House of Mourning—because here the lady passed the end of her days,

lamenting the loss of her father. Her tomb appears to have formerly

been shown there. Now visitors pray, and pray only twice,—at the Harim,

and in the Kubbat al-Abbasiyah.

[FN#30] The other celebrities in Al-Bakia are:—

Fatimah bint As’ad, mother of Ali. She was buried with great religious

pomp. The Prophet shrouded her with his own garment (to prevent hell

from touching her), dug her grave, lay down in it (that it might never

squeeze or be narrow to her), assisted in carrying the bier, prayed

over her, and proclaimed her certain of future felicity. Over her tomb

was written, “The grave hath not closed upon one like Fatimah, daughter

of As’ad.” Historians relate that Mohammed lay down in only four graves: 1.

Khadijah’s, at Meccah. 2. Kasim’s, her son by him. 3. That of Umm Ruman,

Ayishah’s mother. 4. That of Abdullah al-Mazni, a friend and companion.

Abd al-Rahman bin Auf was interred near Osman bin Maz’un. Ayishah offered

to bury him in her house near the Prophet, but he replied that he did

not wish to narrow her abode, and that he had promised to sleep by the

side of his friend Maz’un. I have already alluded to the belief that none

has been able to occupy the spare place in the Hujrah.

Ibn Hufazah al-Sahmi, who was one of the Ashab al-Hijratayn (who had

accompanied both flights, the greater and the lesser), here died of a

wound received at Ohod, and was buried in Shawwal, A.H. 3, one month

after Osman bin Maz’un.

Abdullah bin Mas’ud, who, according to others, is buried at Kufah.

Sa’ad ibn Zararah, interred near Osman bin Maz’un.

Sa’ad bin Ma’az, who was buried by the Prophet. He died of a wound received

during the battle of the Moat.

Abd al-Rahman al-Ausat, son of Omar, the Caliph. He was generally known

as Abu Shahmah, the “Father of Fat”: he sickened and died, after receiving

from his father the religious flogging—impudicitiae causa.

Abu Sufiyan bin al-Haris, grandson of Abd al-Muttalib. He was buried

near Abdullah bin Ja’afar al-Tayyar, popularly known as the “most generous

of the Arabs,” and near Ukayl bin Abi Talib, the brother of Ali mentioned

above.

These are the principal names mentioned by popular authors. The curious

reader will find in old histories a multitude of others, whose graves

are now utterly forgotten at Al-Madinah.

[FN#31] See chapter xix.

[FN#32] The story is related in another way. Whilst Mohammed was

praying the Asr or afternoon prayer at the Harim he turned his face

towards Meccah. Some of the Companions ran instantly to all the

Mosques, informing the people of the change. In many places they were

not listened to, but the Benu Salmah who were at prayer instantly faced

Southwards. To commemorate their obedience the Mosque was called

Al-Kiblatayn.

[FN#33] I cannot say whether this valuable stone be still at the Mosque

Benu Tifr. But I perfectly remember that my friend Larking had a

mutilated sphynx in his garden at Alexandria, which was found equally

efficacious.

[FN#34] See chapter xvii.

[FN#35] Mohammed’s eldest son was Kasim, who died in his infancy, and was

buried at Meccah. Hence the Prophet’s pædonymic, Abu Kasim, the sire of

Kasim.

[FB#36] Ayishah used to relate that she was exceedingly jealous of the

Coptic girl’s beauty, and of the Prophet’s love for her. Mohammed seeing

this, removed Mariyah from the house of Harisat bin al-Numan, in which

he had placed her, to the Awali of Al-Madinah, where the Mosque now is.

Oriental authors use this term “Awali,” high-grounds, to denote the plains

to the Eastward and Southward of the City, opposed to Al-Safilah, the

lower ground on the W. and N.W.

[FN#37] I am very doubtful about this location of the Masjid al-Fath.

[FN#38] A magus, a magician, one supposed to worship fire. The other

rival sect of the time was the Sabœan who adored the heavenly bodies.

[FN#39] The Mosque of “reward in heaven.” It is so called because during

the War of the Moat, the Prophet used to live in a cave there, and

afterwards he made it a frequent resort for prayer.

[FN#40] Hamzah’s fall is now placed at the Kubbat al-Masra. See chapter

xx.

[p.50]CHAPTER XXIII.

THE DAMASCUS CARAVAN.

THE Damascus Caravan was to set out on the 27th Zu’l Ka’adah (1st

September). I had intended to stay at Al-Madinah till the last moment,

and to accompany the Kafilat al-Tayyarah, or the “Flying Caravan,” which

usually leaves on the 2nd Zu’l Hijjah, two days after that of Damascus.

Suddenly arose the rumour that there would be no Tayyarah,[FN#l] and

that all pilgrims must proceed with the Damascus Caravan or await the

Rakb. This is a Dromedary Caravan, in which each person carries only

his saddle-bags. It usually descends by the road called Al-Khabt, and

makes Meccah on the fifth day. The Sharif Zayd, Sa’ad the Robber’s only

friend, had paid him an unsuccessful visit. Schinderhans demanded back

his Shaykh-ship, in return for a safe-conduct through his country:

“Otherwise,” said he, “I will cut the throat of every hen that ventures into

the passes.”

The Sharif Zayd returned to Al-Madinah on the 25th Zu’l Ka’adah (30th

August). Early on the morning of the next day, Shaykh Hamid returned

hurriedly from the bazar, exclaiming, “You must make ready at once,

Effendi!—there will be no Tayyarah—all Hajis start to-morrow—Allah will make

it easy to you!—have you

[p.51] your water-skins in order?—you are to travel down the Darb

al-Sharki, where you will not see water for three days!”

Poor Hamid looked horrorstruck as he concluded this fearful

announcement, which filled me with joy. Burckhardt had visited and had

described the Darb al-Sultani, the road along the coast. But no

European had as yet travelled down by Harun al-Rashid’s and the Lady

Zubaydah’s celebrated route through the Nijd Desert.

Not a moment, however, was to be lost: we expected to start early the

next morning. The boy Mohammed went forth, and bought for eighty

piastres a Shugduf, which lasted us throughout the pilgrimage, and for

fifteen piastres a Shibriyah or cot to be occupied by Shaykh Nur, who

did not relish sleeping on boxes. The youth was employed all day, with

sleeves tucked up, and working like a porter, in covering the litter

with matting and rugs, in mending broken parts, and in providing it

with large pockets for provisions inside and outside, with pouches to

contain the gugglets of cooled water.

Meanwhile Shaykh Nur and I, having inspected the water-skins, found

that the rats had made considerable rents in two of them. There being

no workman procurable at this time for gold, I sat down to patch the

damaged articles; whilst Nur was sent to lay in supplies for fourteen

days. The journey is calculated at eleven days; but provisions are apt

to spoil, and the Badawi camel-men expect to be fed. Besides which,

pilferers abound. By my companion’s advice I took wheat-flour, rice,

turmeric, onions, dates, unleavened bread of two kinds, cheese, limes,

tobacco, sugar, tea and coffee.

Hamid himself started upon the most important part of our business.

Faithful camel-men are required upon a road where robberies are

frequent and stabbings occasional, and where there is no law to prevent

desertion or to limit new and exorbitant demands. After a time he

[p.52] returned, accompanied by a boy and a Badawi, a short, thin,

well-built old man with regular features, a white beard, and a cool

clear eye; his limbs, as usual, were scarred with wounds. Mas’ud of the

Rahlah, a sub-family of the Hamidah family of the Benu-Harb, came in

with a dignified demeanour, applied his dexter palm to ours,[FN#2] sat

down, declined a pipe, accepted coffee, and after drinking it, looked

at us to show that he was ready for nego[t]iation. We opened the

proceedings with “We want men, and not camels,” and the conversation

proceeded in the purest Hijazi.[FN#3] After much discussion, we agreed,

if compelled to travel by the Darb al-Sharki, to pay twenty dollars for

two camels,[FN#4] and to advance Arbun, or earnest-money, to half that

amount.[FN#5] The Shaykh bound himself to provide us with good animals,

which, moreover, were to be changed in case of accidents: he was also

to supply his beasts with water, and to accompany us to Arafat and

back. But, absolutely refusing to carry my large chest, he declared

that the tent under the Shugduf was burden enough for one camel; and

that the green box of drugs, the saddle-bags, and the provision-sacks,

surmounted by Nur’s cot, were amply sufficient for the other. On our

part, we bound ourselves to feed the

[p.53] Shaykh and his son, supplying them either with raw or with

cooked provender, and, upon our return to Meccah from Mount Arafat, to

pay the remaining hire with a discretionary present.

Hamid then addressed to me flowery praises of the old Badawi. After

which, turning to the latter, he exclaimed, “Thou wilt treat these

friends well, O Mas’ud the Harbi!” The ancient replied with a dignity that

had no pomposity in it,—“Even as Abu Shawarib—the Father of

Mustachios[FN#6]—behaveth to us, so will we behave to him!” He then arose,

bade us be prepared when the departure-gun sounded, saluted us, and

stalked out of the room, followed by his son, who, under pretext of

dozing, had mentally made an inventory of every article in the room,

ourselves especially included.

When the Badawin disappeared, Shaykh Hamid shook his head, advising me

to give them plenty to eat, and never to allow twenty-four hours to

elapse without dipping hand in the same dish with them, in order that

the party might always be “Malihin,”—on terms of salt.[FN#7] He concluded

[p.54] with a copious lecture upon the villainy of Badawin, and on

their habit of drinking travellers’ water. I was to place the skins on a

camel in front, and not behind; to hang them with their mouths

carefully tied, and turned upwards, contrary to the general practice;

always to keep a good store of liquid, and at night to place it under

the safeguard of the tent.

In the afternoon, Omar Effendi and others dropped in to take leave.

They found me in the midst of preparations, sewing sacks, fitting up a

pipe, patching water-bags, and packing medicines. My fellow-traveller

had brought me some pencils[FN#8] and a penknife, as “forget-me-nots,” for

we were by no means sure of meeting again. He hinted, however, at

another escape from the paternal abode, and proposed, if possible, to

join the Dromedary-Caravan. Shaykh Hamid said the same, but I saw, by

the expression of his face, that his mother and wife would not give him

leave from home so soon after his return.

Towards evening-time the Barr al-Manakhah became a scene of exceeding

confusion. The town of tents lay upon the ground. Camels were being

laden, and were roaring under the weight of litters and cots, boxes and

baggage. Horses and mules galloped about. Men were rushing wildly in

all directions on worldly errands, or hurrying to pay a farewell visit

to the Prophet’s Tomb. Women and children sat screaming on the ground, or

ran to and fro distracted, or called their vehicles to escape the

danger of being crushed. Every now and then a random shot excited all

into the belief that the departure-gun had sounded. At times we heard a

volley from the robbers’ hills, which elicited a general groan, for the

pilgrims were still, to use their own phrase, “between fear

[p.55] and hope,” and, consequently, still far from “one of the two

comforts.[FN#9]” Then would sound the loud “Jhin-Jhin” of the camels’ bells, as

the stately animals paced away with some grandee’s gilt and emblazoned

litter, the sharp plaint of the dromedary, and the loud neighing of

excited steeds.

About an hour after sunset all our preparations were concluded, save

only the Shugduf, at which the boy Mohammed still worked with untiring

zeal; he wisely remembered that he had to spend in it the best portion

of a week and a half. The evening was hot, we therefore dined outside

the house. I was told to repair to the Harim for the Ziyarat al-Wida’a,

or the “Farewell Visitation”; but my decided objection to this step was

that we were all to part,—how soon!—and when to meet again we knew not. My

companions smiled consent, assuring me that the ceremony could be

performed as well at a distance as in the temple.

Then Shaykh Hamid made me pray a two-bow prayer, and afterwards, facing

towards the Harim, to recite this supplication with raised hands:

“O Apostle of Allah, we beg Thee to entreat Almighty Allah, that He cut

off no Portion of the Good resulting to us, from this Visit to Thee and

to Thy Harim! May He cause us to return safe and prosperous to our

Birth-places; aid then us in the Progeny he hath given us, and continue

to us his Benefits, and make us thankful for our daily Bread! O Allah,

let not this be the last of our Visitations to Thy Apostle's Tomb! Yet

if Thou summon us before such Blessing, verily in my Death I bear

Witness, as in my Life,” (here the forefinger of the right hand is

extended, that the members of the body may take part with the tongue

and the heart) “that there

[p.56] is no god but Allah, One and without Partner, and verily that

our Lord Mohammed is His Servant and His Apostle! O Allah, grant us in

this World Weal, and in the future Weal, and save us from the torments

of Hell-fire! Praise to Thee, O Lord, Lord of Glory, greater than Man

can describe! and Peace be upon the Apostle, and Laud to Allah, the

Lord of the (three) Worlds.” This concludes, as usual, with the

Testification and the Fatihah. Pious men on such an occasion go to the

Rauzah, where they strive, if possible, to shed a tear,—a single drop

being a sign of acceptance,—give alms to the utmost of their ability, vow

piety, repentance, and obedience, and retire overwhelmed with grief, at

separating themselves from their Prophet and Intercessor. It is

customary, too, before leaving Al-Madinah, to pass at least one night

in vigils at the Harim, and for learned men to read through the Koran

once before the tomb.

Then began the uncomfortable process of paying off little bills. The

Eastern creditor always, for divers reasons, waits the last moment

before he claims his debt. Shaykh Hamid had frequently hinted at his

difficulties; the only means of escape from which, he said, was to rely

upon Allah. He had treated me so hospitably, that I could not take back

any part of the £5 lent to him at Suez. His three brothers received a

dollar or two each, and one or two of his cousins hinted to some effect

that such a proceeding would meet with their approbation.

The luggage was then carried down, and disposed in packs upon the

ground before the house, so as to be ready for loading at a moment’s

notice. Many flying parties of travellers had almost started on the

high road, and late in the evening came a new report that the body of

the Caravan would march about midnight. We sat up till about two A.M.,

when, having heard no gun, and having seen no camels, we lay down to

sleep through the sultry remnant of the hours of darkness.

[p.57]Thus, gentle reader, was spent my last night at Al-Madinah.

I had reason to congratulate myself upon having passed through the

first danger. Meccah is so near the coast, that, in case of detection,

the traveller might escape in a few hours to Jeddah, where he would

find an English Vice-Consul, protection from the Turkish authorities,

and possibly a British cruiser in the harbour. But at Al-Madinah

discovery would entail more serious consequences. The next risk to be

run was the journey between the two cities, where it would be easy for

the local officials quietly to dispose of a suspected person by giving

a dollar to a Badawi.

[FN#1] The “Tayyarah,” or “Flying Caravan,” is lightly laden, and travels by

forced marches.

[FN#2] This “Musafahah,” as it is called, is the Arab fashion of shaking

hands. They apply the palms of the right hands flat to each other,

without squeezing the fingers, and then raise the hand to the forehead.

[FN#3] On this occasion I heard three new words: “Kharitah,” used to

signify a single trip to Meccah (without return to Al-Madinah), “Ta’arifah,”

going out from Meccah to Mount Arafat, and “Tanzilah,” return from Mount

Arafat to Meccah.

[FN#4] And part of an extra animal which was to carry water for the

party. Had we travelled by the Darb al-Sultani, we should have paid 6½

dollars, instead of 10, for each beast.

[FN#5] The system of advances, as well as earnest money, is common all

over Arabia. In some places, Aden for instance, I have heard of

two-thirds the price of a cargo of coffee being required from the

purchaser before the seller would undertake to furnish a single bale.

[FN#6] Most men of the Shafe’i school clip their mustachios exceedingly

short; some clean shave the upper lip, the imperial, and the parts of

the beard about the corners of the mouth, and the forepart of the

cheeks. I neglected so to do, which soon won for me the epithet

recorded above. Arabs are vastly given to “nick-naming God’s creatures”;

their habit is the effect of acute observation, and the want of variety

in proper names. Sonnini appears not to like having been called the

“Father of a nose.” But there is nothing disrespectful in these personal

allusions. In Arabia you must be “father” of something, and it is better to

be father of a feature, than father of a cooking pot, or father of a

strong smell (“Abu-Zirt.”)

[FN#7] Salt among the Hindus is considered the essence and preserver of

the seas; it was therefore used in their offerings to the gods. The old

idea in Europe was, that salt is a body composed of various elements,

into which it cannot be resolved by human means: hence, it became the

type of an indissoluble tie between individuals. Homer calls salt

sacred and divine, and whoever ate it with a stranger was supposed to

become his friend. By the Greek authors, as by the Arabs, hospitality

and salt are words expressing a kindred idea. When describing the

Badawin of Al-Hijaz, I shall have occasion to notice their peculiar

notions of the Salt-law.

[FN#8] The import of such articles shows the march of progress in

Al-Hijaz. During the last generation, schoolmasters used for pencils

bits of bar lead beaten to a point.

[FN#9] The “two comforts” are success and despair; the latter, according to

the Arabs, being a more enviable state of feeling than doubt or hope

deferred.

[p.58]CHAPTER XXIV.

FROM AL-MADINAH TO AL-SUWAYRKIYAH.

FOUR roads lead from Al-Madinah to Meccah. The [“]Darb al-Sultani,” or

“Sultan’s Highway,” follows the line of coast: this general passage has been

minutely described by my exact predecessor. The “Tarik al-Ghabir,” a

mountain path, is avoided by the Mahmil and the great Caravans on

account of its rugged passes; water abounds along the whole line, but

there is not a single village and the Sobh Badawin, who own the soil[,]

are inveterate plunderers. The route called “Wady al-Kura” is a favourite

with Dromedary Caravans; on this road are two or three small

settlements, regular wells, and free passage through the Benu Amr

tribe. The Darb al-Sharki, or “Eastern road,” down which I travelled, owes

its existence to the piety of the Lady Zubaydah, wife of Harun

al-Rashid. That munificent princess dug wells from Baghdad to

Al-Madinah, and built, we are told, a wall to direct pilgrims over the

shifting sands.[FN#1] There is a fifth road, or rather mountain path,

concerning which I can give no information.

At eight A.M. on Wednesday, the 26th Zu’l Ka’adah

[p.59] (31st August, 1853), as we were sitting at the window of Hamid’s

house after our early meal, suddenly appeared, in hottest haste, Mas’ud,

our Camel-Shaykh. He was accompanied by his son, a bold boy about

fourteen years of age, who fought sturdily about the weight of each

package as it was thrown over the camel’s back; and his nephew, an ugly

pock-marked lad, too lazy even to quarrel. We were ordered to lose no

time in loading; all started into activity, and at nine A.M. I found

myself standing opposite the Egyptian Gate, surrounded by my friends,

who had accompanied me thus far on foot, to take leave with due honour.

After affectionate embraces and parting mementoes, we mounted, the boy

Mohammed and I in the litter, and Shaykh Nur in his cot. Then in

company with some Turks and Meccans, for Mas’ud owned a string of nine

camels, we passed through the little gate near the castle, and shaped

our course towards the North. On our right lay the palm-groves, which

conceal this part of the city; far to the left rose the domes of Hamzah’s

Mosques at the foot of Mount Ohod; and in front a band of road, crowded

with motley groups, stretched over a barren stony plain.

After an hour’s slow march, bending gradually from North to North-East,

we fell into the Nijd highway, and came to a place of renown called

Al-Ghadir, or the Basin.[FN#2] This is a depression conducting the

drainage of the plain towards the northern hills. The skirts of Ohod

still limited the prospect to the left. On the right was the Bir Rashid

(Well of Rashid), and the little whitewashed dome of Ali al-Urays, a

descendant from Zayn al-Abidin:—the tomb is still a place of Visitation.

There we halted and turned to take farewell of the Holy City. All the

[p.60] pilgrims dismounted and gazed at the venerable minarets and the

Green Dome,—spots upon which their memories would for ever dwell with a

fond and yearning interest.

Remounting at noon, we crossed a Fiumara which runs, according to my

Camel-Shaykh, from North to South; we were therefore emerging from the

Madinah basin. The sky began to be clouded, and although the air was

still full of Samu[m], cold draughts occasionally poured down from the

hills. Arabs fear this

“bitter change

Of fierce extremes, extremes by change more fierce,”

and call that a dangerous climate which is cold in the hot season and

hot in the cold. Travelling over a rough and stony path, dotted with

thorny Acacias, we arrived about two P.M. at the bed of lava heard of

by Burckhardt.[FN#3] The

[p.61] aspect of the country was volcanic, abounding in basalts and

scoriae, more or less porous: sand veiled the black bed whose present

dimensions by no means equal the descriptions of Arabian historians. I

made diligent enquiries about the existence of active volcanoes in this

part of Al-Hijaz, and heard of none.

At five P.M., travelling towards the East, we entered a Bughaz,[FN#4]

or Pass, which follows the course of a wide Fiumara, walled in by steep

and barren hills,—the portals of a region too wild even for Badawin. The

torrent-bed narrowed where the turns were abrupt, and the drift of

heavy stones, with a water-mark from six to seven feet

[p.62] high, showed that after rains a violent stream runs from East

and South-East to West and North-West. The fertilising fluid is close

to the surface, evidenced by a spare growth of Acacia, camel-grass, and

at some angles of the bed by the Daum, or Theban palm.[FN#5] I remarked

what was technically called “Hufrah,” holes dug for water in the sand; and

the guide assured me that somewhere near there is a spring flowing from

the rocks.

After the long and sultry afternoon, beasts of burden began to sink in

numbers. The fresh carcases of asses, ponies, and camels dotted the

wayside: those that had been allowed to die were abandoned to the foul

carrion-birds, the Rakham (vulture), and the yellow Ukab; and all whose

throats had been properly cut, were surrounded by troops of Takruri

pilgrims. These half-starved wretches cut steaks from the choice

portions, and slung them over their shoulders till an opportunity of

cooking might arrive. I never saw men more destitute. They carried

wooden bowls, which they filled with water by begging; their only

weapon was a small knife, tied in a leathern sheath above the elbow;

and their costume an old skull-cap, strips of leather like sandals

under the feet, and a long dirty shirt, or sometimes a mere rag

covering the loins. Some were perfect savages, others had been

fine-looking men, broad-shouldered, thin-flanked, and long-limbed; many

were lamed by fatigue and by thorns; and looking at most of them, I

fancied death depicted in their forms and features.

After two hours’ slow marching up the Fiumara eastwards, we saw in front

of us a wall of rock; and, turning abruptly southwards, we left the

bed, and ascended rising ground. Already it was night; an hour,

however, elapsed before we saw, at a distance, the twinkling fires, and

heard the watch-cries of our camp. It was

[p.63] pitched in a hollow, under hills, in excellent order; the Pasha’s

pavilion surrounded by his soldiers and guards disposed in tents, with

sentinels, regularly posted, protecting the outskirts of the

encampment. One of our men, whom we had sent forward, met us on the

way, and led us to an open place, where we unloaded the camels, raised

our canvas home, lighted fires, and prepared, with supper, for a good

night’s rest. Living is simple on such marches. The pouches inside and

outside the Shugduf contain provisions and water, with which you supply

yourself when inclined. At certain hours of the day, ambulant vendors

offer sherbet, lemonade, hot coffee, and water-pipes admirably

prepared.[FN#6] Chibuks may be smoked in the litter; but few care to do

so during the Samu[m]. The first thing, however, called for at the

halting-place is the pipe, and its delightfully soothing influence,

followed by a cup of coffee, and a “forty winks” upon the sand, will awaken

an appetite not to be roused by other means. How could Waterton, the

traveller, abuse a pipe? During the night-halt, provisions are cooked:

rice, or Kichri, a mixture of pulse and rice, is eaten with Chutnee and

lime-pickle, varied, occasionally, by tough mutton and indigestible

goat.

We arrived at Ja al-Sharifah at eight P.M., after a march of about

twenty-two miles.[FN#7] This halting-place is

[p.64] the rendezvous of Caravans: it lies 50° south-east of Al-Madinah,

and belongs rather to Nijd than to Al-Hijaz.

At three A.M., on Thursday (Sept. 1), we started up at the sound of the

departure-gun, struck the tent, loaded the camels, mounted, and found

ourselves hurrying through a gloomy pass, in the hills, to secure a

good place in the Caravan. This is an object of some importance, as,

during the whole journey, marching order must not be broken. We met

with a host of minor accidents, camels falling, Shugdufs bumping

against one another, and plentiful abuse. Pertinaciously we hurried on

till six A.M., at which hour we emerged from the Black Pass. The large

crimson sun rose upon us, disclosing, through purple mists, a hollow of

coarse yellow gravel, based upon a hard whitish clay. About five miles

broad by twelve long, it collects the waters of the high grounds after

rain, and distributes the surplus through an exit towards the

North-west, a gap in the low undulating hills around. Entering it, we

dismounted, prayed, broke our fast, and after half an hour’s halt

proceeded to cross its breadth. The appearance of the Caravan was most

striking, as it threaded its slow way over the smooth surface of the

Khabt (low plain).[FN#8] To judge by the eye, the host was composed of

at fewest seven thousand souls, on foot, on horseback, in litters, or

bestriding the splendid camels of Syria.[FN#9] There were eight

gradations of pilgrims.

[p.65] The lowest hobbled with heavy staves. Then came the riders of

asses, of camels, and of mules. Respectable men, especially Arabs, were

mounted on dromedaries, and the soldiers had horses: a led animal was

saddled for every grandee, ready whenever he might wish to leave his

litter. Women, children, and invalids of the poorer classes sat upon a

“Haml Musattah,”—rugs and cloths spread over the two large boxes which form

the camel’s load.[FN#10] Many occupied Shibriyahs; a few, Shugdufs, and

only the wealthy and the noble rode in Takht-rawan (litters), carried

by camels or mules.[FN#11] The morning beams fell brightly upon the

glancing arms which surrounded the stripped Mahmil,[FN#12] and upon the

scarlet and gilt conveyances of the grandees. Not the least beauty of

the spectacle was its wondrous variety of detail: no man was dressed

like his neighbour, no camel was caparisoned, no horse was

[p.66] clothed in uniform, as it were. And nothing stranger than the

contrasts; a band of half-naked Takruri marching with the Pasha’s

equipage, and long-capped, bearded Persians conversing with Tarbush’d and

shaven Turks.

The plain even at an early hour reeked with vapours distilled by the

fires of the Samum: about noon, however, the air became cloudy, and

nothing of colour remained, save that milky white haze, dull, but

glaring withal, which is the prevailing day-tint in these regions. At

mid-day we reached a narrowing of the basin, where, from both sides, “Irk,”

or low hills, stretch their last spurs into the plain. But after half a

mile, it again widened to upwards of two miles. At two P.M. (Friday,

Sept. 2), we turned towards the South-west, ascended stony ground, and

found ourselves one hour afterwards in a desolate rocky flat, distant

about twenty-four miles of unusually winding road from our last

station. “Mahattah Ghurab,[FN#13]” or the Raven’s Station, lies 10° south-west

from Ja al-Sharifah, in the irregular masses of hill on the frontier of

Al-Hijaz, where the highlands of Nijd begin.

After pitching the tent, we prepared to recruit our supply of water;

for Mas’ud warned me that his camels had not drunk for ninety hours, and

that they would soon sink under the privation. The boy Mohammed,

mounting a dromedary, set off with the Shaykh and many water-bags,

giving me an opportunity of writing out my journal. They did not return

home until after nightfall, a delay caused by many adventures. The

wells are in a Fiumara, as usual, about two miles distant from the

halting-place, and the soldiers, regular as well as irregular, occupied

the water and exacted hard coin in exchange for it. The men are not to

blame; they would die of starvation but for this resource. The boy

Mohammed had been engaged in several quarrels; but after

[p.67] snapping his pistol at a Persian pilgrim’s head, he came forth

triumphant with two skins of sweetish water, for which we paid ten

piastres. He was in his glory. There were many Meccans in the Caravan,

among them his elder brother and several friends: the Sharif Zayd had

sent, he said, to ask why he did not travel with his compatriots. That

evening he drank so copiously of clarified butter, and ate dates mashed

with flour and other abominations to such an extent, that at night he

prepared to give up the ghost.

We passed a pleasant hour or two before sleeping. I began to like the

old Shaykh Mas’ud, who, seeing it, entertained me with his genealogy, his

battles, and his family affairs. The rest of the party could not

prevent expressing contempt when they heard me putting frequent

questions about torrents, hills, Badawin, and the directions of places.

“Let the Father of Moustachios ask and learn,” said the old man; “he is

friendly with the Badawin,[FN#14] and knows better than you all.” This

reproof was intended to be bitter as the poet’s satire,—

“All fools have still an itching to deride,

And fain would be upon the laughing side.”

It called forth, however[,] another burst of merriment, for the jeerers

remembered my nickname to have belonged to that pestilent heretic, Sa’ud

the Wahhabi.

On Saturday, the 3rd September, the hateful signal-gun awoke us at one

A.M. In Arab travel there is nothing more disagreeable than the Sariyah

or night-march, and yet the people are inexorable about it. “Choose early

Darkness (daljah) for your Wayfarings,” said the Prophet, “as the

Calamities of the Earth (serpents and wild beasts) appear not at Night.”

I can scarcely find words to express the weary horrors of the long dark

march, during which the hapless traveller, fuming, if a European, with

disappointment in his hopes of “seeing the country,”

[p.68] is compelled to sit upon the back of a creeping camel. The

day-sleep, too, is a kind of lethargy, and it is all but impossible to

preserve an appetite during the hours of heat.

At half-past five A.M., after drowsily stumbling through hours of outer

gloom, we entered a spacious basin at least six miles broad, and

limited by a circlet of low hill. It was overgrown with camel-grass and

Acacia (Shittim) trees, mere vegetable mummies; in many places the

water had left a mark; and here and there the ground was pitted with

mud-flakes, the remains of recently dried pools. After an hour’s rapid

march we toiled over a rugged ridge, composed of broken and detached

blocks of basalt and scoriæ, fantastically piled together, and dotted

with thorny trees. Shaykh Mas’ud passed the time in walking to and fro

along his line of camels, addressing us with a Khallikum guddam, “to the

front (of the litter)!” as we ascended, and a Khallikum wara, “to the rear!”

during the descent. It was wonderful to see the animals stepping from

block to block with the sagacity of mountaineers; assuring themselves

of their forefeet before trusting all their weight to advance. Not a

camel fell, either here or on any other ridge: they moaned, however,

piteously, for the sudden turns of the path puzzled them; the ascents

were painful, the descents were still more so; the rocks were sharp;

deep holes yawned between the blocks, and occasionally an Acacia caught

the Shugduf, almost overthrowing the hapless bearer by the suddenness

and the tenacity of its clutch. This passage took place during

daylight. But we had many at night, which I shall neither forget nor

describe.

Descending the ridge, we entered another hill-encircled basin of gravel

and clay. In many places basalt in piles and crumbling strata of

hornblende schiste, disposed edgeways, green within, and without

blackened by sun and rain, cropped out of the ground. At half-past ten

we

[p.69] found ourselves in an “Acacia-barren,” one of the things which

pilgrims dread. Here Shugdufs are bodily pulled off the camel’s back and

broken upon the hard ground; the animals drop upon their knees, the

whole line is deranged, and every one, losing temper, attacks his

Moslem brother. The road was flanked on the left by an iron wall of

black basalt. Noon brought us to another ridge, whence we descended

into a second wooded basin surrounded by hills.

Here the air was filled with those pillars of sand so graphically

described by Abyssinian Bruce. They scudded on the wings of the

whirlwind over the plain,—huge yellow shafts, with lofty heads,

horizontally bent backwards, in the form of clouds; and on more than

one occasion camels were thrown down by them. It required little

stretch of fancy to enter into the Arabs’ superstition. These

sand-columns are supposed to be Jinnis of the Waste, which cannot be

caught, a notion arising from the fitful movements of the electrical

wind-eddy that raises them, and as they advance, the pious Moslem

stretches out his finger, exclaiming, “Iron! O thou ill-omened one[FN#15]!”

During the forenoon we were troubled by the Samum, which, instead of

promoting perspiration, chokes up and hardens the skin. The Arabs

complain greatly of its violence on this line of road. Here I first

remarked the difficulty with which the Badawin bear thirst. Ya Latif,—“O

Merciful!” (Lord),—they exclaimed at times; and yet they behaved like

men.[FN#16] I had ordered them to place the

[p.70] water-camel in front, so as to exercise due supervision. Shaykh

Mas’ud and his son made only an occasional reference to the skins. But

his nephew, a short, thin, pock-marked lad of eighteen, whose black

skin and woolly head suggested the idea of a semi-African and ignoble

origin, was always drinking; except when he climbed the camel’s back,

and, dozing upon the damp load, forgot his thirst. In vain we ordered,

we taunted, and we abused him: he would drink, he would sleep, but he

would not work.

At one P.M. we crossed a Fiumara; and an hour afterwards we pursued the

course of a second. Mas’ud called this the Wady al-Khunak, and assured me

that it runs from the East and the South-east in a North and North-west

direction, to the Madinah plain. Early in the afternoon we reached a

diminutive flat, on the Fiumara bank. Beyond it lies a Mahjar or stony

ground, black as usual in Al-Hijaz, and over its length lay the road,

white with dust and with the sand deposited by the camels’ feet. Having

arrived before the Pasha, we did not know where to pitch; many opining

that the Caravan would traverse the Mahjar and halt beyond it. We soon

alighted, however, pitched the tent under a burning sun, and were

imitated by the rest of the party. Mas’ud called the place Hijriyah.

According to my computation, it is twenty-five miles from Ghurab, and

its direction is South-East twenty-two degrees.

Late in the afternoon the boy Mohammed started with a dromedary to

procure water from the higher part of the Fiumara. Here are some wells,

still called Bir Harun, after the great Caliph. The youth returned soon

with two bags filled at an expense of nine piastres. This being the

28th Zu’l Ka’adah, many pilgrims busied themselves

[p.71] rather fruitlessly with endeavours to sight the crescent moon.

They failed; but we were consoled by seeing through a gap in the

Western hills a heavy cloud discharge its blessed load, and a cool

night was the result.

We loitered on Sunday, the 4th September, at Al-Hijriyah, although the

Shaykh forewarned us of a long march. But there is a kind of discipline

in these great Caravans. A gun[FN#17] sounds the order to strike the

tents, and a second bids you move off with all speed. There are short

halts, of half an hour each, at dawn, noon, the afternoon, and sunset,

for devotional purposes, and these are regulated by a cannon or a

culverin. At such times the Syrian and Persian servants, who are

admirably expert in their calling, pitch the large green tents, with

gilt crescents, for the dignitaries and their harims. The last

resting-place is known by the hurrying forward of these “Farrash,” or tent

“Lascars,” who are determined to be the first on the ground and at the

well. A discharge of three guns denotes the station, and when the

Caravan moves by night a single cannon sounds three or four halts at

irregular intervals. The principal officers were the Emir Hajj, one

Ashgar Ali Pasha, a veteran of whom my companions spoke slightingly,

because he had been the slave of a slave, probably the pipe-bearer of

some grandee who in his youth had been pipe-bearer to some other

grandee. Under him was a Wakil, or lieutenant, who managed the

executive. The Emir al-Surrah—called simply Al-Surrah, or the Purse—had

charge of the Caravan-treasure, and of remittances to the Holy Cities.

And lastly there was a commander of the

[p.72] forces (Bashat al-Askar): his host consisted of about a thousand

Irregular horsemen, Bash-Buzuks, half bandits, half soldiers, each

habited and armed after his own fashion, exceedingly dirty,

picturesque-looking, brave, and in such a country of no use whatever.

Leaving Al-Hijriyah at seven A.M., we passed over the grim stone-field

by a detestable footpath, and at nine o’clock struck into a broad

Fiumara, which runs from the East towards the North-West. Its sandy bed

is overgrown with Acacia, the Senna plant, different species of

Euphorbiae, the wild Capparis, and the Daum Palm. Up this line we

travelled the whole day. About six P.M., we came upon a basin at least

twelve miles broad, which absorbs the water of the adjacent hills.

Accustomed as I have been to mirage, a long thin line of salt

efflorescence appearing at some distance on the plain below us, when

the shades of evening invested the view, completely deceived me. Even

the Arabs were divided in opinion, some thinking it was the effects of

the rain which fell the day before: others were more acute. It is said

that beasts are never deceived by the mirage, and this, as far as my

experience goes, is correct. May not the reason be that most of them

know the vicinity of water rather by smell than by sight? Upon the

horizon beyond the plain rose dark, fort-like masses of rock which I

mistook for buildings, the more readily as the Shaykh had warned me

that we were approaching a populous place. At last descending a long

steep hill, we entered upon the level ground, and discovered our error

by the crunching sound of the camel[s’] feet upon large curling flakes of

nitrous salt overlying caked mud.[FN#18] Those civilised birds, the

kite and the crow, warned us that we were in the vicinity of man. It

was not, however, before eleven P.M. that we entered the confines of

Al-Suwayrkiyah. The fact was

[p.73] made patent to us by the stumbling and the falling of our

dromedaries over the little ridges of dried clay disposed in squares

upon the fields. There were other obstacles, such as garden walls,

wells, and hovels, so that midnight had sped before our weary camels

reached the resting-place. A rumour that we were to halt here the next

day, made us think lightly of present troubles; it proved, however, to

be false.

During the last four days I attentively observed the general face of

the country. This line is a succession of low plains and basins, here

quasi-circular, there irregularly oblong, surrounded by rolling hills

and cut by Fiumaras which pass through the higher ground. The basins

are divided by ridges and flats of basalt and greenstone averaging from

one hundred to two hundred feet in height. The general form is a huge

prism; sometimes they are table-topped. From Al-Madinah to

Al-Suwayrkiyah the low beds of sandy Fiumaras abound. From

Al-Suwayrkiyah to Al-Zaribah, their place is taken by “Ghadir,” or hollows

in which water stagnates. And beyond Al-Zaribah the traveller enters a

region of water-courses tending West and South-West The versant is

generally from the East and South-East towards the West and North-West.

Water obtained by digging is good where rain is fresh in the Fiumaras;

saltish, so as to taste at first unnaturally sweet, in the plains; and

bitter in the basins and lowlands where nitre effloresces and rain has

had time to become tainted. The landward faces of the hills are

disposed at a sloping angle, contrasting strongly with the

perpendicularity of their seaward sides, and I found no inner range

corresponding with, and parallel to, the maritime chain. Nowhere had I

seen a land in which Earth’s anatomy lies so barren, or one richer in

volcanic and primary formations.[FN#19] Especially

[p.74] towards the South, the hills were abrupt and highly vertical,

with black and barren flanks, ribbed with furrows and fissures, with

wide and formidable precipices and castellated summits like the work of

man. The predominant formation was basalt, called the Arabs’ Hajar

Jahannam, or Hell-stone; here and there it is porous and cellular; in

some places compact and black; and in others coarse and gritty, of a

tarry colour, and when fractured shining with bright points. Hornblende

is common at Al-Madinah and throughout this part of Al-Hijaz: it crops

out of the ground edgeways, black and brittle. Greenstone, diorite, and

actinolite are found, though not so abundantly as those above

mentioned. The granites, called in Arabic Suwan,[FN#20] abound. Some

are large-grained, of a pink colour, and appear in blocks, which,

flaking off under the influence of the atmosphere, form ooidal blocks

and boulders piled in irregular heaps. Others are grey and compact

enough to take a high polish when cut. The syenite is generally coarse,

although there is occasionally found a rich red variety of that stone.

I did not see eurite or euritic porphyry except in small pieces, and

the same may be said of the petrosilex and the milky and waxy

quartz.[FN#21] In some parts, particularly between Yambu’ and Al-Madinah,

there is an abundance of tawny

[p.75] yellow gneiss markedly stratified. The transition formations are

represented by a fine calcareous sandstone of a bright ochre colour: it

is used at Meccah to adorn the exteriors of houses, bands of this stone

being here and there inserted into the courses of masonry. There is

also a small admixture of the greenish sandstone which abounds at Aden.

The secondary formation is represented by a fine limestone, in some

places almost fit for the purposes of lithography, and a coarse gypsum

often of a tufaceous nature. For the superficial accumulations of the

country, I may refer the reader to any description of the Desert

between Cairo and Suez.

[FN#1] The distance from Baghdad to Al-Madinah is 180 parasangs,

according to ’Abd al-Karim: “Voyage de l’Inde, a la Mecque;” translated by M.

Langles, Paris, 1797. This book is a disappointment, as it describes

everything except Al-Madinah and Meccah: these gaps are filled up by

the translator with the erroneous descriptions of other authors, not

eye-witnesses.

[FN#2] Here, it is believed, was fought the battle of Buas, celebrated

in the pagan days of Al-Madinah (A.D. 615). Our dictionaries translate

“Ghadir” by “pool” or “stagnant water.” Here it is applied to places where water

stands for a short time after rain.

[FN#3] Travels in Arabia, vol. 2, p, 217. The Swiss traveller was

prevented by sickness from visiting it. The “Jazb al-Kulub” affords the

following account of a celebrated eruption, beginning on the Salkh

(last day) of Jamadi al-Awwal, and ending on the evening of the third

of Jamadi al-Akhir, A.H. 654. Terrible earthquakes, accompanied by a

thundering noise, shook the town; from fourteen to eighteen were

observed each night. On the third of Jamadi al-Akhir, after the Isha

prayers, a fire burst out in the direction of Al-Hijaz (eastward); it

resembled a vast city with a turretted and battlemental fort, in which

men appeared drawing the flame about, as it were, whilst it roared,

burned, and melted like a sea everything that came in its way.

Presently red and bluish streams, bursting from it, ran close to

Al-Madinah; and, at the same time, the city was fanned by a cooling

zephyr from the same direction. Al-Kistlani, an eye-witness, asserts

that “the brilliant light of the volcano made the face of the country as

bright as day; and the interior of the Harim was as if the sun shone

upon it, so that men worked and required nought of the sun and moon

(the latter of which was also eclipsed?).” Several saw the light at

Meccah, at Tayma (in Nijd, six days’ journey from Al-Madinah), and at

Busra, of Syria, reminding men of the Prophet’s saying, “A fire shall burst

forth from the direction of Al-Hijaz; its light shall make visible the

necks of the camels at Busra.” Historians relate that the length of the

stream was four parasangs (from fourteen to sixteen miles), its breadth

four miles (56? to the degree), and its depth about nine feet. It

flowed like a torrent with the waves of a sea; the rocks, melted by its

heat, stood up as a wall, and, for a time, it prevented the passage of

Badawin, who, coming from that direction, used to annoy the citizens.

Jamal Matari, one of the historians of Al-Madinah, relates that the

flames, which destroyed the stones, spared the trees; and he asserts

that some men, sent by the governor to inspect the fire, felt no heat;

also that the feathers of an arrow shot into it were burned whilst the

shaft remained whole. This he attributes to the sanctity of the trees

within the Harim. On the contrary, Al-Kistlani asserts the fire to have

been so vehement that no one could approach within two arrow-flights,

and that it melted the outer half of a rock beyond the limits of the

sanctuary, leaving the inner parts unscathed. The Kazi, the Governor,

and the citizens engaged in devotional exercises, and during the whole

length of the Thursday and the Friday nights, all, even the women and

children, with bare heads wept round the Prophet’s tomb. Then the lava

current turned northwards. (I remarked on the way to Ohod signs of a

lava-field.) This current ran, according to some, three entire months.

Al-Kistlani dates its beginning on Friday, 6 Jamadi al-Akhir, and its

cessation on Sunday, 27 Rajab: in this period of fifty-two days he

includes, it is supposed, the length of its extreme heat. That same

year (A.H. 654) is infamous in Al-Islam for other portents, such as the

inundation of Baghdad by the Tigris, and the burning of the Prophet’s

Mosque. In the next year first appeared the Tartars, who slew Al-Mu’tasim

Bi’llah, the Caliph, massacred the Moslems during more than a month,

destroyed their books, monuments, and tombs, and stabled their

war-steeds in the Mustansariyah College.

[FN#4] In this part of Al-Hijaz they have many names for a pass:—Nakb,

Saghrah, and Mazik are those best known.

[FN#5] This is the palm, capped with large fan-shaped leaves, described

by every traveller in Egypt and in the nearer East.

[FN#6] The charge for a cup of coffee is one piastre and a half. A

pipe-bearer will engage himself for about £1 per mensem: he is always a

veteran smoker, and, in these regions, it is an axiom that the flavour

of your pipe mainly depends upon the filler. For convenience the

Persian Kaliun is generally used.

[FN#7] A day’s journey in Arabia is generally reckoned at twenty-four or

twenty-five Arab miles. Abulfeda leaves the distance of a Marhalah (or

Manzil, a station) undetermined. Al-Idrisi reckons it at thirty miles,

but speaks of short as well as long marches. The common literary

measures of length are these:—3 Kadam (man’s foot) = 1 Khatwah (pace): 1000

paces = 1 Mil (mile); 3 miles = 1 Farsakh (parasang); and 4 parasangs =

1 Barid or post. The “Burhan i Katia” gives the table thus:—24 finger

breadths (or 6 breadths of the clenched hand, from 20 to 24 inches!) =

1 Gaz or yard; 1000 yards = 1 mile; 3 miles = 1 parasang. Some call the

four thousand yards measure a Kuroh (the Indian Cos), which, however,

is sometimes less by 1000 Gaz. The only ideas of distance known to the

Badawi of Al-Hijaz are the fanciful Sa’at or hour, and the uncertain

Manzil or halt: the former varies from 2 to 3½ miles, the latter from 15

to 25.

[FN#8] “Khabt” is a low plain; “Midan,” “Fayhah,” or “Sath,” a plain generally; and

“Batha,” a low, sandy flat.

[FN#9] In Burckhardt’s day there were 5,000 souls and 15,000 camels.

Capt. Sadlier, who travelled during the war (1819), found the number

reduced to 500. The extent of this Caravan has been enormously

exaggerated in Europe. I have heard of 15,000, and even of 20,000 men.

I include in the 7,000 about 1,200 Persians. They are no longer placed,

as Abd al-Karim relates, in the rear of the Caravan, or post of danger.

[FN#10] Lane has accurately described this article: in the Hijaz it is

sometimes made to resemble a little tent.

[FN#11] The vehicle mainly regulates the expense, as it evidences a man’s

means. I have heard of a husband and wife leaving Alexandria with three

months’ provision and the sum of £5. They would mount a camel, lodge in

public buildings when possible, probably be reduced to beggary, and

possibly starve upon the road. On the other hand the minimum

expenditure,—for necessaries, not donations and luxuries,—of a man who

rides in a Takht-rawan from Damascus and back, would be about £1,200.

[FN#12] On the line of march the Mahmil, stripped of its embroidered

cover, is carried on camel-back, a mere framewood. Even the gilt silver

balls and crescent are exchanged for similar articles in brass.

[FN#13] Mahattah is a spot where luggage is taken down, i.e., a

station. By some Hijazis it is used in the sense of a halting-place,

where you spend an hour or two.

[FN#14] “Khalik ma al-Badu” is a favourite complimentary saying, among this

people, and means that you are no greasy burgher.

[FN#15] Even Europeans, in popular parlance, call them “devils.”

[FN#16] The Eastern Arabs allay the torments of thirst by a spoonful of

clarified butter, carried on journeys in a leathern bottle. Every

European traveller has some recipe of his own. One chews a

musket-bullet or a small stone. A second smears his legs with butter.

Another eats a crust of dry bread, which exacerbates the torments, and

afterwards brings relief. A fourth throws water over his face and hands

or his legs and feet; a fifth smokes, and a sixth turns his dorsal

region (raising his coat-tail) to the fire. I have always found that

the only remedy is to be patient and not to talk. The more you drink,

the more you require to drink—water or strong waters. But after the first

two hours’ abstinence you have mastered the overpowering feeling of

thirst, and then to refrain is easy.

[FN#17] We carried two small brass guns, which, on the line of march,

were dismounted and placed upon camels. At the halt they were restored

to their carriages. The Badawin think much of these harmless articles,

to which I have seen a gunner apply a match thrice before he could

induce a discharge. In a “moral” point of view, therefore, they are far

more valuable than our twelve-pounders.

[FN#18] Hereabouts the Arabs call these places “Bahr milh” or “Sea of Salt”; in

other regions “Bahr bila ma,” or “Waterless Sea.”

[FN#19] Being but little read in geology, I submitted, after my return

to Bombay, a few specimens collected on the way, to a learned friend,

Dr. Carter, Secretary to the Bombay branch of the Royal Asiatic

Society. His name is a guarantee of accuracy.

[FN#20] The Arabic language has a copious terminology for the mineral

as well as the botanical productions of the country: with little

alteration it might be made to express all the requirements of our

modern geology.

[FN#21] NOTE TO THIRD EDITION.—This country may have contained gold; but

the superficial formation has long been exhausted. At Cairo I washed

some sand brought from the eastern shore of the Red Sea, north of

Al-Wijh, and found it worth my while. I had a plan for working the

diggings, but H.B.M.’s Consul, Dr. Walne, opined that “gold was becoming

too plentiful,” and would not assist me. This wise saying has since then

been repeated to me by men who ought to have known better than Dr.

Walne.

[p.76]CHAPTER XXV.

THE BADAWIN OF AL-HIJAZ.

THE Arab may be divided into three races—a classification which agrees

equally well with genesitic genealogy, the traditions of the country,

and the observations of modern physiologists.[FN#1]

[p.77]The first race, indigens or autochthones, are those sub-Caucasian

tribes which may still be met with in the province of Mahrah, and

generally along the coast between Maskat and Hazramaut. [FN#2] The

Mahrah, the Janabah, and the Gara especially show a low development,

for which hardship and privation alone will not satisfactorily

account.[FN#3] These are Arab al-Aribah for whose inferiority oriental

fable accounts as usual by thaumaturgy.

The principal advenæ are the Noachians, a great Chaldaean or Mesopotamian

tribe which entered Arabia about

[p.78] 2200 A.C., and by slow and gradual encroachments drove before

them the ancient owners and seized the happier lands of the Peninsula.

The great Anzah and the Nijdi families are types of this race, which is

purely Caucasian, and shows a highly nervous temperament, together with

those signs of “blood” which distinguish even the lower animals, the horse

and the camel, the greyhound and the goat of Arabia. These advenae

would correspond with the Arab al-Mutarribah or Arabicized Arabs of the

eastern historians.[FN#4]

The third family, an ancient and a noble race dating from A.C. 1900,

and typified in history by Ishmael, still occupies the so-called

Sinaitic Peninsula. These Arabs, however, do not, and never did, extend

beyond the limits of the mountains, where, still dwelling in the

presence of their brethren, they retain all the wild customs and the

untamable spirit of their forefathers. They are distinguished from the

pure stock by an admixture of Egyptian blood,[FN#5]

[p.79] and by preserving the ancient characteristics of the Nilotic

family. The Ishmaelities are sub-Caucasian, and are denoted in history

as the Arab al-Mustarribah, the insititious or half-caste Arab.

Oriental ethnography, which, like most Eastern sciences, luxuriates in

nomenclative distinction, recognises a fourth race under the name of

Arab al-Mustajamah. These “barbarized Arabs” are now represented by such a

population as that of Meccah.

That Aus and Khazraj, the Himyaritic tribes which emigrated to

Al-Hijaz, mixed with the Amalikah, the Jurham, and the Katirah, also

races from Al-Yaman, and with the Hebrews, a northern branch of the

Semitic family, we have ample historical evidence. And they who know

how immutable is race in the Desert, will scarcely doubt that the

Badawi of Al-Hijaz preserves in purity the blood transmitted to him by

his ancestors.[FN#6]

[p.80] I will not apologise for entering into details concerning the

personale of the Badawin[FN#7]; a precise physical portrait of race, it

has justly been remarked, is the sole deficiency in the pages of Bruce

and of Burckhardt.

The temperament of the Hijazi is not unfrequently the pure nervous, as

the height of the forehead and the fine texture of the hair prove.

Sometimes the bilious, and rarely the sanguine, elements predominate;

the lymphatic I never saw. He has large nervous centres, and

well-formed spine and brain, a conformation favourable to longevity.

Bartema well describes his colour as a “dark leonine”; it varies from the

deepest Spanish to a chocolate hue, and its varieties are attributed by

the people to blood. The skin is hard, dry, and soon wrinkled by

exposure. The xanthous complexion is rare, though not unknown in

cities, but the leucous does not exist. The crinal hair is frequently

lightened by bleaching, and the pilar is browner than the crinal. The

voice is strong and clear, but rather barytone than bass: in anger it

becomes a shrill chattering like the cry of a wild animal. The look of

a chief is dignified and grave even to pensiveness; the “respectable man’s”

is self-sufficient and fierce; the lower orders look ferocious, stupid,

and inquisitive. Yet there is not much difference in this point between

men of the same tribe, who have similar pursuits which engender

[p.81] similar passions. Expression is the grand diversifier of

appearance among civilised people: in the Desert it knows few varieties.

The Badawi cranium is small, ooidal, long, high, narrow, and remarkable

in the occiput for the development of Gall’s second propensity: the crown

slopes upwards towards the region of firmness, which is elevated;

whilst the sides are flat to a fault. The hair, exposed to sun, wind,

and rain, acquires a coarseness not natural to it[FN#8]: worn in

Kurun[FN#9]—ragged elf-locks,—hanging down to the breast, or shaved in the

form Shushah, a skull-cap of hair, nothing can be wilder than its

appearance. The face is made to be a long oval, but want of flesh

detracts from its regularity. The forehead is high, broad, and

retreating: the upper portion is moderately developed; but nothing can

be finer than the lower brow, and the frontal sinuses stand out,

indicating bodily strength and activity of character. The temporal

fossa are deep, the bones are salient, and the elevated zygomata

combined with the “lantern-jaw,” often give a “death’s-head” appearance to the

face. The eyebrows are long, bushy, and crooked, broken, as it were, at

the angle where “Order” is supposed to be, and bent in sign of

thoughtfulness. Most popular writers, following De Page,[FN#10]

describe the Arab eye as large, ardent,

[p.82] and black. The Badawi of the Hijaz, and indeed the race

generally, has a small eye, round, restless, deep-set, and fiery,

denoting keen inspection with an ardent temperament and an impassioned

character. Its colour is dark brown or green-brown, and the pupil is

often speckled. The habit of pursing up the skin below the orbits, and

half closing the lids to exclude glare, plants the outer angles with

premature crows’-feet. Another peculiarity is the sudden way in which the

eye opens, especially under excitement. This, combined with its fixity

of glance, forms an expression now of lively fierceness, then of

exceeding sternness; whilst the narrow space between the orbits

impresses the countenance in repose with an intelligence not destitute

of cunning. As a general rule, however, the expression of the Badawi

face is rather dignity than that cunning for which the Semitic race is

celebrated, and there are lines about the mouth in variance with the

stern or the fierce look of the brow. The ears are like those of Arab

horses, small, well-cut, “castey,” and elaborate, with many elevations and

depressions. The nose is pronounced, generally aquiline, but sometimes

straight like those Greek statues which have been treated as prodigious

exaggerations of the facial angle. For the most part, it is a well-made

feature with delicate nostrils, below which the septum appears: in

anger they swell and open like a blood mare’s. I have, however, seen, in

not a few instances, pert and offensive “pugs.” Deep furrows descend from

the wings of the nose, showing an uncertain temper, now too grave, then

too gay. The mouth is irregular. The lips are either bordes, denoting

rudeness and want of taste, or they form a mere line. In the latter

case there is an appearance of undue development in the upper portion

of the countenance, especially when the jaws are ascetically thin, and

the chin weakly retreats. The latter

[p.83] feature, however, is generally well and strongly made. The

teeth, as usual among Orientals, are white, even, short and

broad—indications of strength. Some tribes trim their mustaches according

to the “Sunnat”; the Shafe’i often shave them, and many allow them to hang

Persian-like over the lips. The beard is represented by two tangled

tufts upon the chin; where whisker should be, the place is either bare

or is thinly covered with straggling pile.

The Badawin of Al-Hijaz are short men, about the height of the Indians

near Bombay, but weighing on an average a stone more. As usual in this

stage of society, stature varies little; you rarely see a giant, and

scarcely ever a dwarf. Deformity is checked by the Spartan restraint

upon population, and no weakly infant can live through a Badawi life.

The figure, though spare, is square and well knit; fulness of limb

seldom appears but about spring, when milk abounds: I have seen two or

three muscular figures, but never a fat man. The neck is sinewy, the

chest broad, the flank thin, and the stomach in-drawn; the legs, though

fleshless, are well made, especially when the knee and ankle are not

bowed by too early riding. The shins do not bend cucumber-like to the

front as in the African race.[FN#11] The arms are thin, with muscles

like whipcords, and the hands and feet are, in point of size and

delicacy, a link between Europe and India. As in the Celt, the Arab

thumb is remarkably long, extending almost to the first joint of the

index,[FN#12] which, with its easy rotation, makes it a perfect

prehensile instrument: the palm also is fleshless, small-boned, and

[p.84] elastic. With his small active figure, it is not strange that

the wildest Badawi gait should be pleasing; he neither unfits himself

for walking, nor distorts his ankles by turning out his toes according

to the farcical rule of fashion, and his shoulders are not dressed like

a drill-sergeant’s, to throw all the weight of the body upon the heels.

Yet there is no slouch in his walk; it is light and springy, and errs

only in one point, sometimes becoming a strut.

Such is the Badawi, and such he has been for ages. The national type

has been preserved by systematic intermarriage. The wild men do not

refuse their daughters to a stranger, but the son-in-law would be

forced to settle among them, and this life, which has its charms for a

while, ends in becoming wearisome. Here no evil results are anticipated

from the union of first cousins, and the experience of ages and of a

mighty nation may be trusted. Every Badawi has a right to marry his

father’s brother’s daughter before she is given to a stranger; hence “cousin”

(Bint Amm) in polite phrase signifies a “wife.[FN#13]” Our

physiologists[FN#14] adduce the Sangre Azul of Spain and the case of

the lower animals to prove that degeneracy inevitably follows

“breeding-in.[FN#15]”

[p.85] Either they have theorised from insufficient facts, or

civilisation and artificial living exercise some peculiar influence, or

Arabia is a solitary exception to a general rule. The fact which I have

mentioned is patent to every Eastern traveller.

After this long description, the reader will perceive with pleasure

that we are approaching an interesting theme, the first question of

mankind to the wanderer—“What are the women like?” Truth compels me to state

that the women of the Hijazi Badawin are by no means comely. Although

the Benu Amur boast of some pretty girls, yet they are far inferior to

the high-bosomed beauties of Nijd. And I warn all men that if they run

to Al-Hijaz in search of the charming face which appears in my

sketch-book as “a Badawi girl,” they will be bitterly disappointed: the

dress was Arab, but it was worn by a fairy of the West. The Hijazi

woman’s eyes are fierce, her features harsh, and her face haggard; like

all people of the South, she soon fades, and in old age her appearance

is truly witch-like. Withered crones abound in the camps, where old men

are seldom seen. The sword and the sun are fatal to

“A green old age, unconscious of decay.”

The manners of the Badawin are free and simple: “vulgarity” and

affectation, awkwardness and embarrassment, are weeds of civilised

growth, unknown to the People of the Desert.[FN#16] Yet their manners

are sometimes dashed with a strange ceremoniousness. When two frends

meet, they either embrace or both extend the right hands, clapping palm

to palm; their foreheads are either pressed together, or their heads

are moved from side to side, whilst for minutes together mutual

inquiries are made and answered. It is a breach of decorum, even when

eating, to turn the back upon a person, and if a Badawi

[p.86] does it, he intends an insult. When a man prepares coffee, he

drinks the first cup: the Sharbat Kajari of the Persians, and the

Sulaymani of Egypt,[FN#17] render this precaution necessary. As a

friend approaches the camp,—it is not done to strangers for fear of

startling them,—those who catch sight of him shout out his name, and

gallop up saluting with lances or firing matchlocks in the air. This is

the well-known La’ab al-Barut, or gunpowder play. Badawin are generally

polite in language, but in anger temper is soon shown, and, although

life be in peril, the foulest epithets—dog, drunkard, liar, and infidel—are

discharged like pistol-shots by both disputants.

The best character of the Badawi is a truly noble compound of

determination, gentleness, and generosity. Usually they are a mixture

of worldly cunning and great simplicity, sensitive to touchiness,

good-tempered souls, solemn and dignified withal, fond of a jest, yet

of a grave turn of mind, easily managed by a laugh and a soft word, and

placable after passion, though madly revengeful after injury. It has

been sarcastically said of the Benu-Harb that there is not a man

“Que s’il ne violoit, voloit, tuoit, bruloit

Ne fut assez bonne personne.”

The reader will inquire, like the critics of a certain modern

humourist, how the fabric of society can be supported by such material.

In the first place, it is a kind of societe leonine, in which the

fiercest, the strongest, and the craftiest obtains complete mastery

over his fellows, and this gives a

[p.87] keystone to the arch. Secondly, there is the terrible

blood-feud, which even the most reckless fear for their posterity. And,

thirdly, though the revealed law of the Koran, being insufficient for

the Desert, is openly disregarded, the immemorial customs of the Kazi

al-Arab (the Judge of the Arabs)[FN#18] form a system stringent in the

extreme.

The valour of the Badawi is fitful and uncertain. Man is by nature an

animal of prey, educated by the complicated relations of society, but

readily relapsing into his old habits. Ravenous and sanguinary

propensities grow apace in the Desert, but for the same reason the

recklessness of civilisation is unknown there. Savages and

semi-barbarians are always cautious, because they have nothing valuable

but their lives and limbs. The civilised man, on the contrary, has a

hundred wants or hopes or aims, without which existence has for him no

charms. Arab ideas of bravery do not prepossess us. Their romances,

full of foolhardy feats and impossible exploits, might charm for a

time, but would not become the standard works of a really fighting

people.[FN#19] Nor would a truly valorous race admire

[p.88] the cautious freebooters who safely fire down upon Caravans from

their eyries. Arab wars, too, are a succession of skirmishes, in which

five hundred men will retreat after losing a dozen of their number. In

this partisan-fighting the first charge secures a victory, and the

vanquished fly till covered by the shades of night. Then come cries and

taunts of women, deep oaths, wild poetry, excitement, and reprisals,

which will probably end in the flight of the former victor. When peace

is to be made, both parties count up their dead, and the usual

blood-money is paid for excess on either side. Generally, however, the

feud endures till, all becoming weary of it, some great man, as the

Sharif of Meccah, is called upon to settle the terms of a treaty, which

is nothing but an armistice. After a few months’ peace, a glance or a

word will draw blood, for these hates are old growths, and new

dissensions easily shoot up from them.

But, contemptible though their battles be, the Badawin are not cowards.

The habit of danger in raids and blood-feuds, the continual uncertainty

of existence, the desert, the chase, the hard life and exposure to the

air, blunting the nervous system; the presence and the practice of

weapons, horsemanship, sharpshooting, and martial exercises, habituate

them to look death in the face like men, and powerful motives will make

them heroes. The English, it is said, fight willingly for liberty, our

neighbours for glory; the Spaniard fights, or rather fought, for

religion and the Pundonor; and the Irishman fights for the fun of

fighting. Gain and revenge draw the Arab’s sword; yet then he uses it

fitfully enough, without the gay gallantry of the

[p.89] French or the persistent stay of the Anglo-Saxon. To become

desperate he must have the all-powerful stimulants of honour and of

fanaticism. Frenzied by the insults of his women, or by the fear of

being branded as a coward, he is capable of any mad deed.[FN#20] And

the obstinacy produced by strong religious impressions gives a

steadfastness to his spirit unknown to mere enthusiasm. The history of

the Badawi tells this plainly. Some unobserving travellers, indeed,

have mistaken his exceeding cautiousness for stark cowardice. The

incongruity is easily read by one who understands the principles of

Badawi warfare; with them, as amongst the Red Indians, one death dims a

victory. And though reckless when their passions are thoroughly

aroused, though heedless of danger when the voice of honour calls them,

the Badawin will not sacrifice themselves for light motives. Besides,

they have, as has been said, another and a potent incentive to

cautiousness. Whenever peace is concluded, they must pay for victory.

There are two things which tend to soften the ferocity of Badawi life.

These are, in the first place, intercourse with citizens, who

frequently visit and entrust their children to the people of the Black

tents ; and, secondly, the social position of the women.

The Rev. Charles Robertson, author of a certain

[p.90] “Lecture on Poetry, addressed to Working Men,” asserts that Passion

became Love under the influence of Christianity, and that the idea of a

Virgin Mother spread over the sex a sanctity unknown to the poetry or

to the philosophy of Greece and Rome.[FN#21] Passing over the

objections of deified Eros and Immortal Psyche, and of the Virgin

Mother—symbol of moral purity—being common to every old and material

faith,[FN#22] I believe that all the noble tribes of savages display

the principle. Thus we might expect to find, wherever the fancy, the

imagination, and the ideality are strong, some traces of a sentiment

innate in the human organisation. It exists, says Mr. Catlin, amongst

the North American Indians, and even the Gallas and the Somal of Africa

are not wholly destitute of it. But when the barbarian becomes a

semi-barbarian, as are the most polished Orientals, or as were the

classical authors of Greece and Rome, then women fall from their proper

place in society, become mere articles of luxury, and sink into the

lowest moral condition. In the next stage, “civilisation,” they rise again

to be “highly accomplished,” and not a little frivolous.

[p.91]Miss Martineau, when travelling through Egypt, once visited a

harim, and there found, among many things, especially in ignorance of

books and of book-making, materials for a heart-broken wail over the

degradation of her sex. The learned lady indulges, too, in sundry

strong and unsavoury comparisons between the harim and certain haunts

of vice in Europe. On the other hand, male travellers generally speak

lovingly of the harim. Sonnini, no admirer of Egypt, expatiates on “the

generous virtues, the examples of magnanimity and affectionate

attachment, the sentiments ardent, yet gentle, forming a delightful

unison with personal charms in the harims of the Mamluks.”

As usual, the truth lies somewhere between the two extremes. Human

nature, all the world over, differs but in degree. Everywhere women may

be “capricious, coy, and hard to please” in common conjunctures: in the

hour of need they will display devoted heroism. Any chronicler of the

Afghan war will bear witness that warm hearts, noble sentiments, and an

overflowing kindness to the poor, the weak, and the unhappy are found

even in a harim. Europe now knows that the Moslem husband provides

separate apartments and a distinct establishment for each of his wives,

unless, as sometimes happens, one be an old woman and the other a

child. And, confessing that envy, hatred, and malice often flourish in

polygamy, the Moslem asks, Is monogamy open to no objections? As far as

my limited observations go, polyandry is the only state of society in

which jealousy and quarrels about the sex are the exception and not the

rule of life.

In quality of doctor I have seen a little and heard much of the harim.

It often resembles a European home composed of a man, his wife, and his

mother. And I have seen in the West many a “happy fireside” fitter to make

Miss Martineau’s heart ache than any harim in Grand Cairo.

[p.92] Were it not evident that the spiritualising of sexuality by

sentiment, of propensity by imagination, is universal among the highest

orders of mankind,—c’est l’etoffe de la nature que l’imagination a brodee, says

Voltaire,—I should attribute the origin of “love” to the influence of the

Arabs’ poetry and chivalry upon European ideas rather than to mediaeval

Christianity. Certain “Fathers of the Church,” it must be remembered, did

not believe that women have souls. The Moslems never went so far.

In nomad life, tribes often meet for a time, live together whilst

pasturage lasts, and then separate perhaps for a generation. Under such

circumstances, youths who hold with the Italian that

“Perduto e tutto il tempo

Che in amor non si spende,”

will lose heart to maidens, whom possibly, by the laws of the clan,

they may not marry,[FN#23] and the light o’ love will fly her home. The

fugitives must brave every danger, for revenge, at all times the Badawi’s

idol, now becomes the lodestar of his existence. But the Arab lover

will dare all consequences. “Men have died and the worms have eaten them,

but not for love,” may be true in the West: it is false in the East. This

is attested in every tale where love, and not ambition, is the

groundwork of the narrative.[FN#24] And nothing can be more tender, more

[p.93] pathetic than the use made of these separations and long

absences by the old Arab poets. Whoever peruses the Suspended Poem of

Labid, will find thoughts at once so plaintive and so noble, that even

Dr. Carlyle’s learned verse cannot wholly deface their charm.

The warrior-bard returns from afar. He looks upon the traces of hearth

and home still furrowing the Desert ground. In bitterness of spirit he

checks himself from calling aloud upon his lovers and his friends. He

melts at the remembrance of their departure, and long indulges in the

absorbing theme. Then he strengthens himself by the thought of Nawara’s

inconstancy, how she left him and never thought of him again. He

impatiently dwells upon the charms of the places which detain her,

advocates flight from the changing lover and the false friend, and, in

the exultation with which he feels his swift dromedary start under him

upon her rapid course, he seems to seek and finds some consolation for

women’s perfidy and forgetfulness. Yet he cannot abandon Nawara’s name or

memory. Again he dwells with yearning upon scenes of past felicity, and

he boasts of his prowess—a fresh reproach to her,—of his gentle birth, and

of his hospitality. He ends with an encomium upon his clan, to which he

attributes, as a noble Arab should, all the virtues of man. This is

Goldsmith’s deserted village in Al-Hijaz. But the Arab, with equal

simplicity and pathos, has a fire, a force of language, and a depth of

feeling, which the Irishman, admirable as his verse is, could never

rival.

As the author of the Peninsular War well remarks, women in troubled

times, throwing off their accustomed feebleness and frivolity, become

helpmates meet for man. The same is true of pastoral life. [FN#25]

Here, between the

[p.94] extremes of fierceness and sensibility, the weaker sex,

remedying its great want, power, rises itself by courage, physical as

well as moral. In the early days of Al-Islam, if history be credible,

Arabia had a race of heroines. Within the last century, Ghaliyah, the

wife of a Wahhabi chief, opposed Mohammed Ali himself in many a bloody

field. A few years ago, when Ibn Asm, popularly called Ibn Rumi, chief

of the Zubayd clan about Rabigh, was treacherously slain by the Turkish

general, Kurdi Osman, his sister, a fair young girl, determined to

revenge him. She fixed upon the “Arafat-day” of pilgrimage for the

accomplishment of her designs, disguised herself in male attire, drew

her kerchief in the form Lisam over the lower part of her face, and

with lighted match awaited her enemy. The Turk, however, was not

present, and the girl was arrested to win for herself a local

reputation equal to the “maid” of Salamanca. Thus it is that the Arab has

learned to swear that great oath “by the honour of my women.”

The Badawin are not without a certain Platonic affection, which they

call Hawa (or Ishk) uzri—pardonable love.[FN#26] They draw the fine line

between amant and amoureux: this is derided by the tow[n]speople,

little suspecting how much such a custom says in favour of the wild

men. Arabs, like other Orientals, hold that, in such matters, man is

saved, not by faith, but by want of faith. They have also a saying not

unlike ours—

“She partly is to blame who has been tried;

He comes too near who comes to be denied.”

[p.95]The evil of this system is that they, like certain

Southerns—pensano sempre al male—always suspect, which may be worldly-wise,

and also always show their suspicions, which is assuredly foolish. For

thus they demoralise their women, who might be kept in the way of right

by self-respect and by a sense of duty.

From ancient periods of the Arab’s history we find him practising

knight-errantry, the wildest form of chivalry.[FN#27] “The Songs of Antar,”

says the author of the “Crescent and the Cross,” “show little of the true

chivalric spirit.” What thinks the reader of sentiments like

these[FN#28]? “This valiant man,” remarks Antar (who was “ever interested for

the weaker sex,”) “hath defended the honour of women.” We read in another

place, “Mercy, my lord, is the noblest quality of the noble.” Again, “it is

the most ignominious of deeds to take free-born women prisoners.” “Bear not

malice, O Shibub,” quoth the hero, “for of malice good never came.” Is there

no true greatness in this sentiment?—“Birth is the boast of the faineant;

noble is the youth who beareth every ill, who clotheth himself in mail

during the noontide heat, and who wandereth through the outer darkness

of night.” And why does the “knight of knights” love Ibla? Because “she is

blooming as the sun at dawn, with hair black as the midnight shades,

with Paradise in her eye, her bosom an enchantment, and a form waving

like the tamarisk when the soft wind blows from the hills of Nijd”? Yes!

but his chest expands also with the thoughts of her “faith, purity, and

affection,”—it is her moral as well as her material excellence that makes

her

[p.96] the hero’s “hope, and hearing, and sight.” Briefly, in Antar I discern

“a love exalted high,

By all the glow of chivalry;”

and I lament to see so many intelligent travellers misjudging the Arab

after a superficial experience of a few debased Syrians or Sinaites.

The true children of Antar, my Lord Lindsay, have not “ceased to be

gentlemen.”

In the days of ignorance, it was the custom for Badawin, when tormented

by the tender passion, which seems to have attacked them in the form of

“possession,” for long years to sigh and wail and wander, doing the most

truculent deeds to melt the obdurate fair. When Arabia Islamized, the

practice changed its element for proselytism.

The Fourth Caliph is fabled to have travelled far, redressing the

injured, punishing the injurer, preaching to the infidel, and

especially protecting women—the chief end and aim of knighthood. The

Caliph Al-Mu’tasim heard in the assembly of his courtiers that a woman of

Sayyid family had been taken prisoner by a “Greek barbarian” of Ammoria.

The man on one occasion struck her: when she cried “Help me, O Mu’tasim!” and

the clown said derisively, “Wait till he cometh upon his pied steed!” The

chivalrous prince arose, sealed up the wine-cup which he held in his

hand, took oath to do his knightly devoir, and on the morrow started

for Ammoria with seventy thousand men, each mounted on a piebald

charger. Having taken the place, he entered it, exclaiming, “Labbayki,

Labbayki!”—“Here am I at thy call!” He struck off the caitiff’s head, released

the lady with his own hands, ordered the cupbearer to bring the sealed

bowl, and drank from it, exclaiming, “Now, indeed, wine is good!”

To conclude this part of the subject with another far-famed instance.

When Al-Mutanabbi, the poet, prophet, and warrior of Hams (A.H. 354)

started together with his

[p.97] son on their last journey, the father proposed to seek a place

of safety for the night. “Art thou the Mutanabbi,” exclaimed his slave, “who

wrote these lines,—

“‘I am known to the night, the wild, and the steed,

To the guest, and the sword, to the paper and reed[FN#29]’?”

The poet, in reply, lay down to sleep on Tigris’ bank, in a place haunted

by thieves, and, disdaining flight, lost his life during the hours of

darkness.

It is the existence of this chivalry among the “Children of Antar” which

makes the society of Badawin (“damned saints,” perchance, and “honourable

villains,”) so delightful to the traveller who[,] like the late Haji Wali

(Dr. Wallin), understands and is understood by them. Nothing more naïve

than his lamentations at finding himself in the “loathsome company of

Persians,” or among Arab townspeople, whose “filthy and cowardly minds” he

contrasts with the “high and chivalrous spirit of the true Sons of the

Desert.” Your guide will protect you with blade and spear, even against

his kindred, and he expects you to do the same for him. You may give a

man the lie, but you must lose no time in baring your sword. If

involved in dispute with overwhelming numbers, you address some elder,

Dakhil-ak ya Shaykh!—(I am) thy protected, O Sir,—and he will espouse your

quarrel with greater heat and energy, indeed, than if it were his

own.[FN#30] But why multiply instances?

The language of love and war and all excitement is poetry, and here,

again, the Badawi excels. Travellers complain that the wild men have

ceased to sing. This is true if “poet” be limited to a few authors whose

existence

[p.98] everywhere depends upon the accidents of patronage or political

occurrences. A far stronger evidence of poetic feeling is afforded by

the phraseology of the Arab, and the highly imaginative turn of his

commonest expressions. Destitute of the poetic taste, as we define it,

he certainly is: as in the Milesian, wit and fancy, vivacity and

passion, are too strong for reason and judgment, the reins which guide

Apollo’s car.[FN#31] And although the Badawin no longer boast a Labid or

a Maysunah, yet they are passionately fond of their ancient

bards.[FN#32] A man skilful in reading Al-Mutanabbi and the suspended

Poems would be received by them with the honours paid by civilisation

to the travelling millionaire.[FN#33] And their elders have a goodly

store of ancient and modern war songs, legends, and love ditties which

all enjoy.

[p.99]I cannot well explain the effect of Arab poetry to one who has

not visited the Desert.[FN#34] Apart from the pomp of words, and the

music of the sound,[FN#35] there is a dreaminess of idea and a haze

thrown over the object, infinitely attractive, but indescribable.

Description,

[p.100] indeed, would rob the song of indistinctness, its essence. To

borrow a simile from a sister art; the Arab poet sets before the mental

eye, the dim grand outlines of picture,—which must be filled up by the

reader, guided only by a few glorious touches, powerfully standing out,

and by the sentiment which the scene is intended to express;—whereas, we

Europeans and moderns, by stippling and minute touches, produce a

miniature on a large scale so objective as to exhaust rather than to

arouse reflection. As the poet is a creator, the Arab’s is poetry, the

European’s versical description. [FN#36] The language, “like a faithful

wife, following the mind and giving birth to its offspring,” and free

from that “luggage of particles” which clogs our modern tongues, leaves a

mysterious vagueness between the relation of word to word, which

materially assists the sentiment, not the sense, of the poem. When

verbs and nouns have, each one, many different significations, only the

radical or general idea suggests itself.[FN#37] Rich and varied

synonyms, illustrating the finest shades of meaning, are artfully used;

now scattered to startle us by distinctness, now to form as it were a

star about which dimly seen satellites revolve. And, to cut short a

disquisition

[p.101] which might be prolonged indefinitely, there is in the Semitic

dialect a copiousness of rhyme which leaves the poet almost unfettered

to choose the desired expression.[FN#38] Hence it is that a stranger

speaking Arabic becomes poetical as naturally as he would be witty in

French and philosophic in German. Truly spake Mohammed al-Damiri, “Wisdom

hath alighted upon three things—the brain of the Franks, the hands of the

Chinese, and the tongues of the Arabs.”

The name of Harami—brigand—is still honourable among the Hijazi Badawin.

Slain in raid or foray, a man is said to die Ghandur, or a brave. He,

on the other hand, who is lucky enough, as we should express it, to die

in his bed, is called Fatis (carrion, the corps creve of the Klephts);

his weeping mother will exclaim, “O that my son had perished of a cut

throat!” and her attendant crones will suggest, with deference, that such

evil came of the will of Allah. It is told of the Lahabah, a sept of

the Auf near Rabigh, that a girl will refuse even her cousin unless, in

the absence of other opportunities, he plunder some article from the

Hajj Caravan in front of the Pasha’s links. Detected twenty years ago,

the delinquent would have been impaled; now he escapes with a

rib-roasting. Fear of the blood-feud, and the certainty of a shut road

to future travellers, prevent the Turks proceeding to extremes. They

conceal their weakness by pretending that

[p.102] the Sultan hesitates to wage a war of extermination with the

thieves of the Holy Land.

It is easy to understand this respect for brigands. Whoso revolts

against society requires an iron mind in an iron body, and these

mankind instinctively admires, however misdirected be their energies.

Thus, in all imaginative countries, the brigand is a hero; even the

assassin who shoots his victim from behind a hedge appeals to the fancy

in Tipperary or on the Abruzzian hills. Romance invests his loneliness

with grandeur; if he have a wife or a friend’s wife, romance becomes

doubly romantic, and a tithe of the superfluity robbed from the rich

and bestowed upon the poor will win to Gasparoni the hearts of a

people. The true Badawi style of plundering, with its numerous niceties

of honour and gentlemanly manners, gives the robber a consciousness of

moral rectitude. “Strip off that coat, O certain person! and that turband,”

exclaims the highwayman, “they are wanted by the daughter of my paternal

uncle (wife).” You will (of course, if necessary) lend ready ear to an

order thus politely attributed to the wants of the fair sex. If you

will add a few obliging expressions to the bundle, and offer Latro a

cup of coffee and a pipe, you will talk half your toilette back to your

own person; and if you can quote a little poetry, you will part the

best of friends, leaving perhaps only a pair of sandals behind you. But

should you hesitate, Latro, lamenting the painful necessity, touches up

your back with the heel of his spear. If this hint suffice not, he will

make things plain by the lance’s point, and when blood shows, the

tiger-part of humanity appears. Between Badawin, to be tamely

plundered, especially of the mare,[FN#39] is a lasting disgrace; a man

of

[p.103] family lays down his life rather than yield even to

overpowering numbers. This desperation has raised the courage of the

Badawin to high repute amongst the settled Arabs, who talk of single

braves capable, like the Homeric heroes, of overpowering three hundred

men.

I omit general details about the often-described Sar, or Vendetta. The

price of blood is $800 = 200l., or rather that sum imperfectly

expressed by live stock. All the Khamsah or A’amam, blood relations of

the slayer, assist to make up the required amount, rating each animal

at three or four times its proper value. On such occasions violent

scenes arise from the conflict of the Arab’s two pet passions, avarice

and revenge. The “avenger of blood” longs to cut the foe’s throat. On the

other hand, how let slip an opportunity of enriching himself? His

covetousness is intense, as are all his passions. He has always a

project of buying a new dromedary, or of investing capital in some

marvellous colt; the consequence is, that he is insatiable. Still he

receives blood-money with a feeling of shame; and if it be offered to

an old woman,—the most revengeful variety of our species, be it

remarked,—she will dash it to the ground and clutch her knife, and

fiercely swear by Allah that she will not “eat” her son’s blood.

The Badawi considers himself a man only when mounted on horseback,

lance in hand, bound for a foray or a fray, and carolling some such

gaiety as—

“A steede! a steede of matchlesse speede!

A sword of metal keene!

All else to noble minds is drosse,

All else on earth is meane.”

Even in his sports he affects those that imitate war. Preserving the

instinctive qualities which lie dormant in civilisation, he is an

admirable sportsman. The children,

[p.104] men in miniature, begin with a rude system of gymnastics when

they can walk. “My young ones play upon the backs of camels,” was the reply

made to me by a Jahayni Badawi when offered some Egyptian plaything.

The men pass their time principally in hawking, shooting, and riding.

The “Sakr,[FN#40]” I am told, is the only falcon in general use; they train

it to pursue the gazelle, which

[p.105] greyhounds pull down when fatigued. I have heard much of their

excellent marksmanship, but saw only moderate practice with a long

matchlock rested and fired at standing objects. Double-barreled guns

are rare amongst them.[FN#41] Their principal weapons are matchlocks

and firelocks, pistols, javelins, spears, swords, and the dagger called

Jambiyah; the sling and the bow have long been given up. The guns come

from Egypt, Syria, and Turkey; for the Badawi cannot make, although he

can repair, this arm. He particularly values a good old barrel seven

spans long, and would rather keep it than his coat; consequently, a

family often boasts of four or five guns, which descend from generation

to generation. Their price varies from two to sixty dollars. The

Badawin collect nitre in the country, make excellent charcoal, and

import sulphur from Egypt and India; their powder, however, is coarse

and weak. For hares and birds they cut up into slugs a bar of lead

hammered out to a convenient size, and they cast bullets in moulds.

They are fond of ball-practice, firing, as every sensible man does, at

short distances, and striving at extreme precision. They are ever

backing themselves with wagers, and will shoot for a sheep, the loser

inviting his friends to a feast: on festivals they boil the head, and

use it as mark and prize. Those who affect excellence are said to fire

at a bullet hanging by a thread; curious, however, to relate, the

Badawin of Al-Hijaz have but just learned the art, general in Persia

and Barbary, of shooting from horseback at speed.

Pistols have been lately introduced into the Hijaz, and are not common

amongst the Badawin. The citizens incline to this weapon, as it is

derived from Constantinople. In the Desert a tolerable pair with flint

locks may be worth thirty dollars, ten times their price in England.

[p.106]The spears[FN#42] called Kanat, or reeds, are made of male

bamboos imported from India. They are at least twelve feet long, iron

shod, with a tapering point, beneath which are one or two tufts of

black ostrich feathers.[FN#43] Besides the Mirzak, or javelin, they

have a spear called Shalfah, a bamboo or a palm stick garnished with a

head about the breadth of a man’s hand.

No good swords are fabricated in Al-Hijaz. The Khalawiyah and other

Desert clans have made some poor attempts at blades. They are brought

from Persia, India, and Egypt; but I never saw anything of value.

The Darakah, or shield, also comes from India. It is the common Cutch

article, supposed to be made of rhinoceros hide, and displaying as much

brass knob and gold wash as possible. The Badawin still use in the

remoter parts Diraa, or coats of mail, worn by horsemen over buff

jackets.

The dagger is made in Al-Yaman and other places: it has a vast variety

of shapes, each of which, as usual, has its proper names. Generally

they are but little curved (whereas the Gadaymi of Al-Yaman and

Hazramaut is almost a semicircle), with tapering blade, wooden handle,

and scabbard of the same material overlaid with brass. At the point of

the scabbard is a round knob, and the weapon is so long, that a man

when walking cannot swing his right

[p.107] arm. In narrow places he must enter sideways. But it is the

mode always to appear in dagger, and the weapon, like the French

soldier’s coupe-choux, is really useful for such bloodless purposes as

cutting wood and gathering grass. In price they vary from one to thirty

dollars.

The Badawin boast greatly of sword-play; but it is apparently confined

to delivering a tremendous slash, and to jumping away from the

return-cut instead of parrying either with sword or shield. The

citizens have learned the Turkish scimitar-play, which, in

grotesqueness and general absurdity, rivals the East Indian school.

None of these Orientals knows the use of the point which characterises

the highest school of swordsmanship.

The Hijazi Badawin have no game of chance, and dare not, I am told,

ferment the juice of the Daum palm, as proximity to Aden has taught the

wild men of Al-Yaman.[FN#44] Their music is in a rude state. The

principal instrument is the Tabl, or kettle-drum, which is of two

kinds: one, the smaller, used at festivals; the other, a large copper

“tom-tom,” for martial purposes, covered with leather, and played upon,

pulpit-like, with fist, and not with stick. Besides which, they have

the one-stringed Rubabah, or guitar, that “monotonous but charming

instrument of the Desert.” In another place I have described their

dancing, which is an ignoble spectacle.

The Badawin of Al-Hijaz have all the knowledge necessary for procuring

and protecting the riches of savage life. They are perfect in the

breeding, the training, and the selling of cattle. They know sufficient

of astronomy to guide themselves by night, and are acquainted

[p.108] with the names of the principal stars. Their local memory is

wonderful. And such is their instinct in the art of asar, or tracking,

that it is popularly said of the Zubayd clan, which lives between

Meccah and Al-Madinah, a man will lose a she-camel and know her

four-year-old colt by its foot. Always engaged in rough exercises and

perilous journeys, they have learned a kind of farriery and a simple

system of surgery. In cases of fracture they bind on splints with cloth

bands, and the patient drinks camel’s milk and clarified butter till he

is cured. Cuts are carefully washed, sprinkled with meal gunpowder, and

sewn up. They dress gunshot wounds with raw camel’s flesh, and rely

entirely upon nature and diet. When bitten by snakes or stung by

scorpions, they scarify the wound with a razor, recite a charm, and

apply to it a dressing of garlic.[FN#45] The wealthy have Fiss or

ring-stones, brought from India, and used with a formula of prayer to

extract venom. Some few possess the Tariyak (Theriack) of Al-Irak—the

great counter-poison, internal as well as external, of the East. The

poorer classes all wear the Za’al or Hibas of Al-Yaman; two yarns of

black sheep’s wool tied round the leg, under the knee and above the

ankle. When bitten, the sufferer tightens these cords above the injured

part, which he immediately scarifies; thus they act as tourniquets.

These ligatures also cure cramps—and there is no other remedy. The Badawi

knowledge of medicine is unusually limited in this part of Arabia,

where even simples are not required by a people who rise with dawn, eat

little, always breathe Desert air, and “at night make the camels their

curfew.” The great tonic is clarified butter, and the Kay, or actual

cautery, is used even for rheumatism. This counter-irritant, together

with a curious and artful phlebotomy,

[p.109] blood being taken, as by the Italians, from the toes, the

fingers, and other parts of the body, are the Arab panaceas. They treat

scald-head with grease and sulphur. Ulcers, which here abound, without,

however, assuming the fearful type of the “Helcoma Yemenense,” are

cauterised and stimulated by verdigris. The evil of which Fracastorius

sang is combated by sudorifics, by unguents of oil and sulphur, and

especially by the sand-bath. The patient, buried up to the neck,

remains in the sun fasting all day; in the evening he is allowed a

little food. This rude course of “packing” lasts for about a month. It

suits some constitutions; but others, especially Europeans, have tried

the sand-bath and died of fever. Mules’ teeth, roasted and imperfectly

pounded, remove cataract. Teeth are extracted by the farrier’s pincers,

and the worm which throughout the East is supposed to produce

toothache, falls by fumigation. And, finally, after great fatigue, or

when suffering from cold, the body is copiously greased with clarified

butter and exposed to a blazing fire.

Mohammed and his followers conquered only the more civilised Badawin;

and there is even to this day little or no religion amongst the wild

people, except those on the coast or in the vicinity of cities. The

faith of the Badawi comes from Al-Islam, whose hold is weak. But his

customs and institutions, the growth of his climate, his nature, and

his wants, are still those of his ancestors, cherished ere Meccah had

sent forth a Prophet, and likely to survive the day when every vestige

of the Ka’abah shall have disappeared. Of this nature are the Hijazi’s

pagan oaths, his heathenish names (few being Moslem except “Mohammed”), his

ordeal of licking red-hot iron, his Salkh, or scarification,—proof of

manliness,—his blood revenge, and his eating carrion (i.e., the body of

an animal killed without the usual formula), and his lending his wives

to strangers. All these I hold to be remnants of some old

[p.110] creed; nor should I despair of finding among the Badawin

bordering upon the Great Desert some lingering system of idolatry.

The Badawin of Al-Hijaz call themselves Shafe’i but what is put into the

mouths of their brethren in the West applies equally well here. “We pray

not, because we must drink the water of ablution; we give no alms,

because we ask them; we fast not the Ramazan month, because we starve

throughout the year; and we do no pilgrimage, because the world is the

House of Allah.” Their blunders in religious matters supply the citizens

with many droll stories. And it is to be observed that they do not,

like the Greek pirates or the Italian bandits, preserve a religious

element in their plunderings; they make no vows, and they carefully

avoid offerings.

The ceremonies of Badawi life are few and simple—circumcisions,

marriages, and funerals. Of the former rite there are two forms,

Taharah, as usual in Al-Islam, and Salkh, an Arab invention, derived

from the times of Paganism.[FN#46] During Wahhabi rule it was forbidden

under pain of death, but now the people have returned to it. The usual

age for Taharah is between five and six; among

[p.111] some classes, however, it is performed ten years later. On such

occasions feastings and merrymakings take place, as at our christenings.

Women being a marketable commodity in barbarism as in civilisation, the

youth in Al-Hijaz is not married till his father can afford to buy him

a bride. There is little pomp or ceremony save firing of guns, dancing,

singing, and eating mutton. The “settlement” is usually about thirty sound

Spanish dollars,[FN#47] half paid down, and the other owed by the

bridegroom to the father, the brothers, or the kindred of his spouse.

Some tribes will take animals in lieu of ready money. A man of wrath

not contented with his bride, puts her away at once. If peaceably

inclined, by a short delay he avoids scandal. Divorces are very

frequent among Badawin, and if the settlement money be duly paid, no

evil comes of them.[FN#48]

The funerals of the wild men resemble those of the citizens, only they

are more simple, the dead being buried where they die. The corpse,

after ablution, is shrouded in any rags procurable; and, women and

hired weepers

[p.112] not being permitted to attend, it is carried to the grave by

men only. A hole is dug, according to Moslem custom; dry wood, which

everywhere abounds, is disposed to cover the corpse, and an oval of

stones surrounding a mound of earth keeps out jackals and denotes the

spot. These Badawin have not, like the wild Sindis and Baluchis,

favourite cemeteries, to which they transport their dead from afar.

The traveller will find no difficulty in living amongst the Hijazi

Badawin. “Trust to their honour, and you are safe,” as was said of the Crow

Indians; “to their honesty and they will steal the hair off your head.” But

the wanderer must adopt the wild man’s motto, omnia mea mecum porto; he

must have good nerves, be capable of fatigue and hardship, possess some

knowledge of drugs, shoot and ride well, speak Arabic and Turkish, know

the customs by reading, and avoid offending against local prejudices,

by causing himself, for instance, to be called Taggaa. The payment of a

small sum secures to him a Rafik,[FN#49] and this “friend,” after once

engaging in the task, will be faithful. “We have eaten salt together”

(Nahnu Malihin) is still a bond of friendship: there are, however, some

tribes who require to renew the bond every twenty-four hours, as

otherwise, to use their own phrase, “the salt is not in their stomachs.”

Caution must be exercised in choosing a companion who has not too many

blood feuds. There is no objection to carrying a copper watch and a

pocket compass, and a Koran could be fitted with secret pockets for

notes and pencil. Strangers should especially avoid handsome weapons;

these tempt the Badawin’s cupidity more than gold. The other extreme,

defencelessness, is equally objectionable. It is needless to say that

the traveller must never be seen writing anything but charms, and must

on no account sketch in public. He should be careful in questioning,

and rather lead up

[p.113] to information than ask directly. It offends some Badawin,

besides denoting ignorance and curiosity, to be asked their names or

those of their clans: a man may be living incognito, and the tribes

distinguish themselves when they desire to do so by dress, personal

appearance, voice, dialect, and accentuation, points of difference

plain to the initiated. A few dollars suffice for the road, and if you

would be “respectable,” a taste which I will not deprecate, some such

presents as razors and Tarbushes are required for the chiefs.

The government of the Arabs may be called almost an autonomy. The

tribes never obey their Shaykhs, unless for personal considerations,

and, as in a civilised army, there generally is some sharp-witted and

brazen-faced individual whose voice is louder than the general’s. In

their leonine society the sword is the greater administrator of law.

Relations between the Badawi tribes of Al-Hijaz are of a threefold

character: they are either Ashab, Kiman, or Akhwan.

Ashab, or “comrades,” are those who are bound by oath to an alliance

offensive and defensive: they intermarry, and are therefore closely

connected.

Kiman,[FN#50] or foes, are tribes between whom a blood feud, the cause

and the effect of deadly enmity, exists.

Akhawat, or “brotherhood,” denotes the tie between the stranger and the

Badawi, who asserts an immemorial and inalienable right to the soil

upon which his forefathers fed their flocks. Trespass by a neighbour

instantly causes war. Territorial increase is rarely attempted, for if

of a whole clan but a single boy escape he will one day assert his

claim to the land, and be assisted by all the Ashab, or

[p.114] allies of the slain. By paying to man, woman, or child, a small

sum, varying, according to your means, from a few pence worth of

trinkets to a couple of dollars, you share bread and salt with the

tribe, you and your horse become Dakhil (protected), and every one must

afford you brother-help. If traveller or trader attempt to pass through

the land without paying Al-Akhawah or Al-Rifkah, as it is termed, he

must expect to be plundered, and, resisting, to be slain: it is no

dishonour to pay it, and he clearly is in the wrong who refuses to

conform to custom. The Rafik, under different names, exists throughout

this part of the world; at Sinai he was called a Ghafir, a Rabia in

Eastern Arabia, amongst the Somal an Abban, and by the Gallas a Mogasa.

I have called the tax “black-mail”; it deserves a better name, being

clearly the rudest form of those transit-dues and octrois which are in

nowise improved by “progress.” The Ahl Bayt,[FN#51] or dwellers in the

Black Tents, levy the tax from the Ahl Hayt, or the People of Walls;

that is to say, townsmen and villagers who have forfeited right to be

held Badawin. It is demanded from bastard Arabs, and from tribes who,

like the Hutaym and the Khalawiyah, have been born basely or have

become “nidering.” And these people are obliged to pay it at home as well

as abroad. Then it becomes a sign of disgrace, and the pure clans, like

the Benu Harb, will not give their damsels in marriage to “brothers.”

Besides this Akhawat-tax and the pensions by the Porte to chiefs of

clans, the wealth of the Badawi consists in his flocks and herds, his

mare, and his weapons. Some clans are rich in horses; others are

celebrated for camels; and not a few for sheep, asses, or greyhounds.

The Ahamidah tribe, as has been mentioned, possesses few animals; it

subsists by plunder and by presents from

[p.115] pilgrims. The principal wants of the country are sulphur, lead,

cloths of all kinds, sugar, spices, coffee, corn, and rice. Arms are

valued by the men, and it is advisable to carry a stock of Birmingham

jewellery for the purpose of conciliating womankind. In exchange the

Badawin give sheep,[FN#52] cattle, clarified butter, milk, wool, and

hides, which they use for water-bags, as the Egyptians and other

Easterns do potteries. But as there is now a fair store of dollars in

the country, it is rarely necessary to barter.

The Arab’s dress marks his simplicity; it gives him a nationality, as,

according to John Evelyn, “prodigious breeches” did to the Swiss. It is

remarkably picturesque, and with sorrow we see it now confined to the

wildest Badawin and a few Sharifs. To the practised eye, a Hijazi in

Tarbush and Caftan is ridiculous as a Basque or a Catalonian girl in a

cachemire and a little chip. The necessary dress of a man is his Saub

(Tobe), a blue calico shirt, reaching from neck to ankles, tight or

loose-sleeved, opening at the chest in front, and rather narrow below;

so that the wearer, when running, must either hold it up or tuck it

into his belt. The latter article, called Hakw, is a plaited leathern

thong, twisted round the waist very tightly, so as to support the back.

The trousers and the Futah, or loin-cloth of cities, are looked upon as

signs of effeminacy. In cold weather the chiefs wear over the shirt an

Aba, or cloak. These garments are made in Nijd and the Eastern

districts; they are of four colours, white, black, red, and

brown-striped. The best are of camels’ hair, and may cost fifteen

dollars; the worst, of sheep’s wool, are worth only three; both are

cheap, as they last for years. The Mahramah (head-cloth) comes from

Syria; which, with Nijd, supplies also the Kufiyah or headkerchief. The

Ukal,[FN#53] fillets bound over

[p.116] the kerchief, are of many kinds; the Bishr tribe near Meccah

make a kind of crown like the gloria round a saint’s head, with bits of

wood, in which are set pieces of mother-o’-pearl. Sandals, too, are of

every description, from the simple sole of leather tied on with thongs,

to the handsome and elaborate chaussure of Meccah; the price varies

from a piastre to a dollar, and the very poor walk barefooted. A

leathern bandoleer, called Majdal, passed over the left shoulder, and

reaching to the right hip, supports a line of brass cylinders for

cartridges.[FN#54] The other cross-belt (Al-Masdar), made of leather

ornamented with brass rings, hangs down at the left side, and carries a

Kharizah, or hide-case for bullets. And finally, the Hizam, or

waist-belt, holds the dagger and extra cartridge cases. A Badawi never

appears in public unarmed.

Women wear, like their masters, dark blue cotton Tobes, but larger and

looser. When abroad they cover the head with a Yashmak of black stuff,

or a poppy-coloured Burka (nose-gay) of the Egyptian shape. They wear

no pantaloons, and they rarely affect slippers or sandals. The hair is

twisted into Majdul, little pig-tails, and copiously anointed with

clarified butter. The rich perfume the skin with rose and

cinnamon-scented oils, and adorn the hair with Al-Shayh (Absinthium),

sweetest herb of the Desert; their ornaments are bracelets, collars,

ear and nose-rings of gold, silver, or silver-gilt. The poorer classes

have strings of silver coins hung round the neck.

The true Badawi is an abstemious man, capable of living for six months

on ten ounces of food per diem; the milk of a single camel, and a

handful of dates, dry or fried in clarified butter, suffice for his

wants. He despises the obese and all who require regular and plentiful

meals, sleeps on a mat, and knows neither luxury nor comfort, freezing

during one quarter and frying for three quarters of the year. But

though he can endure hunger, like all

[p.117] savages, he will gorge when an opportunity offers. I never saw

the man who could refrain from water upon the line of march; and in

this point they contrast disadvantageously with the hardy Wahhabis of

the East, and the rugged mountaineers of Jabal Shammar. They are still

“acridophagi,” and even the citizens far prefer a dish of locusts to the

Fasikh, which act as anchovies, sardines, and herrings in Egypt. They

light a fire at night, and as the insects fall dead they quote this

couplet to justify their being eaten—

“We are allowed two carrions and two bloods,

The fish and locust, the liver and the spleen.[FN#55]”

Where they have no crops to lose, the people are thankful for a fall of

locusts. In Al-Hijaz the flights are uncertain; during the last five

years Al-Madinah has seen but few. They are prepared for eating by

boiling in salt water and drying four or five days in the sun: a “wet”

locust to an Arab is as a snail to a Briton. The head is plucked off,

the stomach drawn, the wings and the prickly part of the legs are

plucked, and the insect is ready for the table. Locusts are never eaten

with sweet things, which would be nauseous: the dish is always “hot,” with

salt and pepper, or onions fried in clarified butter, when it tastes

nearly as well as a plate of stale shrimps.

The favourite food on the line of march is meat cut into strips and

sun-dried. This, with a bag of milk-balls[FN#56]

[p.118] and a little coffee, must suffice for journey or campaign. The

Badawin know neither fermented nor distilled liquors, although Ikhs ya’l

Khammar! (Fie upon thee, drunkard!) is a popular phrase, preserving the

memory of another state of things. Some clans, though not all, smoke

tobacco. It is generally the growth of the country called Hijazi or

Kazimiyah; a green weed, very strong, with a foul smell, and costing

about one piastre per pound. The Badawin do not relish Persian tobacco,

and cannot procure Latakia: it is probably the pungency of the native

growth offending the delicate organs of the Desert-men, that caused

nicotiana to be proscribed by the Wahhabis, who revived against its

origin a senseless and obsolete calumny.

The almost absolute independence of the Arabs, and of that noble race

the North American Indians of a former generation, has produced a

similarity between them worthy of note, because it may warn the

anthropologist not always to detect in coincidence of custom identity

of origin. Both have the same wild chivalry, the same fiery sense of

honour, and the same boundless hospitality: elopements from tribe to

tribe, the blood feud, and the Vendetta are common to the to. Both are

grave and cautious in demeanour, and formal in manner,—princes in rags or

paint. The Arabs plunder pilgrims; the Indians, bands of trappers; both

glory in forays, raids, and cattle-lifting; and both rob according to

certain rules. Both are alternately brave to desperation, and shy of

danger. Both are remarkable for nervous and powerful eloquence; dry

humour, satire, whimsical tales, frequent tropes; boasts, and ruffling

style; pithy proverbs, extempore songs, and languages wondrous in their

complexity. Both, recognising no other occupation but war and the

chase, despise artificers and the effeminate people of cities, as the

game-cock spurns the vulgar roosters of the poultry-yard.[FN#57] The

[p.119] chivalry of the Western wolds, like that of the Eastern wilds,

salutes the visitor by a charge of cavalry, by discharging guns, and by

wheeling around him with shouts and yells. The “brave” stamps a red hand

upon his mouth to show that he has drunk the blood of a foe. Of the

Utaybah “Harami” it is similarly related, that after mortal combat he

tastes the dead man’s gore.

Of these two chivalrous races of barbarians, the Badawi claims our

preference on account of his treatment of women, his superior

development of intellect, and the glorious page of history which he has

filled.

The tribes of Al-Hijaz are tediously numerous: it will be sufficient to

enumerate the principal branches of the Badawi tree, without detailing

the hundred little offshoots which it has put forth in the course of

ages.[FN#58]

Those ancient clans the Abs and Adnan have almost died out. The latter,

it is said, still exists in the neighbourhood of Taif; and the Abs, I

am informed, are to be found near Kusayr (Cosseir), on the African

coast, but not in Al-Hijaz. Of the Aus, Khazraj, and Nazir details have

been given in a previous chapter. The Benu Harb is now the ruling clan

in the Holy Land. It is divided by genealogists into two great bodies,

first, the Benu Salim, and, secondly, the Masruh,[FN#59] or “roaming

tribes.”

[p.120]The Benu Salim, again, have eight subdivisions, viz.:—

1. Ahamidah (Ahmadi)[FN#60]: this clan owns for chief, Shaykh Sa’ad of

the mountains. It is said to contain about 3500 men. Its principal

sub-clan is the Hadari.

2. Hawazim (Hazimi), the rival tribe, 3000 in number: it is again

divided into Muzayni and Zahiri.

3. Sobh (Sobhi), 3500, habitat near Al-Badr.

4. Salaymah (Salimi), also called Aulad Salim.

5. Sa’adin (Sa’adani).

6. Mahamid (Mahmadi), 8000.

7. Rahalah (Rihayli), 1000.

8. Timam (Tamimi).

The Masruh tree splits into two great branches, Benu Auf, and Benu

Amur.[FN#61] The former is a large clan, extending from Wady Nakia

[Arabic] near Nijd, to Rabigh and Al-Madinah. They have few horses, but

many dromedaries, camels, and sheep, and are much feared by the people,

on account of their warlike and savage character. They separate into

ten sub-divisions, viz.:—

1. Sihliyah (Sihli), about 2000 in number.

2. Sawaid (Sa’idi), 1000.

3. Rukhasah (Rakhis).

4. Kassanin (Kassan): this sub-clan claims origin from the old “Gassan”

stock, and is found in considerable numbers at Wady Nakia and other

places near Al-Madinah.

5. Ruba’ah (Rabai).

6. Khazarah (Khuzayri).

7. Lahabah (Lahaybi), 1500 in number.

8. Faradah (Faradi).

9. Benu Ali (Alawi).

10. Zubayd (Zubaydi), near Meccah, a numerous clan of fighting thieves.

Also under the Benu Amur—as the word is popularly pronounced—are ten

sub-families.

1. Marabitah (Murabti). They [nrs. 1-5] principally inhabit the land

about Al-Fara [Arabic] a collection of settlements four marches South

of Al-Madinah, number about 10,000 men, and have droves of sheep and

camels but few horses.

2. Hussar (Hasir).

3. Benu Jabir (Jabiri).

[p.121]

4. Rabaykah (Rubayki).

5. Hisnan (Hasuni).

6. Bizan (Bayzani).

7. Badarin (Badrani).

8. Biladiyah (Biladi).

9. Jaham (the singular and plural forms are the same).

10. Shatarah (Shitayri).[FN#62]

The great Anizah race now, I was told, inhabits Khaybar, and it must

not visit Al-Madinah without a Rafik or protector. Properly speaking

there are no outcasts in Al-Hijaz, as in Al-Yaman and the Somali

country. But the Hitman (pl. of Hutaym or Hitaym), inhabiting the

sea-board about Yambu’, are taxed by other Badawin as low and vile of

origin. The unchastity of the women is connived at by the men, who,

however, are brave and celebrated as marksmen: they make, eat, and sell

cheese, for which reason that food is despised by the Harb. And the

Khalawiyah (pl. of Khalawi) are equally despised; they are generally

blacksmiths, have a fine breed of greyhounds, and give asses as a

dowry, which secures for them the derision of their fellows.

Mr. C. Cole, H. B. M.’s Vice-Consul at Jeddah, was kind enough to collect

for me notices of the different tribes in Central and Southern Hijaz.

His informants divide the great clan Juhaynah living about Yambu’ and

Yambu’ al-Nakhl into five branches, viz.:—

1. Benu Ibrahimah, in number about 5000.

2. Ishran, 700.

3. Benu Malik, 6000.

[p.122]

4. Arwah, 5000.

5. Kaunah, 3000.

Thus giving a total of 19,700 men capable of carrying arms.[FN#63]

The same gentleman, whose labours in Eastern Arabia during the coast

survey of the “Palinurus” are well known to the Indian world, gives the

following names of the tribes under allegiance to the Sharif of Meccah.

1. Sakif (Thakif) al-Yaman, 2000.

2. Sakif al-Sham,[FN#64] 1000.

3. Benu Malik, 6000.

4. Nasirah, 3000.

5. Benu Sa’ad, 4000.

6. Huzayh (Hudhayh), 5000.

7. Bakum (Begoum), 5000.

8. Adudah, 500.

9. Bashar, 1000.

10. Sa’id, 1500.

11. Zubayd, 4000.

12. Aydah, 1000.

The following is a list of the Southern Hijazi tribes, kindly forwarded

to me by the Abbe Hamilton, after his return from a visit to the Sharif

at Taif.

1. Ghamid al-Badawy (“of the nomades”), 30,000.

2. Ghamid al-Hazar (“the settled”), 40,000.

3. Zahran, 38,000.

4. Benu Malik, 30,000.

5. Nasirah, 15,000.

6. Asir, 40,000.

7. Tamum, *

8. Bilkarn, * * together, 80,000.

9. Benu Ahmar, 10,000.

10. Utaybah, living north of Meccah: no number given.

11. Shu’abin.

12. Daraysh, 2000.

[p.123]

13. Benu Sufyan, 15,000.

14. Al-Hullad, 3000.

It is evident that the numbers given by this traveller include the

women, and probably the children of the tribes. Some exaggeration will

also be suspected.

The principal clans which practise the pagan Salkh, or excoriation,

are, in Al-Hijaz, the Huzayl and the Benu Sufyan, together with the

following families in Al-Tahamah:

1. Juhadilah.

2. Kabakah.

3. Benu Fahm.

4. Benu Mahmud.

5. Saramu (?)

6. Majarish.

7. Benu Yazid.

I now take leave of a subject which cannot but be most uninteresting to

English readers.

[FN#1] In Holy Writ, as the indigens are not alluded to—only the Noachian

race being described—we find two divisions: 1 The children of Joktan

(great grandson of Shem), Mesopotamians settled in Southern Arabia, “from

Mesha (Musa or Meccah?) to Sephar” (Zafar), a “Mount of the East,”—Genesis, x.

30: that is to say, they occupied the lands from Al-Tahamah to Mahrah.

2. The children of Ishmael, and his Egyptian wife; they peopled only

the Wilderness of Paran in the Sinaitic Peninsula and the parts

adjacent. Dr. Aloys Sprenger (Life of Mohammed, p. 18), throws

philosophic doubt upon the Ishmaelitish descent of Mohammed, who in

personal appearance was a pure Caucasian, without any mingling of

Egyptian blood. And the Ishmaelitish origin of the whole Arab race is

an utterly untenable theory. Years ago, our great historian sensibly

remarked that “the name (Saracens), used by Ptolemy and Pliny in a more

confined, by Ammianus and Procopius in a larger sense, has been derived

ridiculously from Sarah the wife of Abraham.” In Gibbon’s observation, the

erudite Interpreter of the One Primaeval Language,—the acute bibliologist

who metamorphoses the quail of the wilderness into a “ruddy goose,”—detects

“insidiousness” and “a spirit of restless and rancorous hostility” against

revealed religion. He proceeds on these sound grounds to attack the

accuracy, the honesty and the learning of the mighty dead. This may be

Christian zeal; it is not Christian charity. Of late years it has been

the fashion for every aspirant to ecclesiastical honours to deal a blow

at the ghost of Gibbon. And, as has before been remarked, Mr. Foster

gratuitously attacked Burckhardt, whose manes had long rested in the

good-will of man. This contrasts offensively with Lord Lindsay’s happy

compliment to the memory of the honest Swiss and the amiable eulogy

quoted by Dr. Keith from the Quarterly (vol. xxiii.), and thus adopted

as his own. It may seem folly to defend the historian of the Decline

and Fall against the compiler of the Historical Geography of Arabia.

But continental Orientalists have expressed their wonder at the

appearance in this nineteenth century of the “Voice of Israel from Mount

Sinai” and the “India in Greece”[;] they should be informed that all our

Eastern students are not votaries of such obsolete vagaries.

[FN#2] This is said without any theory. According to all historians of

long inhabited lands, the advenae—whether migratory tribes or visitors—find

indigens or [Greek].

[FN#3] They are described as having small heads, with low brows and

ill-formed noses, (strongly contrasting with the Jewish feature),

irregular lines, black skins, and frames for the most part frail and

slender. For a physiological description of this race, I must refer my

readers to the writings of Dr. Carter of Bombay, the medical officer of

the Palinurus, when engaged on the Survey of Eastern Arabia. With ample

means of observation he has not failed to remark the similarity between

the lowest type of Badawi and the Indigens of India, as represented by

the Bhils and other Jungle races. This, from a man of science who is

not writing up to a theory, may be considered strong evidence in favour

of variety in the Arabian family. The fact has long been suspected, but

few travellers have given their attention to the subject since the

downfall of Sir William Jones’ Indian origin theory. I am convinced that

there is not in Arabia “one Arab face, cast of features and expression,” as

was formerly supposed to be the case, and I venture to recommend the

subject for consideration to future observers.

[FN#4] Of this Mesopotamian race there are now many local varieties.

The subjects of the four Abyssinian and Christian sovereigns who

succeeded Yusuf, the Jewish “Lord of the Pit,” produced, in Al-Yaman, the

modern “Akhdam” or “Serviles.” The “Hujur” of Al-Yaman and Oman are a mixed race

whose origin is still unknown. And to quote no more cases, the “Ebna”

mentioned by the Ibn Ishak were descended from the Persian soldiers of

Anushirwan, who expelled the Abyssinian invader.

[FN#5] That the Copts, or ancient Egyptians, were “Half-caste Arabs,” a

mixed people like the Abyssinians, the Gallas, the Somal, and the

Kafirs, an Arab graft upon an African stock, appears highly probable.

Hence the old Nilotic race has been represented as woolly-headed and of

negro feature. Thus Leo Africanus makes the Africans to be descendants

of the Arabs. Hence the tradition that Egypt was peopled by AEthiopia,

and has been gradually whitened by admixture of Persian and Median,

Greek and Roman blood. Hence, too, the fancied connection of Aethiopia

with Cush, Susiana, Khuzistan or the lands about the Tigris. Thus

learned Virgil, confounding the Western with the Eastern Aethiopians,

alludes to

“Usque coloratos Nilus devexus ad Indos.”

And Strabo maintains the people of Mauritania to be Indians who had

come with Hercules. We cannot but remark in Southern Arabia the

footprints of the Hindu, whose superstitions, like the Phoenix which

flew from India to expire in Egypt, passed over to Arabia with Dwipa

Sukhatra (Socotra) for a resting place on its way to the regions of the

remotest West. As regards the difference between the Japhetic and

Semitic tongues, it may be remarked that though nothing can be more

distinct than Sanscrit and Arabic, yet that Pahlavi and Hebrew (Prof.

Bohlen on Genesis) present some remarkable points of resemblance. I

have attempted in a work on Sind to collect words common to both

families. And further research convinces me that such vocables as the

Arabic Taur [Arabic] the Persian Tora [Persian] and the Latin “Taurus”

denote an ancient rapprochement, whose mysteries still invite the

elucidation of modern science.

[FN#6] The Sharif families affect marrying female slaves, thereby

showing the intense pride which finds no Arab noble enough for them.

Others take to wife Badawi girls: their blood, therefore, is by no

means pure. The worst feature of their system is the forced celibacy of

their daughters; they are never married into any but Sharif families;

consequently they often die in spinsterhood. The effects of this custom

are most pernicious, for though celibacy exists in the East it is by no

means synonymous with chastity. Here it springs from a morbid sense of

honour, and arose, it is popularly said, from an affront taken by a

Sharif against his daughter’s husband. But all Arabs condemn the practice.

[FN#7] I use this word as popular abuse has fixed it. Every Orientalist

knows that Badawin (Bedouin) is the plural form of Badawi, an “ism

al-nisbah,” or adjective derived from Badu, a Desert. “Some words

notoriously corrupt,” says Gibbon, “are fixed, and as it were naturalised,

in the vulgar tongue.” The word “Badawi” is not insulting, like “Turk” applied to

an Osmanli, or “Fellah” to the Egyptian. But you affront the wild man by

mistaking his clan for a lower one. “Ya Hitaymi,” for instance, addressed

to a Harb Badawi, makes him finger his dagger.

[FN#8] This coarseness is not a little increased by a truly Badawi

habit of washing the locks with—[Arabic]. It is not considered wholly

impure, and is also used for the eyes, upon which its ammonia would act

as a rude stimulant. The only cosmetic is clarified butter freely

applied to the body as well as to the hair.

[FN#9] “Kurun” ([Arabic]) properly means “horns.” The Sharifs generally wear

their hair in “Haffah” ([Arabic]), long locks hanging down both sides of

the neck and shaved away about a finger’s breadth round the forehead and

behind the neck.

[FN#10] This traveller describes the modern Mesopotamian and Northern

race, which, as its bushy beard—unusual feature in pure Arab blood—denotes,

is mixed with central Asian. In the North, as might be expected, the

camels are hairy; whereas, in Al-Hijaz and in the low parts of

Al-Yaman, a whole animal does not give a handful fit for weaving. The

Arabs attribute this, as we should, to heat, which causes the longer

hairs to drop off.

[FN#11] “Magnum inter Arabes et Africanos discrimen efficit [Greek].

Arabum parvula membra sicut nobilis aequi. Africanum tamen flaccum,

crassum longumque: ita quiescens, erectum tamen parum distenditur.

Argumentum validissimum est ad indagandam Egyptorum originem: Nilotica

enim gens membrum habet Africanum.”

[FN#12] Whereas the Saxon thumb is thick, flat, and short, extending

scarcely half way to the middle joint of the index.

[FN#13] A similar unwillingness to name the wife may be found in some

parts of southern Europe, where probably jealousy or possibly Asiatic

custom has given rise to it. Among the Maltese it appears in a truly

ridiculous way, e.g., “dice la mia moglie, con rispetto parlando, &c.,”

says the husband, adding to the word spouse a “saving your presence,” as if

he were speaking of something offensive.

[FN#14] Dr. Howe (Report on Idiotcy in Massachusetts, 1848,) asserts

that “the law against the marriage of relations is made out as clearly as

though it were written on tables of stone.” He proceeds to show that in

seventeen households where the parents were connected by blood, of

ninety-five children one was a dwarf, one deaf, twelve scrofulous, and

forty-four idiots—total fifty-eight diseased!

[FN#15] Yet the celebrated “Flying Childers” and all his race were

remarkably bred in. There is still, in my humble opinion, much mystery

about the subject, to be cleared up only by the studies of

physiologists.

[FN#16] This sounds in English like an “Irish bull.” I translate “Badu,” as the

dictionaries do, “a Desert.”

[FN#17] The Sharbat Kajari is the “Acquetta” of Persia, and derives its

name from the present royal family. It is said to be a mixture of

verdigris with milk; if so, it is a very clumsy engine of state policy.

In Egypt and Mosul, Sulaymani (the common name for an Afghan) is used

to signify “poison”; but I know not whether it be merely euphuistic or

confined to some species. The banks of the Nile are infamous for these

arts, and Mohammed Ali Pasha imported, it is said, professional

poisoners from Europe.

[FN#18] Throughout the world the strictness of the Lex Scripta is in

inverse ratio to that of custom: whenever the former is lax, the latter

is stringent, and vice versa. Thus in England, where law leaves men

comparatively free, they are slaves to a grinding despotism of

conventionalities, unknown in the land of tyrannical rule. This

explains why many men, accustomed to live under despotic governments,

feel fettered and enslaved in the so-called free countries. Hence,

also, the reason why notably in a republic there is less private and

practical liberty than under a despotism. The “Kazi al-Arab” (Judge of the

Arabs) is in distinction to the Kazi al-Shara, or the Kazi of the

Koran. The former is, almost always, some sharp-witted greybeard, with

a minute knowledge of genealogy and precedents, a retentive memory and

an eloquent tongue.

[FN#19] Thus the Arabs, being decidedly a parsimonious people, indulge

in exaggerated praises and instances of liberality. Hatim Tai, whose

generosity is unintelligible to Europeans, becomes the Arab model of

the “open hand.” Generally a high beau ideal is no proof of a people’s

practical pre-eminence, and when exaggeration enters into it and suits

the public taste, a low standard of actuality may be fairly suspected.

But to convince the oriental mind you must dazzle it. Hence, in part,

the superhuman courage of Antar, the liberality of Hatim, the justice

of Omar, and the purity of Laila and Majnun under circumstances more

trying than aught chronicled in Mathilde, or in the newest American

novel.

[FN#20] At the battle of Bissel, when Mohammed Ali of Egypt broke the

40,000 guerillas of Faisal son of Sa’ud the Wahhabi, whole lines of the

Benu Asir tribe were found dead and tied by the legs with ropes. This

system of colligation dates from old times in Arabia, as the “Affair of

Chains” (Zat al-Salasil) proves. It is alluded to by the late Sir Henry

Elliot in his “Appendix to the Arabs in Sind,”—a work of remarkable sagacity

and research. According to the “Beglar-Nameh,” it was a “custom of the people

of Hind and Sind, whenever they devote themselves to death, to bind

themselves to each other by their mantles and waistbands.” It seems to

have been an ancient practice in the West as in the East: the Cimbri,

to quote no other instances, were tied together with cords when

attacked by Marius. Tactic truly worthy of savages to prepare for

victory by expecting a defeat!

[FN#21] Though differing in opinion, upon one subject, from the Rev.

Mr. Robertson, the lamented author of this little work, I cannot

refrain from expressing the highest admiration of those noble thoughts,

those exalted views, and those polished sentiments which, combining the

delicacy of the present with the chivalry of a past age, appear in a

style

“As smooth as woman and as strong as man.”

Would that it were in my power to pay a more adequate tribute to his

memory!

[FN#22] Even Juno, in the most meaningless of idolatries, became,

according to Pausanias (lib. ii. cap. 38), a virgin once every year.

And be it observed that Al-Islam (the faith, not the practice)

popularly decided to debase the social state of womankind, exalts it by

holding up to view no fewer than two examples of perfection in the

Prophet’s household. Khadijah, his first wife, was a minor saint, and the

Lady Fatimah is supposed to have been spiritually unspotted by sin, and

materially ever a virgin, even after giving birth to Hasan and to

Hosayn.

[FN#23] There is no objection to intermarriage between equal clans, but

the higher will not give their daughters to the lower in dignity.

[FN#24] For instance: “A certain religious man was so deeply affected

with the love of a king’s daughter, that he was brought to the brink of

the grave,” is a favourite inscriptive formula. Usually the hero “sickens

in consequence of the heroine’s absence, and continues to the hour of his

death in the utmost grief and anxiety.” He rarely kills himself, but

sometimes, when in love with a pretty infidel, he drinks wine and he

burns the Koran. The “hated rival” is not a formidable person; but there

are for good reasons great jealousy of female friends, and not a little

fear of the beloved’s kinsmen. Such are the material sentiments; the

spiritual part is a thread of mysticism, upon which all the pearls of

adventure and incident are strung.

[FN#25] It is curious that these pastoral races, which supply poetry

with namby-pamby Colinades, figure as the great tragedians of history.

The Scythians, the Huns, the Arabs, and the Tartars were all shepherds.

They first armed themselves with clubs to defend their flocks from wild

beasts. Then they learned warfare, and improved means of destruction by

petty quarrels about pastures; and, finally, united by the commanding

genius of some skin-clad Caesar or Napoleon, they fell like avalanches

upon those valleys of the world—Mesopotamia, India, and Egypt—whose

enervate races offered them at once temptations to attack, and

certainty of success.

[FN#26] Even amongst the Indians, as a race the least chivalrous of

men, there is an oath which binds two persons of different sex in the

tie of friendship, by making them brother and sister to each other.

[FN#27] Richardson derives our “knight” from Nikht ([Arabic]), a tilter

with spears, and “Caitiff” from Khattaf, ([Arabic]) a snatcher or ravisher.

[FN#28] I am not ignorant that the greater part of “Antar” is of modern and

disputed origin. Still it accurately expresses Arab sentiment.

[FN#29] I wish that the clever Orientalist who writes in the Saturday

Review would not translate “Al-Layl,” by lenes sub nocte susurri: the Arab

bard alluded to no such effeminacies.

[FN#30] The subject of “Dakhl” has been thoroughly exhausted by Burckhardt

and Layard. It only remains to be said that the Turks, through

ignorance of the custom, have in some cases made themselves

contemptible by claiming the protection of women.

[FN#31] It is by no means intended to push this comparison of the Arab’s

with the Hibernian’s poetry. The former has an intensity which prevents

our feeling that “there are too many flowers for the fruit”; the latter is

too often a mere blaze of words, which dazzle and startle, but which,

decomposed by reflection, are found to mean nothing. Witness

“The diamond turrets of Shadukiam,

And the fragrant bowers of Amberabad!”

[FN#32] I am informed that the Benu Kahtan still improvise, but I never

heard them. The traveller in Arabia will always be told that some

remote clan still produces mighty bards, and uses in conversation the

terminal vowels of the classic tongue, but he will not believe these

assertions till personally convinced of their truth. The Badawi

dialect, however, though debased, is still, as of yore, purer than the

language of the citizens. During the days when philology was a passion

in the East, those Stephens and Johnsons of Semitic lore, Firuzabadi

and Al-Zamakhshari, wandered from tribe to tribe and from tent to tent,

collecting words and elucidating disputed significations. Their

grammatical expeditions are still remembered, and are favourite stories

with scholars.

[FN#33] I say “skilful in reading,” because the Arabs, like the Spaniards,

hate to hear their language mangled by mispronunciation. When

Burckhardt, who spoke badly, began to read verse to the Badawin, they

could not refrain from a movement of impatience, and used to snatch the

book out of his hands.

[FN#34] The civilized poets of the Arab cities throw the charm of the

Desert over their verse, by images borrowed from its scenery—the

dromedary, the mirage, and the well—as naturally as certain of our

songsters, confessedly haters of the country, babble of lowing kine,

shady groves, spring showers, and purling rills.

[FN#35] Some will object to this expression; Arabic being a harsh and

guttural tongue. But the sound of language, in the first place, depends

chiefly upon the articulator. Who thinks German rough in the mouth of a

woman, with a suspicion of a lisp, or that English is the dialect of

birds, when spoken by an Italian? Secondly, there is a music far more

spirit-stirring in harshness than in softness: the languages of Castile

and of Tuscany are equally beautiful, yet who does not prefer the sound

of the former? The gutturality of Arabia is less offensive than that of

the highlands of Barbary. Professor Willis, of Cambridge, attributes

the broad sounds and the guttural consonants of mountaineers and the

people of elevated plains to the physical action of cold. Conceding

this to be a partial cause, I would rather refer the phenomenon to the

habit of loud speaking, acquired by the dwellers in tents, and by those

who live much in the open air. The Todas of the Neilgherry Hills have

given the soft Tamil all the harshness of Arabic, and he who hears them

calling to each other from the neighbouring peaks, can remark the

process of broadening vowel and gutturalising consonant. On the other

hand, the Gallas and the Persians, also a mountain-people, but

inhabiting houses, speak comparatively soft tongues. The Cairenes

actually omit some of the harshest sounds of Arabia, turning Makass

into Ma’as, and Sakka into Sa’a. It is impossible to help remarking the

bellowing of the Badawi when he first enters a dwelling-place, and the

softening of the sound when he has become accustomed to speak within

walls. Moreover, it is to be observed there is a great difference of

articulation, not pronunciation, among the several Badawi clans. The

Benu Auf are recognised by their sharp, loud, and sudden speech, which

the citizens compare to the barking of dogs. The Benu Amr, on the

contrary, speak with a soft and drawling sound. The Hutaym, in addition

to other peculiarities, add a pleonastic “ah,” to soften the termination of

words, as A’atini hawajiyah, (for hawaiji), “Give me my clothes.”

[FN#36] The Germans have returned for inspiration to the old Eastern

source. Ruckert was guided by Jalal al-Din to the fountains of Sufyism.

And even the French have of late made an inroad into Teutonic mysticism

successfully enough to have astonished Racine and horrified La Harpe.

[FN#37] This, however, does not prevent the language becoming

optionally most precise in meaning; hence its high philosophical

character. The word “farz,” for instance, means, radically “cutting,”

secondarily “ordering,” or “paying a debt,” after which come numerous meanings

foreign to the primal sense, such as a shield, part of a tinder-box, an

unfeathered arrow, and a particular kind of date. In theology it is

limited to a single signification, namely, a divine command revealed in

the Koran. Under these circumstances the Arabic becomes, in grammar,

logic, rhetoric, and mathematics, as perfect and precise as Greek. I

have heard Europeans complain that it is unfit for mercantile

transactions.—Perhaps!

[FN#38] As a general rule there is a rhyme at the end of every second

line, and the unison is a mere fringe—a long a, for instance, throughout

the poem sufficing for the delicate ear of the Arab. In this they were

imitated by the old Spaniards, who, neglecting the consonants, merely

required the terminating vowels to be alike. We speak of the “sort of

harmonious simple flow which atones for the imperfect nature of the

rhyme.” But the fine organs of some races would be hurt by that ponderous

unison which a people of blunter senses find necessary to produce an

impression. The reader will feel this after perusing in “Percy’s Reliques”

Rio Verde! Rio Verde! and its translation.

[FN#39] In our knightly ages the mare was ridden only by jugglers and

charlatans. Did this custom arise from the hatred of, and contempt for,

the habits of the Arabs, imported into Europe by the Crusaders?

Certainly the popular Eastern idea of a Frank was formed in those days,

and survives to these.

[FN#40] Baron Von Hammer-Purgstall, in the “Falkner-Klee,” calls this bird

the “Saker-falke.” Hence the French and English names sacre and saker. The

learned John Beckmann (History of Inventions, Discoveries, and Origins:

sub voce) derives falconry from India, where, “as early as the time of

Ctesias, hares and foxes were hunted by means of rapacious birds.” I

believe, however, that no trace of this sport is found in the writings

of the Hindus. Beckmann agrees with Giraldus, against other literati,

that the ancient Greeks knew the art of hawking, and proves from

Aristotle, that in Thrace men trained falcons. But Aristotle alludes to

the use of the bird, as an owl is employed in Italy: the falcon is

described as frightening, not catching the birds. Œlian corroborates

Aristotle’s testimony. Pliny, however, distinctly asserts that the hawks

strike their prey down. “In Italy it was very common,” says the learned

Beckmann, “for Martial and Apuleius speak of it as a thing everywhere

known. Hence the science spread over Europe, and reached perfection at

the principal courts in the twelfth century.” The Emperor Frederic II.

wrote “De Arte Venandi cum Avibus,” and the royal author was followed by a

host of imitators in the vulgar tongue. Though I am not aware that the

Hindus ever cultivated the art, Œlian, it must be confessed, describes

their style of training falcons exactly similar to that in use among

the modern Persians, Sindians, and Arabs. The Emperor Frederic owes the

“capella,” or hood to the Badawi, and talks of the “most expert falconers” sent

to him with various kinds of birds by some of the kings of Arabia. The

origin of falconry is ascribed by Al-Mas’udi, on the authority of Adham

bin Muhriz, to the king Al-Haris bin Mu’awiyah, and in Dr. Sprenger’s

admirable translation the reader will find (pp. 426, 428), much

information upon the subject. The Persians claim the invention for

their just King, Anushirawan, contemporary with Mohammed. Thence the

sport passed into Turkey, where it is said the Sultans maintained a

body of 6000 falconers. And Frederic Barbarossa, in the twelfth

century, brought falcons to Italy. We may fairly give the honour of the

invention to Central Asia.

[FN#41] Here called “bandukiyah bi ruhayn,” or the two-mouthed gun. The

leathern cover is termed “gushat”; it is a bag with a long-ringed tassel at

the top of the barrel, and a strap by which it is slung to the owner’s

back.

[FN#42] I described elsewhere the Mirzak, or javelin.

[FN#43] Ostriches are found in Al-Hijaz, where the Badawin shoot after

coursing them. The young ones are caught and tamed, and the eggs may be

bought in the Madinah bazar. Throughout Arabia there is a belief that

the ostrich throws stones at the hunter. The superstition may have

arisen from the pebbles being flung up behind by the bird’s large feet in

his rapid flight, or it may be a mere “foolery of fancy.” Even in lands

which have long given up animal-worship, wherever a beast is

conspicuous or terrible, it becomes the subject of some marvellous

tale. So the bear in Persia imitates a moolah’s dress; the wolf in France

is a human being transformed, and the beaver of North America, also a

metamorphosis, belts trees so as to fell them in the direction most

suitable to his after purpose.

[FN#44] Not that the “Agrebi” of Bir Hamid and other parts have much to

learn of us in vice. The land of Al-Yaman is, I believe, the most

demoralised country, and Sana’a the most depraved city in Arabia. The

fair sex distinguishes itself by a peculiar laxity of conduct, which is

looked upon with an indulgent eye. And the men drink and gamble, to say

nothing of other peccadilloes, with perfect impunity.

[FN#45] In Al-Yaman, it is believed, that if a man eat three heads of

garlic in good mountain-samn (or clarified butter) for forty days, his

blood will kill the snake that draws it.

[FN#46] Circumcisionis causa apud Arabos manifestissima, ulceratio enim

endemica, abrasionem glandis aut praeputii, maxima cum facilitate

insequitur. Mos autem quem vocant Arabes Al-Salkh ([Arabic] i.e.

scarificatio) virilitatem animumque ostendendi modus esse videtur.

Exeunt amici paterque, et juvenem sub dio sedentem circumstant. Capit

tunc pugionem tonsor et præputio abscisso detrahit pellem [Greek] ab

umbilico incipiens aut parum infra, ventremque usque ad femora nudat.

Juvenis autem dextra pugionem super tergum tonsoris vibrans magna

clamat voce [Arabic] i.e. caede sine timore. Vae si haesitet tonsor aut

si tremeat manus! Pater etiam filium si dolore ululet statim occidit.

Re confecta surgit juvenis et [Arabic] “Gloria Deo” intonans, ad tentoria

tendit, statim nefando oppressus dolore humi procumbit. Remedia Sal, et

[Arabic] (tumerica); cibus lac cameli. Nonnullos occidit ingens

suppuratio, decem autem excoriatis supersunt plerumque octo: hi pecten

habent nullum, ventremque pallida tegit cutis.

[FN#47] The Spanish dollar is most prized in Al-Hijaz; in Al-Yaman the

Maria Theresa. The Spanish Government has refused to perpetuate its

Pillar-dollar, which at one time was so great a favourite in the East.

The traveller wonders how “Maria Theresas” still supply both shores of the

Red Sea. The marvel is easily explained: the Austrians receive silver

at Milan, and stamp it for a certain percentage. This coin was

doubtless preferred by the Badawin for its superiority to the currency

of the day: they make from it ornaments for their women and decorations

for their weapons. The generic term for dollars is “Riyal Fransah.”

[FN#48] Torale, sicut est mos Judaicus et Persicus, non inspiciunt.

Novae nuptae tamen maritus mappam manu capit: mane autem puellae mater

virginitatis signa viris mulieribusque domi ostendit eosque jubilare

jubet quod calamitas domestica, sc. filia, intacta abiit. Si non

ostendeant mappam, maeret domus, “prima enim Venus” in Arabia, “debet esse

cruenta.” Maritus autem humanior, etiamsi absit sanguis, cruore palumbino

mappam tingit et gaudium fingens cognatis parentibusque ostendit;

paululum postea puellae nonnulla causa dat divortium. Hic urbis et

ruris mos idem est.

[FN#49] An explanation of this term will be found below.

[FN#50] It is the plural of “Kaum,” which means “rising up in rebellion or

enmity against,” as well as the popular signification, a “people.” In some

parts of Arabia it is used for a “plundering party.”

[FN#51] Bayt (in the plural Buyut) is used in this sense to denote the

tents of the nomades. “Bayt” radically means a “nighting-place”; thence a tent,

a house, a lair, &c., &c.

[FN#52] Some tribes will not sell their sheep, keeping them for guests

or feasts.

[FN#53] So the word is pronounced at Meccah. The dictionaries give “Aakal,”

which in Eastern Arabia is corrupted to “Igal.”

[FN#54] Called “Tatarif,” plural of Tatrifah, a cartridge.

[FN#55] The liver and the spleen are both supposed to be “congealed blood.”

Niebuhr has exhausted the names and the description of the locust. In

Al-Hijaz they have many local and fantastic terms: the smallest kind,

for instance, is called Jarad Iblis, Satan’s locust.

[FN#56] This is the Kurut of Sind and the Kashk of Persia. The

butter-milk, separated from the butter by a little water, is simmered

over a slow fire, thickened with wheaten flour, about a handful to a

gallon, well-mixed, so that no knots remain in it, and allowed to cool.

The mixture is then put into a bag and strained, after which salt is

sprinkled over it. The mass begins to harden after a few hours, when it

is made up into balls and dried in the sun.

[FN#57] The North American trappers adopted this natural prejudice: the

“free trapper” called his more civilized confrere, “mangeur de lard.”

[FN#58] Burckhardt shrank from the intricate pedigree of the Meccan

Sharifs. I have seen a work upon the subject in four folio volumes in

point of matter equivalent to treble the number in Europe. The best

known genealogical works are Al-Kalkashandi (originally in seventy-five

books, extended to one hundred); the Umdat al-Tullab by Ibn Khaldun;

the “Tohfat al-Arab fi Ansar al-Arab,” a well-known volume by Al-Siyuti;

and, lastly, the Sirat al-Halabi, in six volumes 8vo. Of the latter

work there is an abridgment by Mohammed al-Banna al-Dimyati in two

volumes 8vo.; but both are rare, and consequently expensive.

[FN#59] I give the following details of the Harb upon the authority of

my friend Omar Effendi, who is great in matters of genealogy.

[FN#60]The first word is the plural, the second the singular form of

the word.

[FN#61] In the singular Aufi and Amri.

[FN#62] To these Mr. Cole adds seven other sub-divisions, viz.:—

1. Ahali al-Kura (“the people of Kura?”), 5000.

2. Radadah, 800.

3. Hijlah, 600.

4. Dubayah, 1500.

5. Benu Kalb, 2000.

6. Bayzanah, 800.

7. Benu Yahya, 800.

And he makes the total of the Benu Harb about Al-Jadaydah amount to

35,000 men. I had no means of personally ascertaining the correctness

of this information.

[FN#63] The reader will remember that nothing like exactitude in

numbers can be expected from an Arab. Some rate the Benu Harb at 6000;

others, equally well informed, at 15,000; others again at 80,000. The

reason of this is that, whilst one is speaking of the whole race,

another may be limiting it to his own tribe and its immediate allies.

[FN#64] “Sham” which, properly speaking, means Damascus or Syria, in

Southern Arabia and Eastern Africa is universally applied to Al-Hijaz.

[p.124] CHAPTER XXVI.

FROM AL-SUWAYRKIYAH TO MECCAH.

WE have now left the territory of Al-Madinah. Al-Suwayrkiyah, which

belongs to the Sharif of Meccah, is about twenty-eight miles distant

from Hijriyah, and by dead reckoning ninety-nine miles along the road

from the Prophet’s burial-place. Its bearing from the last station was

S.W. 11°. The town, consisting of about one hundred houses, is built at

the base and on the sides of a basaltic mass, which rises abruptly from

the hard clayey plain. The summit is converted into a rude

fortalice—without one, no settlement can exist in Al-Hijaz—by a bulwark of

uncut stone, piled up so as to make a parapet. The lower part of the

town is protected by a mud wall, with the usual semicircular towers.

Inside there is a bazar, well supplied with meat (principally mutton)

by the neighbouring Badawin; and wheat, barley, and dates are grown

near the town. There is little to describe in the narrow streets and

the mud houses, which are essentially Arab. The fields around are

divided into little square plots by earthen ridges and stone walls;

some of the palms are fine-grown trees, and the wells appear numerous.

The water is near the surface and plentiful, but it has a brackish

taste, highly disagreeable after a few days’ use, and the effects are the

reverse of chalybeate.

The town belongs to the Benu Hosayn, a race of

[p.125] schismatics mentioned in the foregoing pages. They claim the

allegiance of the Badawi tribes around, principally Mutayr, and I was

informed that their fealty to the Prince of Meccah is merely nominal.

The morning after our arrival at Al-Suwayrkiyah witnessed a commotion

in our little party: hitherto they had kept together in fear of the

road. Among the number was one Ali bin Ya Sin, a perfect “old man of the

sea.” By profession he was a “Zemzemi,” or dispenser of water from the Holy

Well,[FN#1] and he had a handsome “palazzo” at the foot of Abu Kubays in

Meccah, which he periodically converted into a boarding-house. Though

past sixty, very decrepit, bent by age, white-bearded, and toothless,

he still acted cicerone to pilgrims, and for that purpose travelled

once every year to Al-Madinah. These trips had given him the cunning of

a veteran voyageur. He lived well and cheaply; his home-made Shugduf,

the model of comfort, was garnished with soft cushions and pillows,

whilst from the pockets protruded select bottles of pickled limes and

similar luxuries; he had his travelling Shishah (water-pipe),[FN#2] and

at the halting-place, disdaining the crowded, reeking tent, he had a

contrivance for converting his vehicle into a habitation. He was a type

of the Arab old man. He mumbled all day and three-quarters of the

night, for he had des insomnies. His nerves were so fine, that if any

[p.126] one mounted his Shugduf, the unfortunate was condemned to lie

like a statue. Fidgety and priggishly neat, nothing annoyed him so much

as a moment’s delay or an article out of place, a rag removed from his

water-gugglet, or a cooking-pot imperfectly free from soot; and I

judged his avarice by observing that he made a point of picking up and

eating the grains scattered from our pomegranates, exclaiming that the

heavenly seed (located there by Arab superstition) might be one of

those so wantonly wasted.

Ali bin Ya Sin, returning to his native city, had not been happy in his

choice of a companion this time. The other occupant of the handsome

Shugduf was an ignoble-faced Egyptian from Al-Madinah. This ill-suited

pair clave together for awhile, but at Al-Suwayrkiyah some dispute

about a copper coin made them permanent foes. With threats and abuse

such as none but an Egyptian could tamely hear, Ali kicked his quondam

friend out of the vehicle. But terrified, after reflection, by the

possibility that the man, now his enemy, might combine with two or

three Syrians of our party to do him a harm, and frightened by a few

black looks, the senior determined to fortify himself by a friend.

Connected with the boy Mohammed’s family, he easily obtained an

introduction to me; he kissed my hand with great servility, declared

that his servant had behaved disgracefully; and begged my protection

together with an occasional attendance of my “slave.”

This was readily granted in pity for the old man, who became immensely

grateful. He offered at once to take Shaykh Nur into his Shugduf. The

Indian boy had already reduced to ruins the frail structure of his

Shibriyah by lying upon it lengthways, whereas prudent travellers sit

in it cross-legged and facing the camel. Moreover, he had been laughed

to scorn by the Badawin, who seeing him pull up his dromedary to mount

and dismount, had questioned his sex, and determined him to be

[p.127] a woman of the “Miyan.[FN#3]” I could not rebuke them; the poor

fellow’s timidity was a ridiculous contrast to the Badawi’s style of

mounting; a pull at the camel’s head, the left foot placed on the neck,

an agile spring, and a scramble into the saddle. Shaykh Nur, elated by

the sight of old Ali’s luxuries, promised himself some joyous hours; but

next morning he owned with a sigh that he had purchased splendour at

the extravagant price of happiness—the senior’s tongue never rested

throughout the livelong night.

During our half-halt at Al-Suwayrkiyah we determined to have a small

feast; we bought some fresh dates, and we paid a dollar and a half for

a sheep. Hungry travellers consider “liver and fry” a dish to set before a

Shaykh. On this occasion, however, our enjoyment was marred by the

water; even Soyer’s dinners would scarcely charm if washed down with cups

of a certain mineral-spring found at Epsom.

We started at ten A.M. (Monday, 5th September) in a South-Easterly

direction, and travelled over a flat, thinly dotted with Desert

vegetation. At one P.M we passed a basaltic ridge; and then, entering a

long depressed line of country, a kind of valley, paced down it five

tedious hours. The Samum as usual was blowing hard, and it seemed to

affect the travellers’ tempers. In one place I saw a Turk, who could not

speak a word of Arabic, violently disputing with an Arab who could not

understand a word of Turkish. The pilgrim insisted upon adding to the

camel’s load a few dry sticks, such as are picked up for cooking. The

camel-man as perseveringly threw off the extra burthen. They screamed

with rage, hustled each other, and at last the Turk dealt the Arab a

heavy blow. I afterwards heard that the pilgrim was mortally wounded

that night, his stomach being ripped

[p.128] open with a dagger. On enquiring what had become of him, I was

assured that he had been comfortably wrapped up in his shroud, and

placed in a half-dug grave. This is the general practice in the case of

the poor and solitary, whom illness or accident incapacitates from

proceeding. It is impossible to contemplate such a fate without horror:

the torturing thirst of a wound,[FN#4] the burning sun heating the

brain to madness, and—worst of all, for they do not wait till death—the

attacks of the jackal, the vulture, and the raven of the wild.

At six P.M., before the light of day had faded, we traversed a rough

and troublesome ridge. Descending it our course lay in a southerly

direction along a road flanked on the left by low hills of red

sandstone and bright porphyry. About an hour afterwards we came to a

basalt field, through whose blocks we threaded our way painfully and

slowly, for it was then dark. At eight P.M. the camels began to stumble

over the dwarf dykes of the wheat and barley fields, and presently we

arrived at our halting-place, a large village called Al-Sufayna. The

plain was already dotted with tents and lights. We found the Baghdad

Caravan, whose route here falls into the Darb al-Sharki. It consists of

a few Persians and Kurds, and collects the people of North-Eastern

Arabia, Wahhabis and others. They are escorted by the Agayl tribe and

by the fierce mountaineers of Jabal Shammar. Scarcely was our tent

pitched, when the distant pattering of musketry and an ominous tapping

of the kettle-drum sent all my companions in different directions to

enquire what was the cause of quarrel. The Baghdad Cafilah, though not

more than 2000 in number, men, women and children, had been proving to

the Damascus Caravan, that, being perfectly ready to fight, they were

not going to yield any point of precedence. From that time the two

bodies

[p.129] encamped in different places. I never saw a more pugnacious

assembly: a look sufficed for a quarrel. Once a Wahhabi stood in front

of us, and by pointing with his finger and other insulting gestures,

showed his hatred to the chibuk, in which I was peaceably indulging. It

was impossible to refrain from chastising his insolence by a polite and

smiling offer of the offending pipe. This made him draw his dagger

without a thought; but it was sheathed again, for we all cocked our

pistols, and these gentry prefer steel to lead. We had travelled about

seventeen miles, and the direction of Al-Sufayna from our last halting

place was South-East five degrees. Though it was night when we

encamped, Shaykh Mas’ud set out to water his moaning camels: they had not

quenched their thirst for three days. He returned in a depressed state,

having been bled by the soldiery at the well to the extent of forty

piastres, or about eight shillings.

After supper we spread our rugs and prepared to rest. And here I first

remarked the coolness of the nights, proving, at this season of the

year, a considerable altitude above the sea. As a general rule the

atmosphere stagnated between sunrise and ten A.M., when a light wind

rose. During the forenoon the breeze strengthened, and it gradually

diminished through the afternoon. Often about sunset there was a gale

accompanied by dry storms of dust. At Al-Sufayna, though there was no

night-breeze and little dew, a blanket was necessary, and the hours of

darkness were invigorating enough to mitigate the effect of the sand

and Samum-ridden day. Before sleeping I was introduced to a namesake,

one Shaykh Abdullah, of Meccah. Having committed his Shugduf to his

son, a lad of fourteen, he had ridden forward on a dromedary, and had

suddenly fallen ill. His objects in meeting me were to ask for some

medicine, and for a temporary seat in my Shugduf; the latter I offered

with pleasure, as the boy Mohammed was

[p.130] longing to mount a camel. The Shaykh’s illness was nothing but

weakness brought on by the hardships of the journey: he attributed it

to the hot wind, and to the weight of a bag of dollars which he had

attached to his waist-belt. He was a man about forty, long, thin, pale,

and of a purely nervous temperament; and a few questions elicited the

fact that he had lately and suddenly given up his daily opium pill. I

prepared one for him, placed him in my litter, and persuaded him to

stow away his burden in some place where it would be less troublesome.

He was my companion for two marches, at the end of which he found his

own Shugduf. I never met amongst the Arab citizens a better bred or a

better informed man. At Constantinople he had learned a little French,

Italian, and Greek; and from the properties of a shrub to the varieties

of honey,[FN#5] he was full of “ useful knowledge,” and openable as a

dictionary. We parted near Meccah, where I met him only once, and then

accidentally, in the Valley of Muna.

At half-past five A.M. on Tuesday, the 6th of September, we rose

refreshed by the cool, comfortable night, and loaded the camels. I had

an opportunity of inspecting Al-Sufayna. It is a village of fifty or

sixty mud-walled, flat-roofed houses, defended by the usual rampart.

Around it lie ample date-grounds, and fields of wheat, barley, and

maize. Its bazar at this season of the year is well supplied: even

fowls can be procured.

We travelled towards the South-East, and entered a country destitute of

the low ranges of hill, which from Al-Madinah southwards had bounded

the horizon. After

[p.131] a two miles’ march our camels climbed up a precipitous ridge, and

then descended into a broad gravel plain. From ten to eleven A.M. our

course lay southerly over a high table-land, and we afterwards

traversed, for five hours and a half, a plain which bore signs of

standing water. This day’s march was peculiarly Arabia. It was a desert

peopled only with echoes,—a place of death for what little there is to

die in it,—a wilderness where, to use my companion’s phrase, there is

nothing but He.[FN#6] Nature scalped, flayed, discovered all her

skeleton to the gazer’s eye. The horizon was a sea of mirage; gigantic

sand-columns whirled over the plain; and on both sides of our road were

huge piles of bare rock, standing detached upon the surface of sand and

clay. Here they appeared in oval lumps, heaped up with a semblance of

symmetry; there a single boulder stood, with its narrow foundation

based upon a pedestal of low, dome-shapen rock. All were of a pink

coarse-grained granite, which flakes off in large crusts under the

influence of the atmosphere. I remarked one block which could not

measure fewer than thirty feet in height. Through these scenes we

travelled till about half-past four P.M., when the guns suddenly roared

a halt. There was not a trace of human habitation around us: a few

parched shrubs and the granite heaps were the only objects diversifying

the hard clayey plain. Shaykh Mas’ud correctly guessed the cause of our

detention at the inhospitable “halting-place of the Mutayr” (Badawin). “Cook

your bread and boil your coffee,” said the old man; “the camels will rest

for awhile, and the gun will sound at nightfall.”

We had passed over about eighteen miles of ground; and our present

direction was South-west twenty degrees of Al-Sufayna.

At half-past ten that evening we heard the signal for

[p.132] departure, and, as the moon was still young, we prepared for a

hard night’s work. We took a south-westerly course through what is called

a Wa’ar—rough ground covered with thicket. Darkness fell upon us like a

pall. The camels tripped and stumbled, tossing their litters like

cockboats in a short sea; at times the Shugdufs were well nigh torn off

their backs. When we came to a ridge worse than usual, old Mas’ud would

seize my camel’s halter, and, accompanied by his son and nephew bearing

lights, encourage the animals with gesture and voice. It was a strange,

wild scene. The black basaltic field was dotted with the huge and

doubtful forms of spongy-footed camels with silent tread, looming like

phantoms in the midnight air; the hot wind moaned, and whirled from the

torches flakes and sheets of flame and fiery smoke, whilst ever and

anon a swift-travelling Takht-rawan, drawn by mules, and surrounded by

runners bearing gigantic mashals or cressets,[FN#7] threw a passing

glow of red light upon the dark road and the dusky multitude. On this

occasion the rule was “every man for himself.” Each pressed forward into

the best path, thinking only of preceding his neighbour. The Syrians,

amongst whom our little party had become entangled, proved most

unpleasant companions: they often stopped the way, insisting upon their

right to precedence. On one occasion a horseman had the audacity to

untie the halter of my dromedary, and thus to cast us adrift, as it

were, in order to make room for some excluded friend. I seized my

sword; but Shaykh Abdullah stayed my hand, and addressed the intruder

in terms sufficiently violent to make him slink away. Nor was this the

only occasion on which my

[p.133] companion was successful with the Syrians. He would begin with

a mild “Move a little, O my father!” followed, if fruitless, by “Out of the

way, O Father of Syria[FN#8]!” and if still ineffectual, advancing to a

“Begone, O he!” This ranged between civility and sternness. If without

effect, it was supported by revilings to the “Abusers of the Salt,” the

“Yazid,” the “Offspring of Shimr.” Another remark which I made about my

companion’s conduct well illustrates the difference between the Eastern

and the Western man. When traversing a dangerous place, Shaykh Abdullah

the European attended to his camel with loud cries of “Hai! Hai[FN#9]!” and

an occasional switching. Shaykh Abdullah the Asiatic commended himself

to Allah by repeated ejaculations of Ya Satir! Ya Sattar[FN#10]!

[p.134]The morning of Wednesday (September 7th) broke as we entered a

wide plain. In many places were signs of water: lines of basalt here

and there seamed the surface, and wide sheets of the tufaceous gypsum

called by the Arabs Sabkhah shone like mirrors set in the russet

framework of the flat. This substance is found in cakes, often a foot

long by an inch in depth, curled by the sun’s rays and overlying clay

into which water had sunk. After our harassing night, day came on with

a sad feeling of oppression, greatly increased by the unnatural glare:—

“In vain the sight, dejected to the ground,

Stoop’d for relief: thence hot ascending streams

And keen reflection pain’d.”

We were disappointed in our expectations of water, which usually

abounds near this station, as its name, Al-Ghadir, denotes. At ten A.M.

we pitched the tent in the first convenient spot, and we lost no time

in stretching our cramped limbs upon the bosom of mother Earth. From

the halting-place of the Mutayr to Al-Ghadir is a march of about twenty

miles, and the direction south-west twenty-one degrees. Al-Ghadir is an

extensive plain, which probably presents the appearance of a lake after

heavy rains. It is overgrown in parts with Desert vegetation, and

requires nothing but a regular supply of water to make it useful to

man. On the East it is bounded by a wall of rock, at whose base are

three wells, said to have been dug by the Caliph Harun. They are

guarded by a Burj, or tower, which betrays symptoms of decay.

In our anxiety to rest we had strayed from the Damascus Caravan amongst

the mountaineers of Shammar. Our Shaykh Mas’ud manifestly did not like

the company; for shortly after three P.M. he insisted upon our striking

the tent and rejoining the Hajj, which lay encamped about two miles

distant in the western part of the basin. We

[p.135] loaded, therefore, and half an hour before sunset found

ourselves in more congenial society. To my great disappointment, a stir

was observable in the Caravan. I at once understood that another

night-march was in store for us.

At six P.M. we again mounted, and turned towards the Eastern plain. A

heavy shower was falling upon the Western hills, whence came damp and

dangerous blasts. Between nine P.M. and the dawn of the next day we had

a repetition of the last night’s scenes, over a road so rugged and

dangerous, that I wondered how men could prefer to travel in the

darkness. But the camels of Damascus were now worn out with fatigue;

they could not endure the sun, and our time was too precious for a

halt. My night was spent perched upon the front bar of my Shugduf,

encouraging the dromedary; and that we had not one fall excited my

extreme astonishment. At five A.M. (Thursday, 8th September) we entered

a wide plain thickly clothed with the usual thorny trees, in whose

strong grasp many a Shugduf lost its covering, and not a few were

dragged with their screaming inmates to the ground. About five hours

afterwards we crossed a high ridge, and saw below us the camp of the

Caravan, not more than two miles distant. As we approached it, a figure

came running out to meet us. It was the boy Mohammed, who, heartily

tired of riding a dromedary with his friend, and possibly hungry,

hastened to inform my companion Abdullah that he would lead him to his

Shugduf and to his son. The Shaykh, a little offended by the fact that

for two days not a friend nor an acquaintance had taken the trouble to

see or to inquire about him, received Mohammed roughly; but the youth,

guessing the grievance, explained it away by swearing that he and all

the party had tried in vain to find us. This wore the semblance of

truth: it is almost impossible to come upon any one who strays from his

place in so large and motley a body.

[p.136]At eleven A.M. we had reached our station. It is about

wenty-four miles from Al-Ghadir, and its direction is South-east ten

degrees. It is called Al-Birkat (the Tank), from a large and now

ruinous cistern built of hewn stone by the Caliph Harun.[FN#11] The

land belongs to the Utaybah Badawin, the bravest and most ferocious

tribe in Al-Hijaz; and the citizens denote their dread of these

banditti by asserting that to increase their courage they drink their

enemy’s blood.[FN#12] My companions shook their heads when questioned

upon the subject, and prayed that we might not become too well

acquainted with them—an ill-omened speech!

The Pasha allowed us a rest of five hours at Al-Birkat: we spent them

in my tent, which was crowded with Shaykh Abdullah’s friends. To requite

me for this inconvenience, he prepared for me an excellent water-pipe,

a cup of coffee, which, untainted by cloves and by cinnamon, would have

been delicious, and a dish of dry fruits. As we were now near the Holy

City, all the Meccans were busy canvassing for lodgers and offering

their services to pilgrims. Quarrels, too, were of hourly occurrence.

In our party was an Arnaut, a white-bearded old man, so

[p.137] decrepit that he could scarcely stand, and yet so violent that

no one could manage him but his African slave, a brazen-faced little

wretch about fourteen years of age. Words were bandied between this

angry senior and Shaykh Mas’ud, when the latter insinuated sarcastically,

that if the former had teeth he would be more intelligible. The Arnaut

in his rage seized a pole, raised it, and delivered a blow which missed

the camel-man, but, which brought the striker headlong to the ground.

Mas’ud exclaimed, with shrieks of rage, “Have we come to this, that every

old-woman Turk smites us?” Our party had the greatest trouble to quiet

the quarrel[l]ers. The Arab listened to us when we threatened him with

the Pasha. But the Arnaut, whose rage was “like red-hot steel,” would hear

nothing but our repeated declarations, that unless he behaved more like

a pilgrim, we should be compelled to leave him and his slave behind.

At four P.M. we left Al-Birkat, and travelled Eastwards over rolling

ground thickly wooded. There was a network of footpaths through the

thickets, and clouds obscured the moon; the consequence was inevitable

loss of way. About 2 A.M. we began ascending hills in a south-westerly

direction, and presently we fell into the bed of a large rock-girt

Fiumara, which runs from east to west. The sands were overgrown with

saline and salsolaceous plants; the Coloquintida, which, having no

support, spreads along the ground[FN#13]; the Senna, with its small

green leaf; the Rhazya stricta[FN#14]; and a large luxuriant variety of

the Asclepias gigantea,[FN#15] cottoned over with

[p.138] mist and dew. At 6 A.M. (Sept. 9th) we left the Fiumara, and,

turning to the West, we arrived about an hour afterwards at the

station. Al-Zaribah, “the valley,” is an undulating plain amongst high

granite hills. In many parts it was faintly green; water was close to

the surface, and rain stood upon the ground. During the night we had

travelled about twenty-three miles, and our present station was

south-east 56° from our last.

Having pitched the tent and eaten and slept, we prepared to perform the

ceremony of Al-Ihram (assuming the pilgrim-garb), as Al-Zaribah is the

Mikat, or the appointed place.[FN#16] Between the noonday and the

afternoon prayers a barber attended to shave our heads, cut our nails,

and trim our mustachios. Then, having bathed and perfumed ourselves,—the

latter is a questionable

[p.139] point,—we donned the attire, which is nothing but two new cotton

cloths, each six feet long by three and a half broad, white, with

narrow red stripes and fringes: in fact, the costume called Al-Eddeh,

in the baths at Cairo.[FN#17] One of these sheets, technically termed

the Rida, is thrown over the back, and, exposing the arm and shoulder,

is knotted at the right side in the style Wishah. The Izar is wrapped

round the loins from waist to knee, and, knotted or tucked in at the

middle, supports itself. Our heads were bare, and nothing was allowed

upon the instep.[FN#18] It is said that some clans of Arabs still

preserve this religious but most uncomfortable costume; it is doubtless

of ancient date, and to this day, in the regions lying west of the Red

Sea, it continues to be the common dress of the people.

After the toilette, we were placed with our faces in the direction of

Meccah, and ordered to say aloud,[FN#19] “I vow this Ihram of Hajj (the

pilgrimage) and the Umrah (the Little pilgrimage) to Allah Almighty!”

Having thus performed a two-bow prayer, we repeated, without rising

from the sitting position, these words, “O Allah! verily I purpose the

Hajj and the Umrah, then enable me to accomplish the two, and accept

them both of me, and make both blessed to me!” Followed the Talbiyat, or

exclaiming—

“Here I am! O Allah! here am I—

No partner hast Thou, here am I;

Verily the praise and the grace are Thine, and the empire—

[p.140] No partner hast Thou, here am I[FN#20]!” And we were warned to

repeat these words as often as possible, until the conclusion of the

ceremonies. Then Shaykh Abdullah, who acted as director of our

consciences, bade us be good pilgrims, avoiding quarrels, immorality,

bad language, and light conversation. We must so reverence life that we

should avoid killing game, causing an animal to fly, and even pointing

it out for destruction[FN#21]; nor should we scratch ourselves, save

with the open palm, lest vermin be destroyed, or a hair uprooted by the

nail. We were to respect the sanctuary by sparing the trees, and not to

pluck a single blade of grass. As regards personal considerations, we

were to abstain from all oils, perfumes, and unguents; from washing the

head with mallow or with lote leaves; from dyeing, shaving, cutting, or

vellicating a single pile or hair; and though we might take advantage

of shade, and even form it with upraised hands, we must by no means

cover our sconces. For each infraction of these ordinances we must

sacrifice a sheep[FN#22]; and it is commonly said by Moslems that none

[p.141] but the Prophet could be perfect in the intricacies of

pilgrimage. Old Ali began with an irregularity: he declared that age

prevented his assuming the garb, but that, arrived at Meccah, he would

clear himself by an offering.

The wife and daughters of a Turkish pilgrim of our party assumed the

Ihram at the same time as ourselves. They appeared dresse in white

garments; and they had exchanged the Lisam, that coquettish fold of

muslin which veils without concealing the lower part of the face, for a

hideous mask, made of split, dried, and plaited palm-leaves, with two

“bulls’-eyes” for light.[FN#23] I could not help laughing when these strange

figures met my sight, and, to judge from the shaking of their

shoulders, they were not less susceptible to the merriment which they

had caused.

At three P.M. we left Al-Zaribah, travelling towards the South-West,

and a wondrously picturesque scene met the eye. Crowds hurried along,

habited in the pilgrim-garb, whose whiteness contrasted strangely with

their black skins; their newly shaven heads glistening in the sun, and

their long black hair streaming in the wind. The rocks rang with shouts

of Labbayk! Labbayk! At a pass we fell in with the Wahhabis,

accompanying the Baghdad Caravan, screaming “Here am I”; and, guided by a

large loud kettle-drum, they followed in double file the camel of a

standard-bearer, whose green flag bore in huge white letters the

formula of the Moslem creed. They were wild-looking mountaineers, dark

and fierce, with hair twisted into thin Dalik or plaits: each was armed

with a long spear, a matchlock, or a dagger. They were seated upon

coarse wooden saddles, without cushions or stirrups, a fine

saddle-cloth alone denoting a

[p.142] chief. The women emulated the men; they either guided their own

dromedaries, or, sitting in pillion, they clung to their husbands;

veils they disdained, and their countenances certainly belonged not to

a “soft sex.” These Wahhabis were by no means pleasant companions. Most of

them were followed by spare dromedaries, either unladen or carrying

water-skins, fodder, fuel, and other necessaries for the march. The

beasts delighted in dashing furiously through our file, which being

lashed together, head and tail, was thrown each time into the greatest

confusion. And whenever we were observed smoking, we were cursed aloud

for Infidels and Idolaters.

Looking back at Al-Zaribah, soon after our departure, I saw a heavy

nimbus settle upon the hill-tops, a sheet of rain being stretched

between it and the plain. The low grumbling of thunder sounded joyfully

in our ears. We hoped for a shower, but were disappointed by a

dust-storm, which ended with a few heavy drops. There arose a report

that the Badawin had attacked a party of Meccans with stones, and the

news caused men to look exceeding grave.

At five P.M. we entered the wide bed of the Fiumara, down which we were

to travel all night. Here the country falls rapidly towards the sea, as

the increasing heat of the air, the direction of the watercourses, and

signs of violence in the torrent-bed show. The Fiumara varies in

breadth from a hundred and fifty feet to three-quarters of a mile; its

course, I was told, is towards the South-West, and it enters the sea

near Jeddah. The channel is a coarse sand, with here and there masses

of sheet rock and patches of thin vegetation.

At about half-past five P.M. we entered a suspicious-looking place. On

the right was a stony buttress, along whose base the stream, when there

is one, swings; and to this depression was our road limited by the

rocks and thorn trees which filled the other half of the channel.

[p.143] The left side was a precipice, grim and barren, but not so

abrupt as its brother. Opposite us the way seemed barred by piles of

hills, crest rising above crest into the far blue distance. Day still

smiled upon the upper peaks, but the lower slopes and the Fiumara bed

were already curtained with grey sombre shade.

A damp seemed to fall upon our spirits as we approached this Valley

Perilous. I remarked that the voices of the women and children sank

into silence, and the loud Labbayk of the pilgrims were gradually

stilled. Whilst still speculating upon the cause of this phenomenon, it

became apparent. A small curl of the smoke, like a lady’s ringlet, on the

summit of the right-hand precipice, caught my eye; and simultaneous

with the echoing crack of the matchlock, a high-trotting dromedary in

front of me rolled over upon the sands,—a bullet had split its

heart,—throwing the rider a goodly somersault of five or six yards.

Ensued terrible confusion; women screamed, children cried, and men

vociferated, each one striving with might and main to urge his animal

out of the place of death. But the road being narrow, they only managed

to jam the vehicles in a solid immovable mass. At every match-lock

shot, a shudder ran through the huge body, as when the surgeon’s scalpel

touches some more sensitive nerve. The Irregular horsemen, perfectly

useless, galloped up and down over the stones, shouting to and ordering

one another. The Pasha of the army had his carpet spread at the foot of

the left-hand precipice, and debated over his pipe with the officers

what ought to be done. No good genius whispered “Crown the heights.”

Then it was that the conduct of the Wahhabis found favour in my eyes.

They came up, galloping their camels,—

“Torrents less rapid, and less rash,—

with their elf-locks tossing in the wind, and their flaring

[p.144] matches casting a strange lurid light over their features.

Taking up a position, one body began to fire upon the Utaybah robbers,

whilst two or three hundred, dismounting, swarmed up the hill under the

guidance of the Sharif Zayd. I had remarked this nobleman at Al-Madinah

as a model specimen of the pure Arab. Like all Sharifs, he is

celebrated for bravery, and has killed many with his own hand.[FN#24]

When urged at Al-Zaribah to ride into Meccah, he swore that he would

not leave the Caravan till in sight of the walls; and, fortunately for

the pilgrims, he kept his word. Presently the firing was heard far in

our rear, the robbers having fled. The head of the column advanced, and

the dense body of pilgrims opened out. Our forced halt was now

exchanged for a flight. It required much management to steer our

Desert-craft clear of danger; but Shaykh Mas’ud was equal to the

occasion. That many were not, was evident by the boxes and baggage that

strewed the shingles. I had no means of ascertaining the number of men

killed and wounded: reports were contradictory, and exaggeration

unanimous. The robbers were said to be a hundred and fifty in number;

their object was plunder, and they would eat the shot camels. But their

principal ambition was the boast, “We, the Utaybah, on such and such a

[p.145] night, stopped the Sultan’s Mahmil one whole hour in the Pass.”

At the beginning of the skirmish I had primed my pistols, and sat with

them ready for use. But soon seeing that there was nothing to be done,

and wishing to make an impression,—nowhere does Bobadil now “go down” so well

as in the East,—I called aloud for my supper. Shaykh Nur, exanimate with

fear, could not move. The boy Mohammed ejaculated only an “Oh, sir!” and

the people around exclaimed in disgust, “By Allah, he eats!” Shaykh

Abdullah, the Meccan, being a man of spirit, was amused by the

spectacle. “Are these Afghan manners, Effendim?” he enquired from the

Shugduf behind me. “Yes,” I replied aloud, “in my country we always dine

before an attack of robbers, because that gentry is in the habit of

sending men to bed supperless.” The Shaykh laughed aloud, but those

around him looked offended. I thought the bravado this time mal place;

but a little event which took place on my way to Jeddah proved that it

was not quite a failure.

As we advanced, our escort took care to fire every large dry Asclepias,

to disperse the shades which buried us. Again the scene became wondrous

wild:—

“Full many a waste I’ve wander’d o’er,

Clomb many a crag, cross’d many a shore,

But, by my halidome,

A scene so rude, so wild as this,

Yet so sublime in barrenness,

Ne’er did my wandering footsteps press,

Where’er I chanced to roam.”

On either side were ribbed precipices, dark, angry, and towering above,

till their summits mingled with the glooms of night; and between them

formidable looked the chasm, down which our host hurried with shouts

and discharges of matchlocks. The torch-smoke and the night-fires of

flaming Asclepias formed a canopy, sable

[p.146] above and livid red below; it hung over our heads like a sheet,

and divided the cliffs into two equal parts. Here the fire flashed

fiercely from a tall thorn, that crackled and shot up showers of sparks

into the air; there it died away in lurid gleams, which lit up a truly

Stygian scene. As usual, however, the picturesque had its

inconveniences. There was no path. Rocks, stone-banks, and trees

obstructed our passage. The camels, now blind in darkness, then dazzled

by a flood of light, stumbled frequently; in some places slipping down

a steep descent, in others sliding over a sheet of mud. There were

furious quarrels and fierce language between camel-men and their

hirers, and threats to fellow-travellers; in fact, we were united in

discord. I passed that night crying, “Hai! Hai!” switching the camel, and

fruitlessly endeavouring to fustigate Mas’ud’s nephew, who resolutely slept

upon the water-bags. During the hours of darkness we made four or five

halts, when we boiled coffee and smoked pipes; but man and beasts were

beginning to suffer from a deadly fatigue.

Dawn (Saturday, Sept. 10th) found us still travelling down the Fiumara,

which here is about a hundred yards broad. The granite hills on both

sides were less precipitous; and the borders of the torrent-bed became

natural quays of stiff clay, which showed a water-mark of from twelve

to fifteen feet in height. In many parts the bed was muddy; and the

moist places, as usual, caused accidents. I happened to be looking back

at Shaykh Abdullah, who was then riding in old Ali bin Ya Sin’s fine

Shugduf; suddenly the camel’s four legs disappeared from under him, his

right side flattening the ground, and the two riders were pitched

severally out of the smashed vehicle. Abdullah started up furious, and

with great zest abused the Badawin, who were absent. “Feed these Arabs,” he

exclaimed, quoting a Turkish proverb, “and

[p.147] they will fire at Heaven!” But I observed that, when Shaykh Mas’ud

came up, the citizen was only gruff.

We then turned Northward, and sighted Al-Mazik, more generally known as

Wady Laymun, the Valley of Limes. On the right bank of the Fiumara

stood the Meccan Sharif’s state pavilion, green and gold: it was

surrounded by his attendants, and he had prepared to receive the Pasha

of the Caravan. We advanced half a mile, and encamped temporarily in a

hill-girt bulge of the Fiumara bed. At eight A.M. we had travelled

about twenty-four miles from Al-Zaribah, and the direction of our

present station was South-west 50°.

Shaykh Mas’ud allowed us only four hours’ halt; he wished to precede the

main body. After breaking our fast joyously upon limes, pomegranates,

and fresh dates, we sallied forth to admire the beauties of the place.

We are once more on classic ground—the ground of the ancient Arab poets,—

“Deserted is the village—waste the halting place and home

At Mina, o’er Rijam and Ghul wild beasts unheeded roam,

On Rayyan hill the channel lines have left their naked trace,

Time-worn, as primal Writ that dints the mountain’s flinty

face;[FN#25]”—

and this Wady, celebrated for the purity of its air, has from remote

ages been a favourite resort of the Meccans. Nothing can be more

soothing to the brain than the dark-green foliage of the limes and

pomegranates; and from

[p.148] the base of the Southern hill bursts a bubbling stream, whose

“Chaire, fresche e dolci acque”

flow through the gardens, filling them with the most delicious of

melodies, the gladdest sound which Nature in these regions knows.

Exactly at noon Mas’ud seized the halter of the foremost camel, and we

started down the Fiumara. Troops of Badawi girls looked over the

orchard walls laughingly, and children came out to offer us fresh fruit

and sweet water. At two P.M., travelling South-west, we arrived at a

point where the torrent-bed turns to the right[;] and, quitting it, we

climbed with difficulty over a steep ridge of granite. Before three

o’clock we entered a hill-girt plain, which my companions called “Sola.” In

some places were clumps of trees, and scattered villages warned us that

we were approaching a city. Far to the left rose the blue peaks of

Taif, and the mountain road, a white thread upon the nearer heights,

was pointed out to me. Here I first saw the tree, or rather shrub,

which bears the balm of Gilead, erst so celebrated for its tonic and

stomachic properties.[FN#26] I told Shaykh Mas’ud to break off a

[p.149] twig, which he did heedlessly. The act was witnessed by our

party with a roar of laughter; and the astounded Shaykh was warned that

he had become subject to an atoning sacrifice. [FN#27] Of course he

denounced me as the instigator, and I could not fairly refuse

assistance. The tree has of late years been carefully described by many

botanists; I will only say that the bark resembled in colour a

cherry-stick pipe, the inside was a light yellow, and the juice made my

fingers stick together.

At four P.M. we came to a steep and rocky Pass, up which we toiled with

difficulty. The face of the country was rising once more, and again

presented the aspect of numerous small basins divided and surrounded by

hills. As we

[p.150] jogged on we were passed by the cavalcade of no less a

personage than the Sharif of Meccah. Abd al-Muttalib bin Ghalib is a

dark, beardless old man with African features derived from his mother.

He was plainly dressed in white garments and a white muslin

turband,[FN#28] which made him look jet black; he rode an ambling mule,

and the only emblem of his dignity was the large green satin umbrella

born[e] by an attendant on foot.[FN#29] Scattered around him were about

forty matchlock men, mostly slaves. At long intervals, after their

father, came his four sons, Riza Bey, Abdullah, Ali, and Ahmad, the

latter still a child. The three elder brothers rode splendid

dromedaries at speed; they were young men of light complexion, with the

true Meccan cast of features, showily dressed in bright coloured silks,

and armed, to denote their rank, with sword and gold-hilted

dagger.[FN#30]

[p.151]We halted as evening approached, and strained our eyes, but all

in vain, to catch sight of Meccah, which lies in a winding valley. By

Shaykh Abdullah’s direction I recited, after the usual devotions, the

following prayer. The reader is for[e]warned that it is difficult to

preserve the flowers of Oriental rhetoric in a European tongue.

[p.152]O Allah! verily this is Thy Safeguard (Amn) and Thy (Harim)!

Into it whoso entereth becometh safe (Amin). So deny (Harrim) my Flesh

and Blood, my Bones and Skin, to Hell-fire. O Allah! save me from Thy

Wrath on the Day when Thy Servants shall be raised from the Dead. I

conjure Thee by this that Thou art Allah, besides whom is none (Thou

only), the Merciful, the Compassionate. And have Mercy upon our Lord

Mohammed, and upon the Progeny of our Lord Mohammed, and upon his

Followers, One and All!” This was concluded with the “Talbiyat,” and with an

especial prayer for myself.

We again mounted, and night completed our disappointment. About one

A.M. I was aroused by general excitement. “Meccah! Meccah!” cried some

voices; “The Sanctuary! O the Sanctuary!” exclaimed others; and all burst

into loud “Labbayk,” not unfrequently broken by sobs. I looked out from my

litter, and saw by the light of the Southern stars the dim outlines of

a large city, a shade darker than the surrounding plain. We were

passing over the last ridge by a cutting called the Saniyat Kuda’a, the

winding-place of the cut.[FN#31] The “winding path” is flanked on both

sides by watch-towers, which command the Darb al-Ma’ala or road leading

from the North into Meccah. Thence we passed into the Ma’abidah (Northern

suburb), where the Sharif’s Palace is built.[FN#32] After this, on the

left hand, came

[p.153] the deserted abode of the Sharif bin Aun, now said to be a

“haunted house.[FN#33]” Opposite to it lies the Jannat al-Ma’ala, the holy

cemetery of Meccah. Thence, turning to the right, we entered the

Sulaymaniyah or Afghan quarter. Here the boy Mohammed, being an

inhabitant of the Shamiyah or Syrian ward, thought proper to display

some apprehension. The two are on bad terms; children never meet

without exchanging volleys of stones, and men fight furiously with

quarterstaves. Sometimes, despite the terrors of religion, the knife

and sabre are drawn. But their hostilities have their code. If a

citizen be killed, there is a subscription for blood-money. An

inhabitant of one quarter, passing singly through another, becomes a

guest; once beyond the walls, he is likely to be beaten to

insensibility by his hospitable foes.

At the Sulaymaniyah we turned off the main road into a byway, and

ascended by narrow lanes the rough heights of Jabal Hindi, upon which

stands a small whitewashed and crenellated building called a fort.

Thence descending, we threaded dark streets, in places crowded with

rude cots and dusky figures, and finally at two A.M. we found ourselves

at the door of the boy Mohammed’s house.

[p.154]From Wady Laymun to Meccah the distance, according to my

calculation, was about twenty-three miles, the direction South-East

forty-five degrees. We arrived on the morning of Sunday, the 7th Zu’l

Hijjah (11th September, 1853), and had one day before the beginning of

the pilgrimage to repose and visit the Harim.

I conclude this chapter with a few remarks upon the watershed of

Al-Hijaz. The country, in my humble opinion, has a compound slope,

Southwards and Westwards. I have, however, little but the conviction of

the modern Arabs to support the assertion that this part of Arabia

declines from the North. All declare the course of water to be

Southerly, and believe the fountain of Arafat to pass underground from

Baghdad. The slope, as geographers know, is still a disputed point.

Ritter, Jomard, and some old Arab authors, make the country rise

towards the south, whilst Wallin and others express an opposite

opinion. From the sea to Al-Musahhal is a gentle rise. The water-marks

of the Fiumaras show that Al-Madinah is considerably above the coast,

though geographers may not be correct in claiming for Jabal Radhwa a

height of six thousand feet; yet that elevation is not perhaps too

great for the plateau upon which stands the Apostle’s burial-place. From

Al-Madinah to Al-Suwayrkiyah is another gentle rise, and from the

latter to Al-Zaribah stagnating water denotes a level. I believe the

report of a perennial lake on the eastern boundary of Al-Hijaz, as

little as the river placed by Ptolemy between Yambu’ and Meccah. No

Badawi could tell me of this feature, which, had it existed, would have

changed the whole conditions and history of the [p.155] country; we

know the Greek’s river to be a Fiumara, and the lake probably owes its

existence to a similar cause, a heavy fall of rain. Beginning at

Al-Zaribah is a decided fall, which continues to the sea. The Arafat

torrent sweeps from East to West with great force, sometimes carrying

away the habitations, and even injuring the sanctuary.[FN#34]

[FN#1] There are certain officers called Zemzemi, who distribute the

holy water. In the case of a respectable pilgrim they have a large jar

of the shape described in Chap. iv., marked with his names and titles,

and sent every morning to his lodgings. If he be generous, one or more

will be placed in the Harim, that men may drink in his honour. The

Zemzemi expects a present varying from five to eleven dollars.

[FN#2] The shishah, smoked on the camel, is a tin canister divided into

two compartments, the lower half for the water, the upper one for the

tobacco. The cover is pierced with holes to feed the fire, and a short

hookah-snake projects from one side.

[FN#3] The Hindustani “sir.” Badawin address it slightingly to Indians,

Chapter xii.

[FN#4] When Indians would say “he was killed upon the spot,” they use the

picturesque phrase, “he asked not for water.”

[FN#5] The Arabs are curious in and fond of honey: Meccah alone affords

eight or nine different varieties. The best, and in Arab parlance the

“coldest,” is the green kind, produced by bees that feed upon a thorny

plant called “sihhah.” The white and red honeys rank next. The worst is the

Asal Asmar (brown honey), which sells for something under a piastre per

pound. The Abyssinian mead is unknown in Al-Hijaz, but honey enters

into a variety of dishes.

[FN#6] “La Siwa Hu,” i.e., where there is none but Allah.

[FN#7] This article, an iron cylinder with bands, mounted on a long

pole, corresponds with the European cresset of the fifteenth century.

The Pasha’s cressets are known by their smell, a little incense being

mingled with the wood. By this means the Badawin discover the dignitary’s

place.

[FN#8] “Abu Sham,” a familiar address in Al-Hijaz to Syrians. They are

called “abusers of the salt,” from their treachery, and “offspring of Shimr”

(the execrated murderer of the Imam Hosayn), because he was a native of

that country. Such is the detestation in which the Shi’ah sect,

especially the Persians, hold Syria and the Syrians, that I hardly ever

met with a truly religious man who did not desire a general massacre of

the polluted race. And history informs us that the plains of Syria have

repeatedly been drenched with innocent blood shed by sectarian

animosity. Yet Jalal al-Din (History of Jerusalem) says, “As to Damascus,

all learned men fully agree that it is the most eminent of cities after

Meccah and Al-Madinah.” Hence its many titles, “the Smile of the Prophet,”

the “Great Gate of Pilgrimage,” “Sham Sharif,” the “Right Hand of the Cities of

Syria,” &c., &c. And many sayings of Mohammed in honour of Syria are

recorded. He was fond of using such Syriac words as “Bakhun! Bakhun!” to

Ali, and “Kakhun! Kakhun!” to Hosayn. I will not enter into the curious

history of the latter word, which spread to Egypt, and, slightly

altered, passed through Latin mythology into French, English, German,

Italian, and other modern European tongues.

[FN#9] There is a regular language to camels. “Ikh! ikh!” makes them kneel;

“Yahh! Yahh!” urges them on; “Hai! Hai!” induces caution, and so on.

[FN#10] Both these names of the Almighty are of kindred origin. The

former is generally used when a woman is in danger of exposing her face

by accident, or an animal of falling.

[FN#11] A “birkat” in this part of Arabia may be an artificial cistern or a

natural basin; in the latter case it is smaller than a “ghadir.” This road

was a favourite with Harun al-Rashid, the pious tyrant who boasted that

every year he performed either a pilgrimage or a crusade. The reader

will find in d’Herbelot an account of the celebrated visit of Harun to

the Holy Cities. Nor less known in Oriental history is the pilgrimage

of Zubaydah Khatun (wife of Harun and mother of Amin) by this route.

[FN#12] Some believe this literally, others consider it a phrase

expressive of blood-thirstiness. It is the only suspicion of

cannibalism, if I may use the word, now attaching to Al-Hijaz. Possibly

the disgusting act may occasionally have taken place after a stern

fight of more than usual rancour. Who does not remember the account of

the Turkish officer licking his blood after having sabred the corpse of

a Russian spy? It is said that the Mutayr and the Utaybah are not

allowed to enter Meccah, even during the pilgrimage season.

[FN#13] Coloquintida is here used, as in most parts of the East,

medicinally. The pulp and the seeds of the ripe fruit are scooped out,

and the rind is filled with milk, which is exposed to the night air,

and drunk in the morning.

[FN#14] Used in Arabian medicine as a refrigerant and tonic. It abounds

in Sind and Afghanistan, where, according to that most practical of

botanists, the lamented Dr. Stocks, it is called “ishwarg.”

[FN#15] Here called Ashr. According to Seetzen it bears the long-sought

apple of Sodom. Yet, if truth be told, the soft green bag is as unlike

an apple as can be imagined; nor is the hard and brittle yellow rind of

the ripe fruit a whit more resembling. The Arabs use the thick and

acrid milk of the green bag with steel filings as a tonic, and speak

highly of its effects; they employ it also to intoxicate or narcotise

monkeys and other animals which they wish to catch. It is esteemed in

Hindu medicine. The Nubians and Indians use the filaments of the fruit

as tinder; they become white and shining as floss-silk. The Badawin

also have applied it to a similar purpose. Our Egyptian travellers call

it the “Silk-tree”; and in Northern Africa, where it abounds, Europeans

make of it stuffing for the mattresses, which are expensive, and highly

esteemed for their coolness and cleanliness. In Bengal a kind of gutta

percha is made by boiling the juice. This weed, so common in the East,

may one day become in the West an important article of commerce.

[FN#16] “Al-Ihram” literally meaning “prohibition” or “making unlawful,” equivalent

to our “mortification,” is applied to the ceremony of the toilette, and

also to the dress itself. The vulgar pronounce the word “heram,” or “l’ehram.” It

is opposed to “ihlal,” “making lawful” or “returning to laical life.” The further

from Meccah it is assumed, provided that it be during the three months

of Hajj, the greater is the religious merit of the pilgrim;

consequently some come from India and Egypt in the dangerous attire.

Those coming from the North assume the pilgrim-garb at or off the

village of Rabigh.

[FN#17] These sheets are not positively necessary; any clean cotton

cloth not sewn in any part will serve equally well. Servants and

attendants expect the master to present them with an “ihram.”

[FN#18] Sandals are made at Meccah expressly for the pilgrimage: the

poorer classes cut off the upper leathers of an old pair of shoes.

[FN#19] This Niyat, as it is technically called, is preferably

performed aloud. Some authorities, however, direct it to be meditated

sotto-voce.

[FN#20] “Talbiyat” is from the word Labbayka (“here I am”) in the cry—

“Labbayk’ Allahumma, Labbayk’!

(Labbayka) La Sharika laka, Labbayk’!

Inna ’l-hamda wa ’l ni’amata laka wa ’l mulk!

La Sharika laka, Labbayk’!”

Some add, “Here I am, and I honour thee, I the son of thy two slaves:

beneficence and good are all between thy hands.” A single Talbiyah is a

“Shart” or positive condition, and its repetition is a Sunnat or Custom of

the Prophet. The “Talbiyat” is allowed in any language, but is preferred in

Arabic. It has a few varieties; the form above given is the most common.

[FN#21] The object of these ordinances is clearly to inculcate the

strictest observance of the “truce of God.” Pilgrims, however, are allowed

to slay, if necessary, “the five noxious,” viz., a crow, a kite, a

scorpion, a rat, and a biting dog.

[FN#22] The victim is sacrificed as a confession that the offender

deems himself worthy of death: the offerer is not allowed to taste any

portion of his offering.

[FN#23] The reason why this “ugly” must be worn, is, that a woman’s veil

during the pilgrimage ceremonies is not allowed to touch her face.

[FN#24] The Sharifs are born and bred to fighting: the peculiar

privileges of their caste favour their development of pugnacity. Thus,

the modern diyah, or price of blood, being 800 dollars for a common

Moslem, the chiefs demand for one of their number double that sum, with

a sword, a camel, a female slave, and other items; and, if one of their

slaves or servants be slain, a fourfold price. The rigorous way in

which this custom is carried out gives the Sharif and his retainer

great power among the Arabs. As a general rule, they are at the bottom

of all mischief. It was a Sharif (Hosayn bin Ali) who tore down and

trampled upon the British flag at Mocha; a Sharif (Abd al-Rahman of

Waht) who murdered Captain Mylne near Lahedge. A page might be filled

with the names of the distinguished ruffians.

[FN#25] In these lines of Labid, the “Mina” alluded to must not, we are

warned by the scholiast, be confounded with “Mina” (vulg. “Muna”), the Valley

of Victims. Ghul and Rayyan are hills close to the Wady Laymun. The

passage made me suspect that inscriptions would be found among the

rocks, as the scholiast informs us that “men used to write upon rocks in

order that their writing might remain.” (De Sacy’s Moallaka de Lebid, p.

289.) I neither saw nor heard of any. But some months afterwards I was

delighted to hear from the Abbe Hamilton that he had discovered in one

of the rock monuments a “lithographed proof” of the presence of Sesostris

(Rhameses II.).

[FN#26] The “balsamon” of Theophrastus and Dioscorides, a corruption of the

Arabic “balisan” or “basham,” by which name the Badawin know it. In the valley

of the Jordan it was worth its weight in silver, and kings warred for

what is now a weed. Cleopatra by a commission brought it to Egypt. It

was grown at Heliopolis. The last tree died there, we are told by

Niebuhr, in the early part of the seventeenth century (according to

others, in A.D. 1502); a circumstance the more curious, as it was used

by the Copts in chrisome, and by Europe for anointing kings. From Egypt

it was carried to Al-Hijaz, where it now grows wild on sandy and stony

grounds; but I could not discover the date of its naturalisation.

Moslems generally believe it to have been presented to Solomon by

Bilkis, Queen of Sheba. Bruce relates that it was produced at Mohammed’s

prayer from the blood of the Badr-Martyr. In the Gospel of Infancy

(book i. ch. 8) we read,—“9. Hence they (Joseph and Mary) went out to that

sycamore, which is now called Matarea (the modern and Arabic name for

Heliopolis). 10. And in Matarea the Lord Jesus caused a well to spring

forth, in which St. Mary washed his coat; 11. And a balsam is produced

or grows in that country from the sweat which ran down there from the

Lord Jesus.” The sycamore is still shown, and the learned recognise in

this ridiculous old legend the “hiero-sykaminon,” of pagan Egypt, under

which Isis and Horus sat. Hence Sir J. Maundeville and an old writer

allude reverently to the sovereign virtues of “bawme.” I believe its

qualities to have been exaggerated, but have found it useful in

dressing wounds. Burckhardt (vol. ii. p. 124) alludes to, but appears

not to have seen it. The best balsam is produced upon stony hills like

Arafat and Muna. In hot weather incisions are made in the bark, and the

soft gum which exudes is collected in bottles. The best kind is of the

consistence of honey, and yellowish-brown, like treacle. It is

frequently adulterated with water, when, if my informant Shaykh

Abdullah speak truth, it becomes much lighter in weight. I never heard

of the vipers which Pliny mentions as abounding in these trees, and

which Bruce declares were shown to him alive at Jeddah and at Yambu’. Dr.

Carter found the balm, under the name of Luban Dukah, among the Gara

tribe of Eastern Arabia, and botanists have seen it at Aden. We may

fairly question its being originally from the banks of the Jordan.

[FN#27] This being one of the “Muharramat,” or actions forbidden to a

pilgrim. At all times, say the Moslems, there are three vile trades,

viz., those of the Harik al-Hajar (stone-burner), the Kati’ al-Shajar

(tree-cutter, without reference to Hawarden, N.B.), and the Bayi’

al-Bashar (man-seller, vulg. Jallab).

[FN#28] This attire was customary even in Al-Idrisi’s time.

[FN#29] From India to Abyssinia the umbrella is the sign of royalty:

the Arabs of Meccah and Sena’a probably derived the custom from the

Hindus.

[FN#30] I purposely omit long descriptions of the Sharif, my

fellow-travellers, Messrs. Didier and Hamilton, being far more

competent to lay the subject before the public. A few political remarks

may not be deemed out of place. The present Sharif, despite his

civilised training at Constantinople, is, and must be a fanatic,

bigoted man. He applied for the expulsion of the British Vice-Consul at

Jeddah, on the grounds that an infidel should not hold position in the

Holy Land. His pride and reserve have made him few friends, although

the Meccans, with their enthusiastic nationality, extol his bravery to

the skies, and praise him for conduct as well as for courage. His

position at present is anomalous. Ahmad Pasha of Al-Hijaz rules

politically as representative of the Sultan. The Sharif, who, like the

Pope, claims temporal as well as spiritual dominion, attempts to

command the authorities by force of bigotry. The Pasha heads the

Turkish, now the ruling party. The Sharif has in his interest the Arabs

and the Badawin. Both thwart each other on all possible occasions;

quarrels are bitter and endless; there is no government, and the vessel

of the State is in danger of being water-logged, in consequence of the

squabbling between her two captains. When I was at Meccah all were in a

ferment, the Sharif having, it is said, insisted upon the Pasha leaving

Taif. The position of the Turks in Al-Hijaz becomes every day more

dangerous. Want of money presses upon them, and reduces them to

degrading measures. In February, 1853, the Pasha hired a forced loan

from the merchants, and but for Mr. Cole’s spirit and firmness, the

English proteges would have been compelled to contribute their share.

After a long and animated discussion, the Pasha yielded the point by

imprisoning his recusant subjects, who insisted upon Indians paying,

like themselves. He waited in person with an apology upon Mr. Cole.

Though established at Jeddah since 1838, the French and English

Consuls, contented with a proxy, never required a return of visit from

the Governor. If the Turks be frequently reduced to such expedients for

the payment of their troops, they will soon be swept from the land. On

the other hand, the Sharif approaches a crisis. His salary, paid by the

Sultan, may be roughly estimated at £15,000 per annum. If the Turks

maintain their footing in Arabia, it will probably be found that an

honourable retreat at Stambul is better for the thirty-first descendant

of the Prophet than the turbulent life of Meccah; or that a reduced

allowance of £500 per annum would place him in a higher spiritual, though

in a lower temporal position. Since the above was written the Sharif

Abd al-Muttalib has been deposed. The Arabs of Al-Hijaz united in

revolt against the Sultan, but after a few skirmishes they were reduced

to subjection by their old ruler the Sharif bin Aun.

[FN#31] Saniyat means a “winding path,” and Kuda’a, “the cut.” Formerly Meccah

had three gates: 1. Bab al-Ma’ala, North-East; 2. Bab al-Umrah, or Bab

al-Zahir, on the Jeddah road, West; and 3[.] Bab al-Masfal on the Yaman

road. These were still standing in the twelfth century, but the walls

were destroyed. It is better to enter Meccah by day and on foot; but

this is not a matter of vital consequence in pilgrimage.

[FN#32] It is a large whitewashed building, with extensive wooden

balconied windows, but no pretensions to architectural splendour.

Around it trees grow, and amongst them I remarked a young cocoa.

Al-Idrisi (A.D. 1154) calls the palace Al-Marba’ah. This may be a

clerical error, for to the present day all know it as Al-Ma’abidah

(pronounced Al-Mab’da). The Nubian describes it as a “stone castle, three

miles from the town, in a palm garden.” The word “Ma’abidah,” says Kutb al-Din,

means a “body of servants,” and is applied generally to this suburb because

here was a body of Badawin in charge of the Masjid al-Ijabah, a Mosque

not now existing.

[FN#33] I cannot conceive what made the accurate Niebuhr fall into the

strange error that “apparitions are unknown in Arabia.” Arabs fear to sleep

alone, to enter the bath at night, to pass by cemeteries during dark,

and to sit amongst ruins, simply for fear of apparitions. And Arabia,

together with Persia, has supplied half the Western world with its

ghost stories and tales of angels, demons, and fairies. To quote

Milton, the land is struck “with superstition as with a planet.”

[FN#34] This is a synopsis of our marches, which, protracted on

Burckhardt’s map, gives an error of ten miles.

1. From Al-Madinah to Ja al-Sharifah, S.E. 50° - 22 Miles

2. From Ja al-Sharifah to Ghurab, S.W. 10° - 24 Miles

3. From Ghurab to Al-Hijriyah, S.E. 22° - 25 Miles

4. From Al-Hijriyah to Al-Suwayrkiyah, S.W. 11° - 28 Miles

5. From Al-Suwayrkiyah to Al-Sufayna, S.E. 5° - 17 Miles

6. From Al-Sufayna to the “Benu Mutayr,” S.W. 20° - 18 Miles

7. From the “Benu Mutayr” to Al-Ghadir, S.W. 21° - 20 Miles

8. From Al-Ghadir to Al-Birkat, S.E. 10° - 24 Miles

9. From Al-Birkat to Al-Zaribah, S.E. 56° - 23 Miles

10.From Al-Zaribah to Wady Laymun, S.W. 50° - 24 Miles

11.From Wady Laymun to Meccah, S.E. 45° - 23 Miles

Total English miles 248

[p.157]PART III.

MECCAH.

[p.159]CHAPTER XXVII.

THE FIRST VISIT TO THE HOUSE OF ALLAH.

THE boy Mohammed left me in the street, and having at last persuaded

the sleepy and tired Indian porter, by violent kicks and testy answers

to twenty cautious queries, to swing open the huge gate of his

fortress, he rushed up stairs to embrace his mother. After a minute I

heard the Zaghritah,[FN#1] Lululu, or shrill cry which in these lands

welcomes the wanderer home; the sound so gladdening to the returner

sent a chill to the stranger’s heart.

Presently the youth returned. His manner had changed from a boisterous

and jaunty demeanour to one of grave and attentive courtesy—I had become

his guest. He led me into the gloomy hall, seated me upon a large

carpeted Mastabah, or platform, and told his bara Miyan[FN#2] (great

Sir), the Hindustani porter, to bring a light.

[p.160] Meanwhile a certain shuffling of slippered feet above informed

my ears that the Kabirah,[FN#3] the mistress of the house, was intent

on hospitable thoughts. When the camels were unloaded, appeared a dish

of fine vermicelli, browned and powdered with loaf sugar. The boy

Mohammed, I, and Shaykh Nur, lost no time in exerting our right hands;

and truly, after our hungry journey, we found the Kunafah delicious.

After the meal we procured cots from a neighbouring coffee-house, and

we lay down, weary, and anxious to snatch an hour or two of repose. At

dawn we were expected to perform our Tawaf al-Kudum, or “Circumambulation

of Arrival,” at the Harim.

Scarcely had the first smile of morning beamed upon the rugged head of

the eastern hill, Abu Kubays,[FN#4] when we arose, bathed, and

proceeded in our pilgrim-garb to the Sanctuary. We entered by the Bab

al-Ziyadah, or principal northern door, descended two long flights of

steps, traversed the cloister, and stood in sight of the Bayt Allah.

There at last it lay, the bourn of my long and weary Pilgrimage,

realising the plans and hopes of many and many a year. The mirage

medium of Fancy invested the

[p.161] huge catafalque and its gloomy pall with peculiar charms. There

were no giant fragments of hoar antiquity as in Egypt, no remains of

graceful and harmonious beauty as in Greece and Italy, no barbarous

gorgeousness as in the buildings of India; yet the view was strange,

unique—and how few have looked upon the celebrated shrine! I may truly

say that, of all the worshippers who clung weeping to the curtain, or

who pressed their beating hearts to the stone, none felt for the moment

a deeper emotion than did the Haji from the far-north. It was as if the

poetical legends of the Arab spoke truth, and that the waving wings of

angels, not the sweet breeze of morning, were agitating and swelling

the black covering of the shrine. But, to confess humbling truth,

theirs was the high feeling of religious enthusiasm, mine was the

ecstasy of gratified pride.

Few Moslems contemplate for the first time the Ka’abah, without fear and

awe: there is a popular jest against new comers, that they generally

inquire the direction of prayer. This being the Kiblah, or fronting

place, Moslems pray all around it; a circumstance which of course

cannot take place in any spot of Al-Islam but the Harim. The boy

Mohammed, therefore, left me for a few minutes to myself; but presently

he warned me that it was time to begin. Advancing, we entered through

the Bab Benu Shaybah, the “Gate of the Sons of the Shaybah[FN#5]” (old

woman). There we raised our

[p.162] hands, repeated the Labbayk, the Takbir, and the Tahlil; after

which we uttered certain supplications, and drew our hands down our

faces. Then we proceeded to the Shafe’is’ place of worship—the open pavement

between the Makam Ibrahim and the well Zemzem—where we performed the

usual two-bow prayer in honour of the Mosque. This was followed by a

cup of holy water and a present to the Sakkas, or carriers, who for the

consideration distributed, in my name, a large earthen vaseful to poor

pilgrims.

The word Zemzem has a doubtful origin. Some derive it from the Zam Zam,

or murmuring of its waters, others from Zam! Zam! (fill! fill! i.e. the

bottle), Hagar’s impatient exclamation when she saw the stream. Sale

translates it stay! stay! and says that Hagar called out in the

Egyptian language, to prevent her son wandering. The Hukama, or

Rationalists of Al-Islam, who invariably connect their faith with the

worship of Venus, especially, and the heavenly bodies generally, derive

Zemzem from the Persian, and make it signify the “great luminary.” Hence

they say the Zemzem, as well as the Ka’abah, denoting the Cuthite or

Ammonian worship of sun and fire, deserves man’s reverence. So the

Persian poet Khakani addresses these two buildings:—

“O Ka’abah, thou traveller of the heavens!”

“O Venus, thou fire of the world!”

Thus Wahid Mohammed, founder of the Wahidiyah sect, identifies the

Kiblah and the sun; wherefore he says the door fronts the East. By the

names Yaman (“right-hand”), Sham (“left-hand”), Kubul, or the East wind

(“fronting”), and Dubur, or the West wind (“from the back”), it is evident that

worshippers fronted the rising sun. According to the Hukama, the

original Black Stone represents Venus, “which in the border of the

heavens is a star of the planets,” and symbolical of the

[p.163] generative power of nature, “by whose passive energy the universe

was warmed into life and motion.” The Hindus accuse the Moslems of

adoring the Bayt Ullah.

“O Moslem, if thou worship the Ka’abah,

Why reproach the worshippers of idols?”

says Rai Manshar. And Musaylimah, who in his attempt to found a fresh

faith, gained but the historic epithet of “Liar,” allowed his followers to

turn their faces in any direction, mentally ejaculating, “I address

myself to thee, who hast neither side nor figure;” a doctrine which might

be sensible in the abstract, but certainly not material enough and

pride-flattering to win him many converts in Arabia.

The produce of Zemzem is held in great esteem. It is used for drinking

and religious ablution, but for no baser purposes; and the Meccans

advise pilgrims always to break their fast with it. It is apt to cause

diarrhoea and boils, and I never saw a stranger drink it without a wry

face. Sale is decidedly correct in his assertion: the flavour is a

salt-bitter, much resembling an infusion of a teaspoonful of Epsom

salts in a large tumbler of tepid water. Moreover, it is exceedingly

“heavy” to the digestion. For this reason Turks and other strangers prefer

rain-water, collected in cisterns and sold for five farthings a

gugglet. It was a favourite amusement with me to watch them whilst they

drank the holy water, and to taunt their scant and irreverent potations.

The strictures of the Calcutta Review (No. 41, art. 1), based upon the

taste of Zemzem, are unfounded. In these days a critic cannot be

excused for such hasty judgments; at Calcutta or Bombay he would easily

find a jar of Zemzem water, which he might taste for himself. Upon this

passage Mr. W. Muir (Life of Mahomet, vol. i, p. cclviii.) remarks that

“the flavour of stale water bottled up for months would not be a

criterion of the same water freshly drawn.” But it might easily be

analysed.

The water is transmitted to distant regions in glazed

[p.164] earthern jars covered with basket-work, and sealed by the

Zemzemis. Religious men break their lenten fast with it, apply it to

their eyes to brighten vision, and imbibe a few drops at the hour of

death, when Satan stands by holding a bowl of purest water, the price

of the departing soul. Of course modern superstition is not idle about

the waters of Zemzem. The copious supply of the well is considered at

Meccah miraculous; in distant countries it facilitates the

pron[o]unciation of Arabic to the student; and everywhere the nauseous

draught is highly meritorious in a religious point of view.

We then advanced towards the eastern angle of the Ka’abah, in which is

inserted the Black Stone; and, standing about ten yards from it,

repeated with upraised hands, “There is no god but Allah alone, Whose

Covenant is Truth, and Whose Servant is Victorious. There is no god but

Allah, without Sharer; His is the Kingdom, to Him be Praise, and He

over all Things is potent.” After which we approached as close as we

could to the stone. A crowd of pilgrims preventing our touching it that

time, we raised our hands to our ears, in the first position of prayer,

and then lowering them, exclaimed, “O Allah (I do this), in Thy Belief,

and in verification of Thy Book, and in Pursuance of Thy Prophet’s

Example—may Allah bless Him and preserve! O Allah, I extend my Hand to

Thee, and great is my Desire to Thee! O accept Thou my Supplication,

and diminish my Obstacles, and pity my Humiliation, and graciously

grant me Thy Pardon!” After which, as we were still unable to reach the

stone, we raised our hands to our ears, the palms facing the stone, as

if touching it, recited the various religious formulae, the Takbir, the

Tahlil, and the Hamdilah, blessed the Prophet, and kissed the

finger-tips of the right hand. The Prophet used to weep when he touched

the Black Stone, and said that it was the place for the pouring forth

of tears. According to most authors, the

[p.165] second Caliph also used to kiss it. For this reason most

Moslems, except the Shafe’i school, must touch the stone with both hands

and apply their lips to it, or touch it with the fingers, which should

be kissed, or rub the palms upon it, and afterwards draw them down the

face. Under circumstances of difficulty, it is sufficient to stand

before the stone, but the Prophet’s Sunnat, or practice, was to touch it.

Lucian mentions adoration of the sun by kissing the hand.

Then commenced the ceremony of Tawaf,[FN#6] or circumambulation, our

route being the Mataf—the low oval of polished granite immediately

surrounding the Ka’abah. I

[p.166] repeated, after my Mutawwif, or cicerone,[FN#7] “In the Name of

Allah, and Allah is omnipotent! I purpose to circuit seven circuits

unto Almighty Allah, glorified and exalted!” This is technically called

the Niyat (intention) of Tawaf. Then we began the prayer, “O Allah (I do

this), in Thy Belief, and in Verification of Thy Book, and in

Faithfulness to Thy Covenant, and in Perseverance of the Example of the

Apostle Mohammed—may Allah bless Him and preserve!” till we reached the

place Al-Multazem, between the corner of the Black Stone and the Ka’abah

door. Here we ejaculated, “O Allah, Thou hast Rights, so pardon my

transgressing them.” Opposite the door we repeated, “O Allah, verily the

House is Thy House, and the Sanctuary Thy Sanctuary, and the Safeguard

Thy Safeguard, and this is the Place of him who flies to Thee from

(hell) Fire!” At the little building called Makam Ibrahim we said, “O

Allah, verily this is the Place of Abraham, who took Refuge with and

fled to Thee from the Fire!—O deny my Flesh and Blood, my Skin and Bones

to the (eternal) Flames!” As we paced slowly round the north or Irak

corner of the Ka’abah we exclaimed, “O Allah, verily I take Refuge with

Thee from Polytheism, and Disobedience, and Hypocrisy, and evil

Conversation, and evil Thoughts concerning Family, and Property, and

Progeny!” When fronting the Mizab, or spout, we repeated the words, “O

Allah, verily I beg of Thee Faith which shall not decline, and a

Certainty which shall not perish, and the good Aid of Thy Prophet

Mohammed—may Allah bless Him and preserve! O Allah, shadow me in Thy

Shadow on that Day when there is no Shade but Thy Shadow, and cause me

to drink from the Cup of Thine Apostle Mohammed—may Allah bless Him and

preserve!—that pleasant Draught after which is no Thirst to all Eternity,

O Lord of Honour and Glory!” Turning the

[p.167] west corner, or the Rukn al-Shami, we exclaimed, “O Allah, make

it an acceptable Pilgrimage, and a Forgiveness of Sins, and a laudable

Endeavour, and a pleasant Action (in Thy sight), and a store which

perisheth not, O Thou Glorious! O Thou Pardoner!” This was repeated

thrice, till we arrived at the Yamani, or south corner, where, the

crowd being less importunate, we touched the wall with the right hand,

after the example of the Prophet, and kissed the finger-tips. Finally,

between the south angle and that of the Black Stone, where our circuit

would be completed, we said, “O Allah, verily I take Refuge with Thee

from Infidelity, and I take Refuge with Thee from Want, and from the

Tortures of the Tomb, and from the Troubles of Life and Death. And I

fly to Thee from Ignominy in this World and the next, and I implore Thy

Pardon for the Present and for the Future. O Lord, grant to me in this

Life Prosperity, and in the next Life Prosperity, and save me from the

Punishment of Fire.”

Thus finished a Shaut, or single course round the house. Of these we

performed the first three at the pace called Harwalah, very similar to

the French pas gymnastique, or Tarammul, that is to say, “moving the

shoulders as if walking in sand.” The four latter are performed in

Ta’ammul, slowly and leisurely; the reverse of the Sai, or running. These

seven Ashwat, or courses, are called collectively one Usbu ([Arabic]).

The Moslem origin of this custom is too well known to require mention.

After each Taufah[,] or circuit, we, being unable to kiss or even to

touch the Black Stone, fronted towards it, raised our hands to our

ears, exclaimed, “In the Name of Allah, and Allah is omnipotent!” kissed

our fingers, and resumed the ceremony of circumambulation, as before,

with “Allah, in Thy Belief,” &c.

At the conclusion of the Tawaf it was deemed advisable to attempt to

kiss the stone. For a time I stood

[p.168] looking in despair at the swarming crowd of Badawi and other

pilgrims that besieged it. But the boy Mohammed was equal to the

occasion. During our circuit he had displayed a fiery zeal against

heresy and schism, by foully abusing every Persian in his path[FN#8];

and the inopportune introduction of hard words into his prayers made

the latter a strange patchwork; as “Ave Maria purissima,—arrah, dont ye be

letting the pig at the pot,—sanctissima,” and so forth. He might, for

instance, be repeating “And I take Refuge with Thee from Ignominy in this

World,” when “O thou rejected one, son of the rejected!” would be the

interpolation addressed to some long-bearded Khorasani,—“And in that to come”—“O

hog and brother of a hoggess!” And so he continued till I wondered that

none dared to turn and rend him. After vainly addressing the pilgrims,

of whom nothing could be seen but a mosaic of occupits and

shoulder-blades, the boy Mohammed collected about half a dozen stalwart

Meccans, with whose assistance, by sheer strength, we wedged our way

into the thin and light-legged crowd. The Badawin turned round upon us

like wild-cats, but

[p.169] they had no daggers. The season being autumn, they had not

swelled themselves with milk for six months; and they had become such

living mummies, that I could have managed single-handed half a dozen of

them. After thus reaching the stone, despite popular indignation

testified by impatient shouts, we monopolised the use of it for at

least ten minutes. Whilst kissing it and rubbing hands and forehead

upon it I narrowly observed it, and came away persuaded that it is an

aerolite. It is curious that almost all travellers agree upon one

point, namely, that the stone is volcanic. Ali Bey calls it

“mineralogically” a “block of volcanic basalt, whose circumference is

sprinkled with little crystals, pointed and straw-like, with rhombs of

tile-red feldspath upon a dark background, like velvet or charcoal,

except one of its protuberances, which is reddish.” Burckhardt thought it

was “a lava containing several small extraneous particles of a whitish

and of a yellowish substance.”

Having kissed the stone we fought our way through the crowd to the

place called Al-Multazem. Here we pressed our stomachs, chests, and

right cheeks to the Ka’abah, raising our arms high above our heads and

exclaiming, “O Allah! O Lord of the Ancient House, free my Neck from

Hell-fire, and preserve me from every ill Deed, and make me contented

with that daily bread which Thou hast given to me, and bless me in all

Thou hast granted!” Then came the Istighfar, or begging of pardon; “I beg

Pardon of Allah the most high, who, there is no other God but He, the

Living, the Eternal, and unto Him I repent myself!” After which we

blessed the Prophet, and then asked for ourselves all that our souls

most desired.[FN#9]

[p.170] After embracing the Multazem, we repaired to the Shafe’is’ place of

prayer near the Makam Ibrahim, and there recited two prostrations,

technically called Sunnat al-Tawaf, or the (Apostle’s) practice of

circumambulation. The chapter repeated in the first was “Say thou, O

Infidels”: in the second, “Say thou He is the one God.[FN#10]” We then went

to the door of the building in which is Zemzem: there I was condemned

to another nauseous draught, and was deluged with two or three skinfuls

of water dashed over my head en douche. This ablution causes sins to

fall from the spirit like dust.[FN#11] During the potation we prayed, “O

Allah, verily I beg of Thee plentiful daily Bread, and profitable

Learning, and the healing of every Disease!” Then we returned towards the

Black Stone, stood far away opposite, because unable to touch it,

ejaculated the Takbir, the Tahlil, and the Hamdilah; and thoroughly

worn out with scorched feet and a burning head,—both extremities, it must

be remembered, were bare, and various delays had detained us till ten

A.M.,—I left the Mosque.[FN#12]

The boy Mohammed had miscalculated the amount of lodging in his mother’s

house. She, being a widow

[p.171] and a lone woman, had made over for the season all the

apartments to her brother, a lean old Meccan, of true ancient type,

vulture-faced, kite-clawed, with a laugh like a hyena, and a mere shell

of body. He regarded me with no favouring eye when I insisted as a

guest upon having some place of retirement; but he promised that, after

our return from Arafat, a little store-room should be cleared out for

me. With that I was obliged to be content, and to pass that day in the

common male drawing-room of the house, a vestibule on the ground floor,

called in Egypt a Takhta-bush.[FN#13] Entering, to the left (A) was a

large Mastabah, or platform, and at the bottom (B) a second, of smaller

dimensions and foully dirty. Behind this was a dark and unclean

store-room (C) containing the Hajis’ baggage. Opposite the Mastabah was a

firepan for pipes and coffee (D), superintended by a family of lean

Indians; and by the side (E) a doorless passage led to a bathing-room

(F) and staircase (G).

I had scarcely composed myself upon the carpeted Mastabah, when the

remainder was suddenly invaded by the Turkish, or rather Slavo-Turk,

pilgrims inhabiting the house, and a host of their visitors. They were

large, hairy men, with gruff voices and square figures; they did not

take the least notice of me, although[,] feeling the intrusion, I

stretched out my legs with a provoking nonchalance.[FN#14] At last one

of them addressed me in Turkish, to which I

[p.172] replied by shaking my head. His question being interpreted to

me in Arabic, I drawled out, “My native place is the land of Khorasan.”

This provoked a stern and stony stare from the Turks, and an “ugh!” which

said plainly enough, “Then you are a pestilent heretic.” I surveyed them

with a self-satisfied simper, stretched my legs a trifle farther, and

conversed with my water-pipe. Presently, when they all departed for a

time, the boy Mohammed raised, by request, my green box of medicines,

and deposited it upon the Mastabah; thus defining, as it were, a line

of demarcation, and asserting my privilege to it before the Turks. Most

of these men were of one party, headed by a colonel of Nizam, whom they

called a Bey. My acquaintance with them began roughly enough, but

afterwards, with some exceptions, who were gruff as an English butcher

when accosted by a lean foreigner, they proved to be kind-hearted and

not unsociable men. It often happens to the traveller, as the charming

Mrs. Malaprop observes, to find intercourse all the better by beginning

with a little aversion.

In the evening, accompanied by the boy Mohammed, and followed by Shaykh

Nur, who carried a lantern and a praying-rug, I again repaired to the

“Navel of the World[FN#15]; this time aesthetically, to enjoy the

delights of the hour after the “gaudy, babbling, and remorseful day.” The

moon, now approaching the full, tipped the brow of Abu Kubays, and lit

up the spectacle with a more solemn light. In the midst stood the huge

bier-like erection,—

“Black as the wings

Which some spirit of ill o’er a sepulchre flings,”—

[p.173] except where the moonbeams streaked it like jets of silver

falling upon the darkest marble. It formed the point of rest for the

eye; the little pagoda-like buildings and domes around it, with all

their gilding and fretwork, vanished. One object, unique in appearance,

stood in view—the temple of the one Allah, the God of Abraham, of

Ishmael, and of their posterity. Sublime it was, and expressing by all

the eloquence of fancy the grandeur of the One Idea which vitalised

Al-Islam, and the strength and steadfastness of its votaries.

The oval pavement round the Ka’abah was crowded with men, women, and

children, mostly divided into parties, which followed a Mutawwif; some

walking staidly, and others running, whilst many stood in groups to

prayer. What a scene of contrasts! Here stalked the Badawi woman, in

her long black robe like a nun’s serge, and poppy-coloured face-veil,

pierced to show two fiercely flashing orbs. There an Indian woman, with

her semi-Tartar features, nakedly hideous, and her thin legs, encased

in wrinkled tights, hurried round the fane. Every now and then a

corpse, borne upon its wooden shell, circuited the shrine by means of

four bearers, whom other Moslems, as is the custom, occasionally

relieved. A few fair-skinned Turks lounged about, looking cold and

repulsive, as their wont is. In one place a fast Calcutta Khitmugar

stood, with turband awry and arms akimbo, contemplating the view

jauntily, as those “gentlemen’s gentlemen” will do. In another, some poor

wretch, with arms thrown on high, so that every part of his person

might touch the Ka’abah, was clinging to the curtain and sobbing as

though his heart would break.

From this spectacle my eyes turned towards Abu Kubays. The city extends

in that direction half-way up the grim hill: the site might be

compared, at a humble distance, to Bath. Some writers liken it to

Florence; but conceive a Florence without beauty! To the South

[p.174] lay Jabal Jiyad the Greater,[FN#16] also partly built over and

crowned with a fort, which at a distance looks less useful than

romantic[FN#17]: a flood of pale light was sparkling upon its stony

surface. Below, the minarets became pillars of silver, and the

cloisters, dimly streaked by oil lamps, bounded the views of the temple

with horizontal lines of shade.

Before nightfall the boy Mohammed rose to feed the Mosque pigeons, for

whom he had brought a pocketful of barley. He went to the place where

these birds flock—the line of pavement leading from the isolated arch to

the Eastern cloisters. During the day women and children are to be seen

sitting here, with small piles of grain upon little plaited trays of

basket-work. For each they demand a copper piece; and religious

pilgrims consider it their duty to provide the reverend blue-rocks with

a plentiful meal.

The Hindu Pandits assert that Shiwa and his spouse, under the forms and

names of Kapot-Eshwara (pigeon god) and Kapotesi, dwelt at Meccah. The

dove was the device of the old Assyrian Empire, because it is supposed

Semiramis was preserved by that bird. The Meccan pigeons, resembling

those of Venice, are held sacred probably in consequence of the wild

traditions of the Arabs about Noah’s dove. Some authors declare that in

Mohammed’s time, among the idols of the Meccan Pantheon, was a pigeon

carved in wood, and above it another, which Ali, mounting upon the

Prophet’s shoulder, pulled down. This might have been a Hindu, a Jewish,

or a Christian symbol. The Moslems connect the pigeon

[p.175] on two occasions with their faith: first, when that bird

appeared to whisper in Mohammed’s ear; and, secondly, during the flight

to Al-Madinah. Moreover, in many countries they are called “Allah’s

Proclaimers,” because their movement when cooing resembles prostration.

Almost everywhere the pigeon has entered into the history of religion,

which probably induced Mr. Lascelles to incur the derision of our

grandfathers by pronouncing it a “holy bird.” At Meccah they are called the

doves of the Ka’abah, and they never appear at table. They are remarkable

for propriety when sitting upon the holy building. This may be a minor

miracle: I would rather believe that there is some contrivance on the

roof. My friend Mr. Bicknell remarks: “This marvel, however, having of

late years been suspended, many discern another omen of the approach of

the long-predicted period when unbelievers shall desecrate the sacred

soil.”

Late in the evening I saw a negro in the state called Malbus—religious

frenzy. To all appearance a Takruri, he was a fine and a powerful man,

as the numbers required to hold him testified. He threw his arms wildly

about him, uttering shrill cries, which sounded like le le le le! and

when held, he swayed his body, and waved his head from side to side,

like a chained and furious elephant, straining out the deepest groans.

The Africans appear unusually subject to this nervous state which, seen

by the ignorant and the imaginative, would at once suggest “demoniacal

possession.[FN#18]” Either their organisation is more impressionable, or

more probably, the hardships, privations, and fatigues endured whilst

wearily traversing inhospitable wilds, and perilous seas, have exalted

their

[p.176] imaginations to a pitch bordering upon frenzy. Often they are

seen prostrate on the pavement, or clinging to the curtain, or rubbing

their foreheads upon the stones, weeping bitterly, and pouring forth

the wildest ejaculations.

That night I stayed in the Harim till two A.M., wishing to see if it

would be empty. But the morrow was to witness the egress to Arafat;

many, therefore, passed the hours of darkness in the Harim. Numerous

parties of pilgrims sat upon their rugs, with lanterns in front of

them, conversing, praying, and contemplating the Ka’abah. The cloisters

were full of merchants, who resorted there to “talk shop,” and to vend such

holy goods as combs, tooth-sticks, and rosaries. Before ten P.M. I

found no opportunity of praying the usual two prostrations over the

grave of Ishmael. After waiting long and patiently, at last I was

stepping into the vacant place, when another pilgrim rushed forward;

the boy Mohammed, assisted by me, instantly seized him, and, despite

his cries and struggles, taught him to wait. Till midnight we sat

chatting with the different ciceroni who came up to offer their

services. I could not help remarking their shabby and dirty clothes,

and was informed that during pilgrimage, when splendour is liable to be

spoiled, they wear out old dresses; and appear endimanches for the

Muharram fete, when most travellers have left the city. Presently my

two companions, exhausted with fatigue, fell asleep; I went up to the

Ka’abah, with the intention of “annexing” a bit of the torn old Kiswat or

curtain, but too many eyes were looking on. At this season of the year

the Kiswat is much tattered at the base, partly by pilgrims’ fingers, and

partly by the strain of the cord which confines it when the wind is

blowing. It is considered a mere peccadillo to purloin a bit of the

venerable stuff; but as the officers of the temple make money by

selling it, they certainly would visit detection with an

[p.177] unmerciful application of the quarterstaff. The piece in my

possession was given to me by the boy Mohammed before I left Meccah.

Waistcoats cut out of the Kiswah still make the combatants invulnerable

in battle, and are considered presents fit for princes. The Moslems

generally try to secure a strip of this cloth as a mark for the Koran,

or for some such purpose. The opportunity, however, was favourable for

a survey, and with a piece of tape, and the simple processes of

stepping and spanning, I managed to measure all the objects concerning

which I was curious.

At last sleep began to weigh heavily upon my eyelids. I awoke my

companions, and in the dizziness of slumber they walked with me through

the tall narrow street from the Bab al-Ziyadah to our home in the

Shamiyah. The brilliant moonshine prevented our complaining, as other

travellers have had reason to do, of the darkness and the difficulty of

Meccah’s streets. The town, too, appeared safe; there were no watchmen,

and yet people slept everywhere upon cots placed opposite their open

doors. Arrived at the house, we made some brief preparations for

snatching a few hours’ sleep upon the Mastabah, a place so stifling, that

nothing but utter exhaustion could induce lethargy there.

[FN#1] The Egyptian word is generally pronounced “Zaghrutah,” the plural is

Zagharit, corrupted to Ziraleet. The classical Arabic term is “Tahlil”; the

Persians call the cry “Kil.” It is peculiar to women, and is formed by

raising the voice to its highest pitch, vibrating it at the same time

by rolling the tongue, whose modulations express now joy, now grief. To

my ear it always resembled the brain-piercing notes of a fife. Dr.

Buchanan likens it to a serpent uttering human sounds. The “unsavoury

comparison,” however, may owe its origin to the circumstance that Dr.

Buchanan heard it at the orgies of Jagannath.

[FN#2] As an Indian is called “Miyan,” sir, an elderly Indian becomes “bara

Miyan,” great or ancient sir. I shall have occasion to speak at a future

period of these Indians at Meccah.

[FN#3] “Sitt al-Kabirah,” or simply “Al-Kabirah,” the Great Lady, is the title

given to the mistress of. the house.

[FN#4] This hill bounds Meccah on the East. According to many Moslems,

Adam, with his wife and his son Seth, lie buried in a cave here. Others

place his tomb at Muna; the Majority at Najaf. The early Christians had

a tradition that our first parents were interred under Mount Calvary;

the Jews place their grave near Hebron. Habil (Abel), it is well known,

is supposed to be entombed at Damascus; and Kabil (Cain) rests at last

under Jabal Shamsan, the highest wall of the Aden crater, where he and

his progeny, tempted by Iblis, erected the first fire-temple. It

certainly deserves to be the sepulchre of the first murderer. The

worship, however, was probably imported from India, where Agni (the

fire god) was, as the Vedas prove, the object of man’s earliest adoration.

[FN#5] The popular legend of this gate is, that when Abraham and his

son were ordered to rebuild the Ka’abah, they found the spot occupied by

an old woman. She consented to remove her house on condition that the

key of the new temple should be entrusted to her and to her descendants

for ever and ever. The origin of this is, that Benu Shaybah means the

“sons of an old woman” as well as “descendants of Shaybah.” And history tells

us that the Benu Shaybah are derived from one Shaybah (bin Osman, bin

Talhah, bin Shaybah, bin Talhah, bin Abd al-Dar), who was sent by

Mu’awiyah to make some alterations in the Ka’abah. According to others, the

Ka’abah key was committed to the charge of Osman bin Talhah by the

Prophet.

[FN#6] The Moslem in circumambulation presents his left shoulder; the

Hindu’s Pradakshina consists in walking round with the right side towards

the fane or idol. Possibly the former may be a modification of the

latter, which would appear to be the original form of the rite. Its

conjectural significance is an imitation of the procession of the

heavenly bodies, the motions of the spheres, and the dances of the

angels. These are also imitated in the circular whirlings of the

Darwayshes. And Al-Shahristani informs us that the Arab philosophers

believed this sevenfold circumambulation to be symbolical of the motion

of the planets round the sun. It was adopted by the Greeks and Romans,

whose Ambarvalia and Amburbalia appear to be eastern superstitions,

introduced by Numa, or by the priestly line of princes, into their

pantheism. And our processions round the parish preserve the form of

the ancient rites, whose life is long since fled. Moslem moralists have

not failed to draw spiritual food from this mass of materialism. “To

circuit the Bayt Ullah,” said the Pir Raukhan (As. Soc. vol. xi. and

Dabistan, vol. iii., “Miyan Bayazid”), “and to be free from wickedness, and

crime, and quarrels, is the duty enjoined by religion. But to circuit

the house of the friend of Allah (i.e. the heart), to combat bodily

propensities, and to worship the Angels, is the business of the

(mystic) path.” Thus Sa’adi, in his sermons,—which remind the Englishman of

“poor Yorick,”—“He who travels to the Ka’abah on foot makes a circuit of the

Ka’abah, but he who performs the pilgrimage of the Ka’abah in his heart is

encircled by the Ka’abah.” And the greatest Moslem divines sanction this

visible representation of an invisible and heavenly shrine, by

declaring that, without a material medium, it is impossible for man to

worship the Eternal Spirit.

[FN#7] The Mutawwif, or Dalil, is the guide at Meccah.

[FN#8] In A.D. 1674 some wretch smeared the Black Stone with impurity,

and every one who kissed it retired with a sullied beard. The Persians,

says Burckhardt, were suspected of this sacrilege, and now their

ill-fame has spread far; at Alexandria they were described to me as a

people who defile the Ka’abah. It is scarcely necessary to say that a

Shi’ah, as well as a Sunni, would look upon such an action with lively

horror. The people of Meccah, however, like the Madani, have turned the

circumstance to their own advantage, and make an occasional “avanie.” Thus,

nine or ten years ago, on the testimony of a boy who swore that he saw

the inside of the Ka’abah defiled by a Persian, they rose up, cruelly

beat the schismatics, and carried them off to their peculiar quarter

the Shamiyah, forbidding their ingress to the Ka’abah. Indeed, till

Mohammed Ali’s time, the Persians rarely ventured upon a pilgrimage, and

even now that man is happy who gets over it without a beating. The

defilement of the Black Stone was probably the work of some Jew or

Greek, who risked his life to gratify a furious bigotry.

[FN#9] Prayer is granted at fourteen places besides Al-Multazem, viz.:—

1. At the place of circumambulation.

2. Under the Mizab, or spout of the Ka’abah.

3. Inside the Ka’abah.

4. At the well Zemzem.

5. Behind Abraham’s place of prayer.

6 and 7. On Mounts Safa and Marwah.

8. During the ceremony called “Al-Sai.”

9. Upon Mount Arafat.

10. At Muzdalifah.

11. In Muna.

12. During the devil-stoning.

13. On first seeing the Ka’abah.

14. At the Hatim or Hijr.

[FN#10] The former is the 109th, the latter the 112th chapter of the

Koran (I have translated it in a previous volume).

[FN#11] These superstitions, I must remark, belong only to the vulgar.

[FN#12] Strictly speaking we ought, after this, to have performed the

ceremony called Al-Sai, or the running seven times between Mounts Safa

and Marwah. Fatigue put this fresh trial completely out of the question.

[FN#13] I have been diffuse in my description of this vestibule, as it

is the general way of laying out a ground-floor at Meccah. During the

pilgrimage time the lower hall is usually converted into a shop for the

display of goods, especially when situated in a populous quarter.

[FN#14] This is equivalent to throwing oneself upon the sofa in Europe.

Only in the East it asserts a decided claim to superiority; the West

would scarcely view it in that light.

[FN#15] Ibn Haukal begins his cosmography with Meccah “because the temple

of the Lord is situated there, and the holy Ka’abah is the navel of the

earth, and Meccah is styled in sacred writ the parent city, or the

mother of towns.” Unfortunately, Ibn Haukal, like most other Moslem

travellers and geographers, says no more about Meccah.

[FN#16] To distinguish it from the Jiyad (above the cemetery Al-Ma’ala)

over which Khalid entered Meccah. Some topographers call the Jiyad upon

which the fort is built “the lesser,” and apply “greater” to Jiyad Amir, the

hill north of Meccah.

[FN#17] The Meccans, however, do not fail to boast of its strength; and

has stood some sieges.

[FN#18] In the Mandal, or palm-divination, a black slave is considered

the best subject. European travellers have frequently remarked their

nervous sensibility. In Abyssinia the maladies called “bouda” and “tigritiya”

appear to depend upon some obscure connection between a weak

impressionable brain and the strong will of a feared and hated race—the

blacksmiths.

[p.178]CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE CEREMONIES OF THE YAUM AL-TARWIYAH, OR THE FIRST DAY.

AT ten A.M., on the 8th Zu’l Hijjah, A.H. 1269 (Monday, 12th Sept.,

1853), habited in our Ihram, or pilgrim garbs, we mounted the litter.

Shaykh Mas’ud had been standing at the door from dawn-time, impatient to

start before the Damascus and the Egyptian caravans made the road

dangerous. Our delay arose from the tyrannical conduct of the boy

Mohammed, who insisted upon leaving his little nephew behind. It was

long before he yielded. I then placed the poor child, who was crying

bitterly, in the litter between us, and at last we started.

We followed the road by which the Caravans entered Meccah. It was

covered with white-robed pilgrims, some few wending their way on

foot[FN#1]; others riding, and all men barefooted and bareheaded. Most

of the wealthier classes mounted asses. The scene was, as usual, one of

strange contrasts: Badawin bestriding swift dromedaries; Turkish

dignitaries on fine horses; the most picturesque beggars, and the most

uninteresting Nizam. Not a little wrangling mingled with the loud

bursts of Talbiyat. Dead animals dotted the ground, and carcasses had

been cast into a dry tank, the Birkat al-Shami which caused every

Badawi to

[p.179] hold his nose.[FN#2] Here, on the right of the road, the poorer

pilgrims, who could not find houses, had erected huts, and pitched

their ragged tents. Traversing the suburb Al-Ma’b’dah (Ma’abadah), in a

valley between the two barren prolongations of Kayka’an and Khandamah, we

turned to the north-east, leaving on the left certain barracks of

Turkish soldiery, and the negro militia here stationed, with the

Saniyat Kuda’a in the background. Then, advancing about 3000 paces over

rising ground, we passed by the conical head of Jabal Nur,[FN#3] and

entered the plain of many names.[FN#4] It contained nothing but a few

whitewashed walls, surrounding places of prayer, and a number of stone

cisterns, some well preserved, others in ruins. All, however, were dry,

and water-vendors crowded the roadside. Gravel and lumps of granite

grew there like grass, and from under every large stone, as Shaykh Mas’ud

took a delight in showing, a small scorpion, with tail curled over its

back, fled, Parthian-like, from the invaders of its home. At eleven

A.M., ascending a Mudarraj, or flight of stone steps, about thirty

yards broad, we passed without difficulty, for we were in advance of

the caravans, over the Akabah, or Steeps,[FN#5] and the narrow,

hill-girt entrance, to the low gravel basin in which Muna lies.

[p.180] Muna, more classically called Mina,[FN#6] is a place of

considerable sanctity. Its three standing miracles are these: The

pebbles thrown at “the Devil” return by angelic agency to whence they came;

during the three Days of Drying Meat rapacious beasts and birds cannot

prey there; and, lastly, flies do not settle upon the articles of food

exposed so abundantly in the bazars.[FN#7] During pilgrimage, houses

are let for an exorbitant sum, and it becomes a “World’s Fair” of Moslem

merchants. At all other seasons it is almost deserted, in consequence,

says popular superstition, of the Rajm or (diabolical)

lapidation.[FN#8] Distant about three miles from Meccah, it is a long,

narrow, straggling village, composed of mud and stone houses of one or

two stories, built in the common Arab style. Traversing a narrow

street, we passed on the left the Great Devil, which shall be described

at a future time. After a quarter of an hour’s halt, spent over pipes and

coffee, we came to an open space, where stands the Mosque “Al-Khayf.” Here,

according to some Arabs, Adam lies, his head being at one end of one

long wall, and his feet at another, whilst the dome covers his omphalic

region. Grand preparations for fireworks were being made in this

square; I especially remarked a fire-ship,

[p.181] which savoured strongly of Stambul. After passing through the

town, we came to Batn al-Muhassir, “The Basin of the Troubler,[FN#9]”

(Satan) at the beginning of a descent leading to Muzdalifah (the

Approacher), where the road falls into the valley of the Arafat torrent.

At noon we reached the Muzdalifah, also called Mashar al-Haram, the

“Place dedicated to religious Ceremonies.[FN#10]” It is known in Al-Islam

as “the Minaret without the Mosque,” opposed to Masjid Nimrah, which is the

“Mosque without the Minaret.” Half-way between Muna and Arafat, it is about

three miles from both. There is something peculiarly striking in the

distant appearance of the tall, solitary tower, rising abruptly from

the desolate valley of gravel, flanked with buttresses of yellow rock.

No wonder that the ancient Arabs loved to give the high-sounding name

of this oratory to distant places in their giant Caliph-empire.

Here as we halted to perform the mid-day prayer, we were overtaken by

the Damascus Caravan. It was a grand spectacle. The Mahmil, no longer

naked as upon the line of march, flashed in the sun all green and gold.

Around the moving host of white-robed pilgrims hovered a crowd of

Badawin, male and female, all mounted on swift dromedaries, and many of

them armed to the teeth. As their drapery floated in the wind, and

their faces were veiled with the “Lisam,” it was frequently difficult to

[p.182] distinguish the sex of the wild being, flogging its animal to

speed. These people, as has been said, often resort to Arafat for

blood-revenge, in hopes of finding the victim unprepared. Nothing can

be more sinful in Al-Islam than such deed—it is murder, “made sicker” by

sacrilege; yet the prevalence of the practice proves how feeble is the

religion’s hold upon the race. The women are as unscrupulous: I remarked

many of them emulating the men in reckless riding, and striking with

their sticks every animal in the way.

Travelling Eastward up the Arafat Fiumara, after about half an hour we

came to a narrow pass called Al-Akhshabayn[FN#11] or the “Two Rugged

Hills.” Here the spurs of the rock limited the road to about a hundred

paces, and it is generally a scene of great confusion. After this we

arrived at Al-Bazan (the Basin),[FN#12] a widening of the plain; and

another half-hour brought us to the Alamayn (the “Two Signs”), whitewashed

pillars, or rather thin, narrow walls, surmounted with pinnacles, which

denote the precincts of the Arafat plain. Here, in full sight of the

Holy Hill, standing boldly out from the deep blue sky, the host of

pilgrims broke into loud Labbayks. A little beyond, and to our right,

was the simple enclosure called the Masjid Nimrah.[FN#13] We then

[p.183] turned from our eastern course northwards, and began threading

our way down the main street of the town of tents which clustered about

the southern foot of Arafat. At last, about three P.M., we found a

vacant space near the Matbakh, or kitchen, formerly belonging to a

Sharif’s palace, but now a ruin with a few shells of arches.

Arafat is about six hours’ very slow march, or twelve miles,[FN#14] on

the Taif road, due east of Meccah. We arrived there in a shorter time,

but our weary camels, during the last third of the way, frequently

threw themselves upon the ground. Human beings suffered more. Between

Muna and Arafat I saw no fewer than five men fall down and die upon the

highway: exhausted and moribund, they had dragged themselves out to

give up the ghost where it departs to instant beatitude.[FN#15] The

spectacle showed how easy it is to die in these latitudes[FN#16]; each

man suddenly staggered, fell as if shot; and, after a brief convulsion,

lay still as marble. The corpses were carefully taken up, and

carelessly buried that same evening, in a vacant space amongst the

crowds encamped upon the Arafat plain.[FN#17]

The boy Mohammed, who had long chafed at my pertinacious

[p.184] claim to Darwaysh-hood, resolved on this occasion to be grand.

To swell the party he had invited Omar Effendi, whom we accidentally

met in the streets of Meccah, to join us[;] but failing therein, he

brought with him two cousins, fat youths of sixteen and seventeen, and

his mother’s ground-floor servants. These were four Indians: an old man;

his wife, a middle-aged woman of the most ordinary appearance; their

son, a sharp boy, who spoke excellent Arabic[FN#18]; and a family

friend, a stout fellow about thirty years old. They were Panjabis, and

the bachelor’s history was instructive. He was gaining an honest

livelihood in his own country, when suddenly one night Hazrat Ali,

dressed in green, and mounted upon his charger Duldul[FN#19]—at least, so

said the narrator—appeared, crying in a terrible voice, “How long wilt thou

toil for this world, and be idle about the life to come?” From that

moment, like an English murderer, he knew no peace; Conscience and

Hazrat Ali haunted him.[FN#20] Finding

[p.185] life unendurable at home, he sold everything; raised the sum of

twenty pounds, and started for the Holy Land. He reached Jeddah with a

few rupees in his pocket[;] and came to Meccah, where, everything being

exorbitantly dear and charity all but unknown, he might have starved,

had he not been received by his old friend. The married pair and their

son had been taken as house-servants by the boy Mohammed’s mother, who

generously allowed them shelter and a pound of rice per diem to each,

but not a farthing of pay. They were even expected to provide their own

turmeric and onions. Yet these poor people were anxiously awaiting the

opportunity to visit Al-Madinah, without which their pilgrimage would

not, they believed, be complete. They would beg their way through the

terrible Desert and its Badawin—an old man, a boy, and a woman! What were

their chances of returning to their homes? Such, I believe, is too

often the history of those wretches whom a fit of religious enthusiasm,

likest to insanity, hurries away to the Holy Land. I strongly recommend

the subject to the consideration of our Indian Government as one that

calls loudly for their interference. No Eastern ruler parts, as we do,

with his subjects; all object to lose productive power. To an “Empire of

Opinion” this emigration is fraught with evils. It sends forth a horde of

malcontents that ripen into bigots; it teaches foreign nations to

despise our rule; and it unveils the present nakedness of once wealthy

India. And we have both prevention and cure in our own hands.

As no Moslem, except the Maliki, is bound to pilgrimage without a sum

sufficient to support himself and his family, all who embark at the

different ports of India should be obliged to prove their solvency

before being provided with a permit. Arrived at Jeddah, they should

present the certificate at the British Vice-Consulate, where they would

become entitled to assistance in case of necessity. The Vice-Consul at

Jeddah ought also to be instructed

[p.186] to assist our Indian pilgrims. Mr. Cole, when holding that

appointment, informed me that, though men die of starvation in the

streets, he was unable to relieve them. The highways of Meccah abound

in pathetic Indian beggars, who affect lank bodies, shrinking frames,

whining voices, and all the circumstance of misery, because it supports

them in idleness.

There are no fewer than fifteen hundred Indians at Meccah and Jeddah,

besides seven or eight hundred in Al-Yaman. Such a body requires a

Consul.[FN#21] By the representation of a Vice-Consul when other powers

send an officer of superior rank to Al-Hijaz, we voluntarily place

ourselves in an inferior position. And although the Meccan Sharif might

for a time object to establishing a Moslem agent at the Holy City with

orders to report to the Consul at Jeddah, his opposition would soon

fall to the ground.

With the Indians’ assistance the boy Mohammed removed the handsome

Persian rugs with which he had covered the Shugduf, pitched the tent,

carpeted the ground, disposed a Diwan of silk and satin cushions round

the interior, and strewed the centre with new Chibuks, and highly

polished Shishahs. At the doorway was placed a large copper fire-pan,

with coffee-pots singing a welcome to visitors. In front of us were the

litters, and by divers similar arrangements our establishment was made

to look fine. The youth also insisted upon my removing the Rida, or

upper cotton cloth, which had become way-soiled, and he supplied its

place by a rich cashmere, left with him, some years before, by a son of

the King of Delhi. Little thought I that this bravery of attire would

lose me every word of the Arafat sermon next day.

Arafat, anciently called Jabal Ilal ([Arabic]), “the Mount

[p.187] of Wrestling in Prayer,” and now Jabal al-Rahmah, the “Mount of

Mercy,” is a mass of coarse granite split into large blocks, with a thin

coat of withered thorns. About one mile in circumference, it rises

abruptly to the height of a hundred and eighty or two hundred feet,

from the low gravelly plain—a dwarf wall at the Southern base forming the

line of demarcation. It is separated by Batn Arnah ([Arabic]), a sandy

vale,[FN#22] from the spurs of the Taif hills. Nothing can be more

picturesque than the view it affords of the azure peaks behind, and the

vast encampment scattered over the barren yellow plain below.[FN#23] On

the North lay the regularly pitched camp of the guards that defend the

unarmed pilgrims. To the Eastward was the Sharif’s encampment, with the

bright Mahmils and

[p.188] the gilt knobs of the grandees’ pavilions; whilst on the Southern

and Western sides the tents of the vulgar crowded the ground, disposed

in Dowar, or circles. After many calculations, I estimated the number

to be not fewer than 50,000 of all ages and sexes; a sad falling off,

it is true, but still considerable.

Ali Bey (A.D. 1807) calculates 83,000 pilgrims; Burckhardt (1814),

70,000. I reduce it, in 1853, to 50,000; and in A.D. 1854, owing to

political causes, it fell to about 25,000. Of these at fewest 10,000

are Meccans, as every one who can leave the city does so at

pilgrimage-time. The Arabs have a superstition that the numbers at

Arafat cannot be counted, and that if fewer than 600,000 mortals stand

upon the hill to hear the sermon, the angels descend and complete the

number. Even this year my Arab friends declared that 150,000 spirits

were present in human shape. It may be observed that when the good old

Bertrand de la Brocquiere, esquire-carver to Philip of Burgundy,

declares that the yearly Caravan from Damascus to Al-Madinah must

always be composed of 700,000 persons, and that this number being

incomplete, Allah sends some of his angels to make it up, he probably

confounds the Caravan with the Arafat multitude.

The Holy Hill owes its name[FN#24] and honours to a well-known legend.

When our first parents forfeited Heaven by eating wheat, which deprived

them of their primeval purity, they were cast down upon earth. The

serpent descended at Ispahan, the peacock at Kabul, Satan at Bilbays

(others say Semnan and Seistan), Eve upon Arafat, and Adam at Ceylon.

The latter, determining to seek his wife, began a journey, to which

earth owes its present mottled appearance. Wherever our first father

[p.189] placed his foot—which was large—a town afterwards arose; between

the strides will always be “country.” Wandering for many years, he came to

the Mountain of Mercy, where our common mother was continually calling

upon his name, and their recognition gave the place the name of Arafat.

Upon its summit, Adam, instructed by the archangel Gabriel, erected a

Mada’a, or place of prayer: and between this spot and the Nimrah Mosque

the couple abode till death. Others declare that after recognition, the

first pair returned to India, whence for 44 years in succession they

visited the Sacred City at pilgrimage-time.

From the Holy Hill I walked down to look at the camp arrangements. The

main street of tents and booths, huts and shops, was bright with

lanterns, and the bazars were crowded with people and stocked with all

manner of Eastern delicacies. Some anomalous spectacles met the eye.

Many pilgrims, especially the soldiers, were in laical costume. In one

place a half-drunken Arnaut stalked down the road, elbowing peaceful

passengers and frowning fiercely in hopes of a quarrel. In another

part, a huge dimly-lit tent, reeking hot, and garnished with cane

seats, contained knots of Egyptians, as their red Tarbushes, white

turbands, and black Za’abuts showed, noisily intoxicating themselves with

forbidden hemp. There were frequent brawls and great confusion; many

men had lost their parties, and, mixed with loud Labbayks, rose the

shouted names of women as well as of men. I was surprised at the

disproportion of female nomenclature—the missing number of fair ones

seemed to double that of the other sex—and at a practice so opposed to

the customs of the Moslem world. At length the boy Mohammed enlightened

me. Egyptian and other bold women, when unable to join the pilgrimage,

will pay or persuade a friend to shout their names

[p.190] in hearing of the Holy Hill, with a view of ensuring a real

presence at the desired spot next year. So the welkin rang with the

indecent sounds of O Fatimah! O Zaynab! O Khayz’ran![FN#25] Plunderers,

too, were abroad. As we returned to the tent we found a crowd assembled

near it; a woman had seized a thief as he was beginning operations, and

had the courage to hold his beard till men ran to her assistance. And

we were obliged to defend by force our position against a knot of

grave-diggers, who would bury a little heap of bodies within a yard or

two of our tent.

One point struck me at once—the difference in point of cleanliness

between an encampment of citizens and of Badawin. Poor Mas’ud sat holding

his nose in ineffable disgust, for which he was derided by the Meccans.

I consoled him with quoting the celebrated song of Maysunah, the

beautiful Badawi wife of the Caliph Mu’awiyah. Nothing can be more

charming in its own Arabic than this little song; the Badawin never

hear it without screams of joy.

“O take these purple robes away,

Give back my cloak of camel’s hair,

And bear me from this tow’ring pile

To where the Black Tents flap i’ the air.

The camel’s colt with falt’ring tread,

The dog that bays at all but me,

Delight me more than ambling mules—

Than every art of minstrelsy;

And any cousin, poor but free,

Might take me, fatted ass! from thee.[FN#26]”

[p.191] The old man, delighted, clapped my shoulder, and exclaimed,

“Verily, O Father of Mustachios, I will show thee the black tents of my

tribe this year!”

At length night came, and we threw ourselves upon our rugs, but not to

sleep. Close by, to our bane, was a prayerful old gentleman, who began

his devotions at a late hour and concluded them not before dawn. He

reminded me of the undergraduate my neighbour at Trinity College,

Oxford, who would spout Aeschylus at two A.M. Sometimes the chant would

grow drowsy, and my ears would hear a dull retreating sound; presently,

as if in self-reproach, it would rise to a sharp treble, and proceed at

a rate perfectly appalling. The coffee-houses, too, were by no means

silent; deep into the night I heard the clapping of hands accompanying

merry Arab songs, and the loud shouts of laughter of the Egyptian

hemp-drinkers. And the guards and protectors of the camp were not

“Charleys” or night-nurses.

[FN#1] Pilgrims who would win the heavenly reward promised to those who

walk, start at an early hour.

[FN#2] The true Badawi, when in the tainted atmosphere of towns, is

always known by bits of cotton in his nostrils, or by his kerchief

tightly drawn over his nose, a heavy frown marking extreme disgust.

[FN#3] Anciently called Hira. It is still visited as the place of the

Prophet’s early lucubrations, and because here the first verse of the

Koran descended. As I did not ascend the hill, I must refer readers for

a description of it to Burckhardt, vol. i. p. 320.

[FN#4] Al-Abtah, “low ground”; Al Khayf, “the declivity”; Fina Makkah, the “court

of Meccah”; Al-Muhassib (from Hasba, a shining white pebble), corrupted

by our authors to Mihsab and Mohsab.

[FN#5] The spot where Kusay fought and where Mohammed made his covenant.

[FN#6] If Ptolemy’s “Minœi” be rightly located in this valley, the present name

and derivation “Muna” (desire), because Adam here desired Paradise of

Allah, must be modern. Sale, following Pococke, makes “Mina” (from Mana)

allude to the flowing of victims’ blood. Possibly it may be the plural of

Minyat, which in many Arabic dialects means a village. This basin was

doubtless thickly populated in ancient times, and Moslem historians

mention its seven idols, representing the seven planets.

[FN#7] According to Mohammed the pebbles of the accepted are removed by

angels; as, however, each man and woman must throw 49 or 70 stones, it

is fair to suspect the intervention of something more material. Animals

are frightened away by the bustling crowd, and flies are found in

myriads.

[FN#8] This demoniacal practice is still as firmly believed in Arabia

as it formerly was in Europe.

[FN#9] Probably because here Satan appeared to tempt Adam, Abraham, and

Ishmael. The Qanoon e Islam erroneously calls it the “Valley of Muhasurah,”

and corrupts Mashar al-Haram into “Muzar al-Haram” (the holy shrine).

[FN#10] Many, even since Sale corrected the error, have confounded this

Mashar al-Haram with Masjid al-H?r?m of Meccah. According to Al-Fasi,

quoted by Burckhardt, it is the name of a little eminence at the end of

the Muzdalifah valley, and anciently called Jabal Kuzah; it is also, he

says, applied to “an elevated platform inclosing the mosque of Muzdalifah.”

Ibn Jubayr makes Mashar al-Haram synonymous with Muzdalifah, to which

he gives a third name, “Jami.”

[FN#11] Buckhardt calls it “Mazoumeyn,” or Al-Mazik, the pass. “Akeshab” may

mean wooded or rugged; in which latter sense it is frequently applied

to hills. Kayka’an and Abu Kubays at Meccah are called Al-Akshshabayn in

some books. The left hill, in Ibn Jubayr’s time, was celebrated as a

meeting-place for brigands.

[FN#12] Kutb al-Din makes another Bazan the Southern limit of Meccah.

[FN#13] Burckhardt calls this building, which he confounds with the “Jami

Ibrahim,” the Jami Nimre; others Namirah, Nimrah, Namrah, and Namurah. It

was erected, he says, by Kait Bey of Egypt, and had fallen into decay.

It has now been repaired, and is generally considered neutral, and not

Sanctuary ground, between the Harim of Meccah and the Holy Hill.

[FN#14] Mr. W. Muir, in his valuable Life of Mahomet, vol. i, p. ccv.,

remarks upon this passage that at p. 180 ante, I made Muna three miles

from Meccah, and Muzdalifah about three miles from Muna, and Arafat

three miles from Muzdalifah,—a total of nine. But the lesser estimate

does not include the outskirts of Meccah on the breadth of the Arafat

Plain. The Calcutta Review (art. 1, Sept. 1853) notably errs in making

Arafat eighteen miles east of Meccah. Ibn Jubayr reckons five miles

from Meccah to Muzdalifah, and five from this to Arafat.

[FN#15] Those who die on a pilgrimage become martyrs.

[FN#16] I cannot help believing that some unknown cause renders death

easier to man in hot than in cold climates; certain it is that in

Europe rare are the quiet and painless deathbeds so common in the East.

[FN#17] We bury our dead, to preserve them as it were; the Moslem tries

to secure rapid decomposition, and makes the graveyard a dangerous as

well as a disagreeable place.

[FN#18] Arabs observe that Indians, unless brought young into the

country, never learn its language well. They have a word to express the

vicious pronunciation of a slave or an Indian, “Barbaret al-Hunud.” This

root Barbara ([Arabic]), like the Greek “Barbaros,” appears to be derived

from the Sanscrit Varvvaraha, an outcast, a barbarian, a man with curly

hair.

[FN#19] Ali’s charger was named Maymun, or, according to others, Zu’l Janah

(the winged). Indians generally confound it with “Duldul,” Mohammed’s mule.

[FN#20] These visions are common in history. Ali appeared to the Imam

Shafe’i, saluted him,—an omen of eternal felicity,—placed a ring upon his

finger, as a sign that his fame should extend wide as the donor’s, and

sent him to the Holy Land. Ibrahim bin Adham, the saint-poet hearing,

when hunting, a voice exclaim, “Man! it is not for this that Allah made

thee!” answered, “It is Allah who speaks, his servant will obey!” He changed

clothes with an attendant, and wandered forth upon a pilgrimage,

celebrated in Al-Islam. He performed it alone, and making 1100

genuflexions each mile, prolonged it to twelve years. The history of

Colonel Gardiner, and of many others amongst ourselves, prove that

these visions are not confined to the Arabs.

[FN#21] There is a Consul for Jeddah now, 1879, but till lately he was

an unpaid.

[FN#22] This vale is not considered “standing-ground,” because Satan once

appeared to the Prophet as he was traversing it.

[FN#23] According to Kutb al-Din, the Arafat plain was once highly

cultivated. Stone-lined cisterns abound, and ruins of buildings are

frequent. At the Eastern foot of the mountain was a broad canal,

beginning at a spur of the Taif hills, and conveying water to Meccah;

it is now destroyed beyond Arafat. The plain is cut with torrents,

which at times sweep with desolating violence into the Holy City, and a

thick desert vegetation shows that water is not deep below the surface.

[FN#24] The word is explained in many ways. One derivation has already

been mentioned. Others assert that when Gabriel taught Abraham the

ceremonies, he ended by saying “A’arafata manasik’ak?”—hast thou learned thy

pilgrim rites? To which the Friend of Allah replied, “Araftu!”—I have learned

them.

[FN#25] The latter name, “Ratan,” is servile. Respectable women are never

publicly addressed by Moslems except as “daughter,” “female pilgrim,” after

some male relation, “O mother of Mohammed,” “O sister of Omar,” or, tout

bonnement, by a man’s name. It would be ill-omened and dangerous were the

true name known. So most women, when travelling, adopt an alias.

Whoever knew an Afghan fair who was not “Nur Jan,” or “Sahib Jan”?

[FN#26] The British reader will be shocked to hear that by the term

“fatted ass” the intellectual lady alluded to her husband. The story is

that Mu’awiyah, overhearing the song, sent back the singer to her cousin

and beloved wilds. Maysunah departed with her son Yazid, and did not

return to Damascus till the “fatted ass” had joined his forefathers. Yazid

inherited, with his mother’s talents, all her contempt for his father; at

least the following quatrain, addressed to Mu’awiyah, and generally known

in Al-Islam, would appear to argue anything but reverence:—

“I drank the water of the vine: that draught had power to rouse

Thy wrath, grim father! now, indeed, ’tis joyous to carouse!

I’ll drink!—Be wroth!—I reck not!—Ah! dear to this heart of mine

It is to scoff a sire’s command, to quaff forbidden wine.”

[p.192] CHAPTER XXIX.

THE CEREMONIES OF THE YAUM ARAFAT, OR THE SECOND DAY.

THE morning of the ninth Zu’l Hijjah (Tuesday, 13th Sept.) was ushered in

by military sounds: a loud discharge of cannon warned us to arise and

to prepare for the ceremonies of this eventful day.

After ablution and prayer, I proceeded with the boy Mohammed to inspect

the numerous consecrated sites on the “Mountain of Mercy.” In the first

place, we repaired to a spot on rising ground to the south-east, and

within a hundred yards of the hill. It is called “Jami al-Sakhrah[FN#1]”—the

Assembling Place of the Rock—from two granite boulders upon which the

Prophet stood to perform “Talbiyat.” There is nothing but a small enclosure

of dwarf and whitewashed stone walls, divided into halves for men and

women by a similar partition, and provided with a niche to direct

prayer towards Meccah. Entering by steps, we found crowds of devotees

and guardians, who for a consideration offered mats and carpets. After

a two-bow prayer and a long supplication opposite the niche, we retired

to the inner compartment, stood upon a boulder and shouted the “Labbayk.”

Thence, threading our way through many obstacles

[p.193] of tent and stone, we ascended the broad flight of rugged steps

which winds up the southern face of the rocky hill. Even at this early

hour it was crowded with pilgrims, principally Badawin and Wahhabis,

who had secured favourable positions for hearing the sermon. Already

their green flag was planted upon the summit close to Adam’s Place of

Prayer. The wilder Arabs insist that “Wukuf” (standing) should take place

upon the Hill. This is not done by the more civilised, who hold that

all the plain within the Alamayn ranks as Arafat. According to Ali Bey,

the Maliki school is not allowed to stand upon the mountain. About half

way up I counted sixty-six steps, and remarked that they became

narrower and steeper. Crowds of beggars instantly seized the pilgrims’

robes, and strove to prevent our entering a second enclosure. This

place, which resembles the former, except that it has but one

compartment and no boulders, is that whence Mohammed used to address

his followers; and here, to the present day, the Khatib, or preacher,

in imitation of the “Last of the Prophets,” sitting upon a dromedary,

recites the Arafat sermon. Here, also, we prayed a two-bow prayer, and

gave a small sum to the guardian.

Thence ascending with increased difficulty to the hill-top, we arrived

at a large stuccoed platform,[FN#2] with prayer-niche and a kind of

obelisk, mean and badly built of lime and granite stone, whitewashed,

and conspicuous from afar. It is called the Makam, or Mada’a Sayyidna

Adam.[FN#3] Here we performed the customary ceremonies amongst a crowd

of pilgrims, and then we walked down the little hill.

[p.194] Close to the plain we saw the place where the Egyptian and

Damascus Mahmils stand during the sermon; and, descending the wall that

surrounds Arafat by a steep and narrow flight of coarse stone steps, we

found on our right the fountain which supplies the place with water. It

bubbles from the rock, and is exceedingly pure, as such water generally

is in Al-Hijaz.

Our excursion employed us longer than the description requires—nine o’clock

had struck before we reached the plain. All were in a state of

excitement. Guns fired incessantly. Horsemen and camel-riders galloped

about without apparent object. Even the women and the children stood

and walked, too restless even to sleep. Arrived at the tent, I was

unpleasantly surprised to find a new visitor in an old acquaintance,

Ali ibn Ya Sin the Zemzemi. He had lost his mule, and, wandering in

search of its keepers, he unfortunately fell in with our party. I had

solid reasons to regret the mishap—he was far too curious and too

observant to suit my tastes. On the present occasion, he, being

uncomfortable, made us equally so. Accustomed to all the terrible

“neatness” of an elderly damsel in Great Britain, a few specks of dirt upon

the rugs, and half a dozen bits of cinder upon the ground, sufficed to

give him attacks of “nerves.”

That day we breakfasted late, for night must come before we could eat

again. After mid-day prayer we performed ablutions; some the greater,

others the less, in preparation for the “Wukuf,” or Standing. From noon

onwards the hum and murmur of the multitude increased, and people were

seen swarming about in all directions.

A second discharge of cannon (at about 3.15 P.M.) announced the

approach of Al-Asr, the afternoon prayer, and almost immediately we

heard the Naubat, or band preceding the Sharif’s procession, as he wended

his way towards the mountain. Fortunately my tent was pitched close to

the road, so that without trouble I had a perfect

[p.195] view of the scene. First swept a cloud of mace-bearers, who, as

usual on such occasions, cleared the path with scant ceremony. They

were followed by the horsemen of the Desert, wielding long and tufted

spears. Immediately behind them came the Sharif’s led horses, upon which

I fixed a curious eye. All were highly bred, and one, a brown Nijdi

with black points, struck me as the perfection of an Arab. They were

small, and all were apparently of the northern race.[FN#4] Of their old

crimson-velvet

[p.196] caparisons the less said the better; no little Indian Nawab

would show aught so shabby on state occasions.

After the chargers paraded a band of black slaves on foot bearing huge

matchlocks; and immediately preceded by three green and two red flags,

came the Sharif, riding in front of his family and courtiers. The

prince, habited in a simple white Ihram, and bare-headed, mounted a

mule; the only sign of his rank was a large green and gold embroidered

umbrella, held over him by a slave. The rear was brought up by another

troop of Badawin on horses and camels. Behind this procession were the

tents, whose doors and walls were scarcely visible for the crowd; and

the picturesque background was the granite hill, covered, wherever

standing-room was to be found, with white-robed pilgrims shouting

“Labbayk,” and waving the skirts of their glistening garments violently

over their heads.

Slowly and solemnly the procession advanced towards the hill. Exactly

at the hour Al-Asr, the two Mahmils had taken their station side by

side on a platform in the lower slope. That of Damascus could be

distinguished as the narrower and the more ornamented of the pair. The

Sharif placed himself with his standard-bearers and his retinue a

little above the Mahmils, within hearing of the preacher. The pilgrims

crowded up to the foot of the mountain: the loud “Labbayk” of the Badawin

and

[p.197] Wahhabis[FN#5] fell to a solemn silence, and the waving of

white robes ceased—a sign that the preacher had begun the Khutbat

al-Wakfah, or Sermon of the Standing (upon Arafat). From my tent I

could distinguish the form of the old man upon his camel, but the

distance was too great for ear to reach.

But how came I to be at the tent?

A short confession will explain. They will shrive me who believe in

inspired Spenser’s lines—

“And every spirit, as it is more pure,

And hath in it the more of heavenly light,

So it the fairer body doth procure

To habit in.”—

The evil came of a “fairer body.” I had prepared en cachette a slip of

paper, and had hid in my Ihram a pencil destined to put down the heads

of this rarely heard discourse. But unhappily that red cashmere shawl

was upon my shoulders. Close to us sat a party of fair Meccans,

apparently belonging to the higher classes, and one of these I had

already several times remarked. She was a tall girl, about eighteen

years old, with regular features, a skin somewhat citrine-coloured, but

soft and clear, symmetrical eyebrows, the most beautiful eyes, and a

figure all grace. There was no head thrown back, no straightened neck,

no flat shoulders, nor toes turned out—in fact, no “elegant” barbarisms: the

shape was what the Arabs love, soft, bending, and relaxed, as a woman’s

[p.198] figure ought to be. Unhappily she wore, instead of the usual

veil, a “Yashmak” of transparent muslin, bound round the face; and the

chaperone, mother, or duenna, by whose side she stood, was apparently a

very unsuspicious or complaisant old person. Flirtilla fixed a glance

of admiration upon my cashmere. I directed a reply with interest at her

eyes. She then by the usual coquettish gesture, threw back an inch or

two of head-veil, disclosing broad bands of jetty hair, crowning a

lovely oval. My palpable admiration of the new charm was rewarded by a

partial removal of the Yashmak, when a dimpled mouth and a rounded chin

stood out from the envious muslin. Seeing that my companions were

safely employed, I entered upon the dangerous ground of raising hand to

forehead. She smiled almost imperceptibly, and turned away. The pilgrim

was in ecstasy.

The sermon was then half over. I was resolved to stay upon the plain

and see what Flirtilla would do. Grace to the cashmere, we came to a

good understanding. The next page will record my disappointment—that

evening the pilgrim resumed his soiled cotton cloth, and testily

returned the red shawl to the boy Mohammed.

The sermon always lasts till near sunset, or about three hours. At

first it was spoken amid profound silence. Then loud, scattered “Amins”

(Amens) and volleys of “Labbayk” exploded at uncertain intervals[.] At last

the breeze brought to our ears a purgatorial chorus of cries, sobs, and

shrieks. Even my party thought proper to be affected: old Ali rubbed

his eyes, which in no case unconnected with dollars could by any amount

of straining be made to shed even a crocodile’s tear; and the boy

Mohammed wisely hid his face in the skirt of his Rida. Presently the

people, exhausted by emotion, began to descend the hill in small

parties; and those below struck their tents and commenced loading their

camels, although at least an hour’s sermon remained. On this occassion,

[p.199] however, all hurry to be foremost, as the “race from Arafat” is

enjoyed by none but the Badawin.

Although we worked with a will, our animals were not ready to move

before sunset, when the preacher gave the signal of “Israf,” or permission

to depart. The pilgrims,

“—swaying to and fro,

Like waves of a great sea, that in mid shock

Confound each other, white with foam and fear,”

rushed down the hill with a “Labbayk” sounding like a blast, and took the

road to Muna. Then I saw the scene which has given to this part of the

ceremonies the name of Al-Daf’a min Arafat,—the “Hurry from Arafat.” Every man

urged his beast with might and main: it was sunset; the plain bristled

with tent-pegs, litters were crushed, pedestrians were trampled, camels

were overthrown: single combats with sticks and other weapons took

place; here a woman, there a child, and there an animal were lost;

briefly, it was a chaotic confusion.

To my disgust, old Ali insisted upon bestowing his company upon me. He

gave over his newly found mule to the boy Mohammed, bidding him take

care of the beast, and mounted with me in the Shugduf. I had persuaded

Shaykh Mas’ud, with a dollar, to keep close in rear of the pretty Meccan;

and I wanted to sketch the Holy Hill. The senior began to give orders

about the camel—I, counter-orders. The camel was halted. I urged it on:

old Ali directed it to be stopped. Meanwhile the charming face that

smiled at me from the litter grew dimmer and dimmer; the more I

stormed, the less I was listened to—a string of camels crossed our path—I

lost sight of the beauty. Then we began to advance. Again, my

determination to sketch seemed likely to fail before the Zemzemi’s little

snake’s eye. After a few minutes’ angry search for expedients, one

suggested itself. “Effendi!” said old Ali, “sit quiet; there is danger here.” I

tossed about like one suffering from evil conscience or from the

[p.200] colic. “Effendi!” shrieked the senior, “what art thou doing? Thou

wilt be the death of us.” “Wallah!” I replied with a violent plunge, “it is all

thy fault! There!” (another plunge)—“put thy beard out of the other opening,

and Allah will make it easy to us.” In the ecstasy of fear my tormentor

turned his face, as he was bidden, towards the camel’s head. A second

halt ensued, when I looked out of the aperture in rear, and made a

rough drawing of the Mountain of Mercy.

At the Akhshabayn, double lines of camels, bristling with litters,

clashed with a shock more noisy than the meeting of torrents. It was

already dark: no man knew what he was doing. The guns roared their

brazen notes, re-echoed far and wide by the harsh voices of the stony

hills. A shower of rockets bursting in the air threw into still greater

confusion the timorous mob of women and children. At the same time

martial music rose from the masses of Nizam and the stouter-hearted

pilgrims were not sparing of their Labbayk[FN#6] and “id kum

Mubarak[FN#7]”—“May your Festival be happy!”

After the pass of the Two Rugged Hills, the road widened, and old Ali,

who, during the bumping, had been in a silent convulsion of terror,

recovered speech and spirits. This change he evidenced by beginning to

be troublesome once more. Again I resolved to be his equal. Exclaiming,

“My eyes are yellow with hunger!” I seized a pot full of savoury meat which

the old man had previously stored for supper, and, without further

preamble, began to eat it greedily, at the same time ready to shout

with laughter at the mumbling and grumbling sounds that proceeded from

the darkness of the litter. We were at least three hours on the road

before reaching

[p.201] Muzdalifah, and being fatigued, we resolved to pass the night

there.[FN#8] The Mosque was brilliantly illuminated, but my hungry

companions[FN#9] apparently thought more of supper and of sleep than of

devotion.[FN#10] Whilst the tent was being raised, the Indians prepared

our food, boiled our coffee, filled our pipes, and spread our rugs.

Before sleeping each man collected for himself seven “Jamrah”—bits of granite

the size of a small bean.[FN#11] Then, weary with emotion and exertion,

all lay down except the boy Mohammed, who preceded us to find encamping

ground at Muna. Old Ali, in lending his mule, made the most stringent

arrangements with the youth about the exact place and the exact hour of

meeting—an act of simplicity at which I could not but smile. The night

was by no means peaceful or silent. Lines of camels passed us every ten

minutes, and the shouting of travellers continued till near dawn.

Pilgrims ought to have nighted at the Mosque, but, as in Burckhardt’s

time, so in mine, baggage was considered to be in danger thereabouts,

and consequently most of the devotees spent the sermon-hours in

brooding over their boxes.

[FN#1] Ali Bey calls it “Jami al-Rahmah”—of mercy.

[FN#2] Here was a small chapel, which the Wahhabis were demolishing

when Ali Bey was at Meccah. It has not been rebuilt. Upon this spot the

Prophet, according to Burckhardt, used to stand during the ceremonies.

[FN#3] Burckhardt gives this name to a place a little way on the left

and about forty steps up the mountain.

[FN#4] In Solomon’s time the Egyptian horse cost 150 silver shekels,

which, if the greater shekel be meant, would still be about the average

price, £18. Abbas, the late Pasha, did his best to buy first-rate Arab

stallions: on one occasion he sent a mission to Al-Madinah for the sole

purpose of fetching a rare work on farriery. Yet it is doubted whether

he ever had a first-rate Nijdi. A Badawi sent to Cairo by one of the

chiefs of Nijd, being shown by the viceroy’s order over the stables, on

being asked his opinion of the blood, replied bluntly, to the great man’s

disgust, that they did not contain a single thoroughbred[.] He added an

apology on the part of his laird for the animals he had brought from

Arabia, saying, that neither Sultan nor Shaykh could procure colts of

the best strain. For none of these horses would a staunch admirer of

the long-legged monster called in England a thoroughbred give twenty

pounds. They are mere “rats,” short and stunted, ragged and fleshless, with

rough coats and a slouching walk. But the experienced glance notes at

once the fine snake-like head, ears like reeds, wide and projecting

nostrils, large eyes, fiery and soft alternately, broad brow, deep base

of skull, wide chest, crooked tail, limbs padded with muscle, and long

elastic pasterns. And the animal put out to speed soon displays the

wondrous force of blood. In fact, when buying Arabs, there are only

three things to be considered,—blood, blood, and again blood. In Marco

Polo’s time, Aden supplied the Indian market. The state of the tribes

round the “Eye of Yaman” has effectually closed the road against

horse-caravans for many years past. It is said that the Zu Mohammed and

the Zu Hosayn, sub-families of the Benu Yam, a large tribe living

around and north of Sana’a, in Al-Yaman, have a fine large breed called

Al-Jaufi, and the clan Al-Aulaki, ([Arabic]), rear animals celebrated

for swiftness and endurance. The other races are stunted, and some

Arabs declare that the air of Al-Yaman causes a degeneracy in the first

generation. The Badawin, on the contrary, uphold their superiority, and

talk with the utmost contempt of the African horse. In India we now

depend for Arab blood upon the Persian Gulf, and the consequences of

monopoly display themselves in an increased price for inferior animals.

Our studs are generally believed to be sinks for rupees. The

Governments of India now object, it is said, to rearing, at a great

cost, animals distinguished by nothing but ferocity. It is evident that

Al-Hijaz never can stock the Indian market. Whether Al-Nijd will supply

us when the transit becomes safer, is a consideration which time only

can decide. Meanwhile it would be highly advisable to take steps for

restoring the Aden trade by entering into closer relations with the

Imam of Sana’a and the Badawi chiefs in the North of Al-Yaman.

[FN#5] I obtained the following note upon the ceremonies of Wahhabi

pilgrimage from one of their princes, Khalid Bey:—The Wahhabi (who, it

must be borne in mind, calls himself a Muwahhid, or Unitarian, in

opposition to Mushrik—Polytheist—any other sect but his own) at Meccah

follows out his two principal tenets, public prayer for men daily, for

women on Fridays, and rejection of the Prophet’s mediation. Imitating

Mohammed, he spends the first night of pilgrimage at Muna, stands upon

the hill Arafat, and, returning to Muna, passes three whole days there.

He derides other Moslems, abridges and simplifies the Ka’abah ceremonies,

and, if possible, is guided in his devotions by one of his own sect.

[FN#6] This cry is repeated till the pilgrim reaches Muna; not

afterwards.

[FN#7] Another phrase is “Antum min al-aidin”—“May you be of the keepers of

festival!”

[FN#8] Hanafis usually follow the Prophet’s example in nighting at

Muzdalifah; in the evening after prayers they attend at the Mosque,

listen to the discourse, and shed plentiful tears. Most Shafe’is spend

only a few hours at Muzdalifah.

[FN#9] We failed to buy meat at Arafat, after noon, although the bazar

was large and well stocked; it is usual to eat flesh there,

consequently it is greedily bought up at an exorbitant price.

[FN#10] Some sects consider the prayer at Muzdalifah a matter of vital

importance.

[FN#11] Jamrah is a “small pebble;” it is also called “Hasa,” in the plural,

“Hasayat.”

[p.202] CHAPTER XXX.

THE CEREMONIES OF THE YAUM NAHR,

OR THE THIRD DAY.

AT dawn on the id al-Kurban (10th Zu’l Hijjah, Wednesday, 14th September)

a gun warned us to lose no time; we arose hurriedly, and started up the

Batn Muhassir to Muna. By this means we lost at Muzdalifah the “Salat

al-id,” or “Festival Prayers,” the great solemnity of the Moslem year,

performed by all the community at daybreak. My companion was so anxious

to reach Meccah, that he would not hear of devotions. About eight A.M.

we entered the village, and looked for the boy Mohammed in vain. Old

Ali was dreadfully perplexed; a host of high-born Turkish pilgrims

were, he said, expecting him; his mule was missing—could never appear—he

must be late—should probably never reach Meccah—what would become of him? I

began by administering admonition to the mind diseased; but signally

failing in a cure, I amused myself with contemplating the world from my

Shugduf, leaving the office of directing it to the old Zemzemi. Now he

stopped, then he pressed forward; here he thought he saw Mohammed,

there he discovered our tent; at one time he would “nakh” the camel to

await, in patience, his supreme hour; at another, half mad with

nervousness, he would urge the excellent Mas’ud to hopeless inquiries.

Finally, by good fortune, we found one of the boy Mohammed’s cousins, who

led us to an enclosure

[p.203] called Hosh al-Uzam, in the Southern portion of the Muna Basin,

at the base of Mount Sabir.[FN#1] There we pitched the tent, refreshed

ourselves, and awaited the truant’s return. Old Ali, failing to disturb

my equanimity, attempted, as those who consort with philosophers often

will do, to quarrel with me. But, finding no material wherewith to

build a dispute in such fragments as “Ah!”—“Hem!”—“Wallah!” he hinted desperate

intentions against the boy Mohammed. When, however, the youth appeared,

with even more jauntiness of mien than usual, Ali bin Ya Sin lost

heart, brushed by him, mounted his mule, and, doubtless cursing us “under

the tongue,” rode away, frowning viciously, with his heels playing upon

the beast’s ribs.

Mohammed had been delayed, he said, by the difficulty of finding asses.

We were now to mount for “the Throwing,[FN#2]” as a preliminary to which we

washed “with seven waters” the seven pebbles brought from Muzdalifah, and

bound them in our Ihrams. Our first destination was the entrance to the

western end of the long line which composes the Muna village. We found

a swarming crowd in the narrow road opposite the “Jamrat al-Akabah,[FN#3]”

or, as it is vulgarly called, the Shaytan al-Kabir—the “Great Devil.” These

names distinguish it from another pillar, the “Wusta,” or “Central Place,” (of

stoning,) built in the middle of Muna, and a third at the eastern end,

“Al-Aula,” or the “First Place.[FN#4]” The “Shaytan al-Kabir” is a dwarf buttress

of rude

[p.204] masonry, about eight feet high by two and a half broad, placed

against a rough wall of stones at the Meccan entrance to Muna. As the

ceremony of “Ramy,” or Lapidation, must be performed on the first day by

all pilgrims between sunrise and sunset, and as the fiend was malicious

enough to appear in a rugged Pass,[FN#5] the crowd makes the place

dangerous. On one side of the road, which is not forty feet broad,

stood a row of shops belonging principally to barbers. On the other

side is the rugged wall against which the pillar stands, with a chevaux

de frise of Badawin and naked boys. The narrow space was crowded with

pilgrims, all struggling like drowning men to approach as near as

possible to the Devil; it would have been easy to run over the heads of

the mass. Amongst them were horsemen with rearing chargers. Badawin on

wild camels, and grandees on mules and asses, with outrunners, were

breaking a way by assault and battery. I had read Ali Bey’s

self-felicitations upon escaping this place with “only two wounds in the

left leg,” and I had duly provided myself with a hidden dagger. The

precaution was not useless. Scarcely had my donkey entered the crowd

than he was overthrown by a dromedary, and I found myself under the

stamping and roaring beast’s stomach. Avoiding being trampled upon by a

judicious use of the knife, I lost no time in escaping from a place so

ignobly dangerous. Some Moslem travellers assert, in proof of the

sanctity of the spot, that no Moslem is ever killed here: Meccans

assured me that accidents are by no means rare.

Presently the boy Mohammed fought his way out of the crowd with a

bleeding nose. We both sat down upon a bench before a barber’s booth,

and, schooled by adversity,

[p.205] awaited with patience an opportunity. Finding an opening, we

approached within about five cubits of the place, and holding each

stone between the thumb and the forefinger[FN#6] of the right hand, we

cast it at the pillar, exclaiming, “In the name of Allah, and Allah is

Almighty! (I do this) in Hatred of the Fiend and to his Shame.” After

which came the Tahlil and the “Sana,” or praise to Allah. The seven stones

being duly thrown, we retired, and entering the barber’s booth, took our

places upon one of the earthern benches around it. This was the time to

remove the Ihram or pilgrim’s garb, and to return to Ihlal, the normal

state of Al-Islam. The barber shaved our heads,[FN#7] and, after

trimming our beards and cutting our nails, made us repeat these words: “I

purpose loosening my Ihram according to the Practice of the Prophet,

Whom may Allah bless and preserve! O Allah, make unto me in every Hair,

a Light, a Purity, and a generous Reward! In the name of Allah, and

Allah is Almighty!” At the conclusion of his labour, the barber politely

addressed to us a “Na’iman—Pleasure to you!” To which we as ceremoniously

replied, “Allah give thee pleasure!” We had no clothes with us, but we

could use our cloths to cover our heads, and slippers to defend our

feet from the fiery sun; and we now could safely twirl our mustachios

and stroke our beards—placid enjoyments of which we had been deprived by

the

[p.206] Laws of Pilgrimage. After resting about an hour in the booth,

which, though crowded with sitting customers, was delightfully cool

compared with the burning glare of the road, we mounted our asses, and

at eleven A.M. we started Meccah-wards.

This return from Muna to Meccah is called Al-Nafr, or the Flight[FN#8]:

we did not fail to keep our asses at speed, with a few halts to refresh

ourselves with gugglets of water. There was nothing remarkable in the

scene: our ride in was a repetition of our ride out. In about half an

hour we entered the city, passing through that classical locality

called “Batn Kuraysh,” which was crowded with people, and then we repaired

to the boy Mohammed’s house for the purpose of bathing and preparing to

visit the Ka’abah.

Shortly after our arrival, the youth returned home in a state of

excitement, exclaiming, “Rise, Effendi! dress and follow me!” The Ka’abah,

though open, would for a time be empty, so that we should escape the

crowd. My pilgrim’s garb, which had not been removed, was made to look

neat and somewhat Indian, and we sallied forth together without loss of

time.

A crowd had gathered round the Ka’abah, and I had no wish to stand

bareheaded and barefooted in the midday September sun. At the cry of

“Open a path for the Haji who would enter the House,” the gazers made way.

Two stout Meccans, who stood below the door, raised me in their arms,

whilst a third drew me from above into the building. At the entrance I

was accosted by several officials, dark-looking Meccans, of whom the

blackest and plainest was a youth of the Benu Shaybah family,[FN#9]

[p.207] the sangre-azul of Al-Hijaz. He held in his hand the huge

silver-gilt padlock of the Ka’abah,[FN#10] and presently taking his seat

upon a kind of wooden press in the left corner of the hall, he

officially inquired my name, nation, and other particulars. The replies

were satisfactory, and the boy Mohammed was authoritatively ordered to

conduct me round the building, and to recite the prayers. I will not

deny that, looking at the windowless walls, the officials at the door,

and the crowd of excited fanatics below—

“And the place death, considering who I was,”[FN#11] my feelings were of

the trapped-rat description, acknowledged by the immortal nephew of his

uncle Perez. This did not, however, prevent my carefully observing the

scene during our long prayers, and making a rough plan with a pencil

upon my white Ihram.

Nothing is more simple than the interior of this celebrated building.

The pavement, which is level with the ground, is composed of slabs of

fine and various coloured marbles, mostly, however, white, disposed

chequerwise. The walls, as far as they can be seen, are of the same

material, but the pieces are irregularly shaped, and many of them are

engraved with long inscriptions in the Suls and other modern

characters. The upper part of the walls, together with the ceiling, at

which it is considered disrespectful to look,[FN#12] are covered with

handsome

[p.208] red damask, flowered over with gold,[FN#13] and tucked up about

six feet high, so as to be removed from pilgrims’ hands. The flat roof is

upheld by three cross-beams, whose shapes appear under the arras; they

rest upon the eastern and western walls, and are supported in the

centre by three columns[FN#14] about twenty inches in diameter, covered

with carved and ornamented aloes wood.[FN#15] At the Iraki corner there

is a dwarf door, called Bab al-Taubah (of Repentance).[FN#16] It leads

into a narrow passage and to the staircase by which the servants ascend

to the roof: it is never opened except for working purposes. The “Aswad” or

[p.209] “As’ad[FN#17]” corner is occupied by a flat-topped and

quadrant-shaped press or safe,[FN#18] in which at times is placed the

key of the Ka’abah.[FN#19] Both door and safe are of aloes wood. Between

the columns, and about nine feet from the ground, ran bars of a metal

which I could not distinguish, and hanging to them were many lamps,

said to be of gold.

Although there were in the Ka’abah but a few attendants engaged in

preparing it for the entrance of pilgrims,[FN#20] the windowless stone

walls and the choked-up door made it worse than the Piombi of Venice;

perspiration trickled in large drops, and I thought with horror what it

must be when filled with a mass of furiously jostling and crushing

fanatics. Our devotions consisted of a two-bow prayer,[FN#21] followed

by long supplications at the Shami (West) corner, the Iraki (north)

angle, the Yamani (south), and, lastly, opposite the southern third of

the back wall.[FN#22] These concluded, I returned to the door, where

payment is made. The boy Mohammed told me that the total expense would

be seven dollars. At the same time he had been indulging aloud in his

favourite rhodomontade, boasting of my greatness, and had declared me

to be an Indian pilgrim, a race still supposed at

[p.210] Meccah to be made of gold.[FN#23] When seven dollars were

tendered, they were rejected with instance. Expecting something of the

kind, I had been careful to bring no more than eight. Being pulled and

interpellated by half a dozen attendants, my course was to look stupid,

and to pretend ignorance of the language. Presently the Shaybah youth

bethought him of a contrivance. Drawing forth from the press the key of

the Ka’abah, he partly bared it of its green-silk gold-lettered

etui,[FN#24] and rubbed a golden knob quartrefoil-shaped upon my eyes,

in order to brighten them. I submitted to the operation with a good

grace, and added a dollar—my last—to the former offering. The Sharif

received it with a hopeless glance, and, to my satisfaction, would not

put forth his hand to be kissed. Then the attendants began to demand

vails I replied by opening my empty pouch. When let down from the door

by the two brawny Meccans, I was expected to pay them, and accordingly

appointed to meet them at the boy Mohammed’s house; an arrangement to

which they grumblingly assented. When delivered from these troubles, I

was congratulated by my sharp companion thus: “Wallah, Effendi! thou hast

escaped well! some men have left their skins behind.[FN#25]”

[p.211] All pilgrims do not enter the Ka’abah[FN#26]; and many refuse to

do so for religious reasons. Omar Effendi, for instance, who never

missed a pilgrimage, had never seen the interior.[FN#27] Those who

tread the hallowed floor are bound, among many other things, never

again to walk barefooted, to take up fire with the fingers, or to tell

lies. Most really conscientious men cannot afford the luxuries of

slippers, tongs, and truth. So thought Thomas, when offered the apple

which would give him the tongue which cannot lie:—

“‘My tongue is mine ain,’ true Thomas said.

‘A gudely gift ye wad gie to me!

I neither dought to buy nor sell

At fair or tryst, where I may be,

I dought neither speak to prince or peer,

Nor ask of grace from fair ladye!’”

Amongst the Hindus I have met with men who have proceeded upon a

pilgrimage to Dwarka, and yet who would not receive the brand of the

god, because lying would then be forbidden to them. A confidential

servant of a friend in Bombay naïvely declared that he had not been

marked, as the act would have ruined him. There is a sad truth in what

he said: Lying to the Oriental is meat and drink, and the roof that

shelters him.

The Ka’abah had been dressed in her new attire when we entered.[FN#28]

The covering, however, instead of being

[p.212] secured at the bottom to the metal rings in the basement, was

tucked up by ropes from the roof, and depended over each face in two

long tongues. It was of a brilliant black, and the Hizam—the zone or

golden band running round the upper portion of the building—as well as

the Burka (face-veil), were of dazzling brightness.[FN#29]

The origin of this custom must be sought in the ancient

practice of typifying the church visible by a virgin or bride. The poet

Abd al-Rahim al Bura’i, in one of his Gnostic effusions, has embodied the

idea:—

([Arabic])

“And Meccah’s bride (i.e. the Ka’abah) is displayed

with (miraculous) signs.”

This idea doubtless led to the face-veil, the covering, and the

guardianship of eunuchs.

The Meccan temple was first dressed as a mark of

[p.213] honour by Tobba the Himyarite when he Judaized.[FN#30] If we

accept this fact, which is vouched for by Oriental history, we are led

to the conclusion that the children of Israel settled at Meccah had

connected the temple with their own faith, and, as a corollary, that

the prophet of Al-Islam introduced their apocryphal traditions into his

creed. The pagan Arabs did not remove the coverings: the old and torn

Kiswah was covered with a new cloth, and the weight threatened to crush

the building.[FN#31] From the time of Kusay, the Ka’abah was veiled by

subscription, till Abu Rabi’at al-Mughayrah bin Abdullah, who, having

acquired great wealth by commerce, offered to provide the Kiswah on

alternate years, and thereby gained the name of Al-adil. The Prophet

preferred a covering of fine Yaman cloth, and directed the expense to

be defrayed by the Bayt al-Mal, or public treasury. Omar chose Egyptian

linen, ordering the Kiswah to be renewed every year, and the old

covering to be distributed among the pilgrims. In the reign of Osman,

the Ka’abah was twice clothed, in winter and summer. For the former

season, it received a Kamis, or Tobe (shirt) of brocade; with an Izar,

or veil: for the latter a suit of fine linen. Mu’awiyah at first supplied

linen and brocade; he afterwards exchanged the former for striped Yaman

stuff, and ordered Shaybah bin Osman to strip the Ka’abah and to perfume

the walls with Khaluk. Shaybah divided the old Kiswah among the

pilgrims, and Abdullah bin Abbas did not object to this

distribution.[FN#32] The Caliph Ma’amun (9th century) ordered

[p.214] the dress to be changed three times a year. In his day it was

red brocade on the 10th Muharram; fine linen on the 1st Rajab; and

white brocade on the 1st Shawwal. At last he was informed that the veil

applied on the 10th of Muharram was too closely followed by the red

brocade in the next month, and that it required renewing on the 1st of

Shawwal. This he ordered to be done. Al-Mutawakkil (ninth century),

when informed that the dress was spoiled by pilgrims, at first ordered

two to be given and the brocade shirt to be let down as far as the

pavement: at last he sent a new veil every two months. During the

Caliphat of the Abbasides this investiture came to signify sovereignty

in Al-Hijaz, which passed alternately from Baghdad to Egypt and

Al-Yaman. In Al-Idrisi’s time (twel[f]th century A.D.) the Kiswah was

composed of black silk, and renewed every year by the Caliph of

Baghdad. Ibn Jubayr writes that it was green and gold. The Kiswah

remained with Egypt when Sultan Kalaun[FN#33] (thirteenth century A.D.)

conveyed the rents of two villages, “Baysus” and “Sindbus,[FN#34]” to the

expense of providing an outer black and an inner red curtain for the

Ka’abah, with hangings for the Prophet’s tomb at Al-Madinah. When the Holy

Land fell under the power of Osmanli, Sultan Salim ordered the Kiswah

to be black; and his son Sultan Sulayman the Magnificent (sixteenth

[p.215] century A.D.), devoted considerable sums to the purpose. The

Kiswah was afterwards renewed at the accession of each Sultan. And the

Wahhabis, during the first year of their conquest, covered the Ka’abah

with a red Kiswah of the same stuff as the fine Arabian Aba or cloak,

and made at Al-Hasa.

The Kiswah is now worked at a cotton manufactory called Al-Khurunfish,

of the Tumn Bab al-Sha’ariyah, Cairo. It is made by a hereditary family,

called the Bayt al-Sadi, and, as the specimen in my possession proves,

it is a coarse tissue of silk and cotton mixed. The Kiswah is composed

of eight pieces—two for each face of the Ka’abah—the seams being concealed by

the Hizam, a broad band, which at a distance looks like gold; it is

lined with white calico, and is supplied with cotton ropes. Anciently

it is said all the Koran was interwoven into it. Now, it is inscribed

“Verily, the First of Houses founded for Mankind (to worship in) is that

at Bekkah[FN#35]; blessed and a Direction to all Creatures”; together

with seven chapters, namely, the Cave, Mariam, the Family of Amran,

Repentance, T.H. with Y.S. and Tabarak. The character is that called

Tumar, the largest style of Eastern calligraphy, legible from a

considerable distance.[FN#36] The Hizam is a band about two feet broad,

and surrounding the Ka’abah at two-thirds of its height. It is divided

into four pieces, which are sewn together. On the first and second is

inscribed the “Throne verslet,” and on the third and fourth the titles of

the reigning Sultan. These inscriptions are, like the Burka, or door

curtain, gold worked into red silk, by the Bayt al-Sadi. When the

Kiswah is ready at Khurunfish, it is carried in

[p.216] procession to the Mosque Al-Hasanayn, where it is lined, sewn,

and prepared for the journey.[FN#37]

After quitting the Ka’abah, I returned home exhausted, and washed with

henna and warm water, to mitigate the pain of the sun-scalds upon my

arms, shoulders, and breast. The house was empty, all the Turkish

pilgrims being still at Muna; and the Kabirah—the old lady—received me with

peculiar attention. I was ushered into an upper room, whose teak

wainscotings, covered with Cufic and other inscriptions, large carpets,

and ample Diwans, still showed a sort of ragged splendour. The family

had “seen better days,” the Sharif Ghalib having confiscated three of its

houses; but it is still proud, and cannot merge the past into the

present. In the “drawing-room,” which the Turkish colonel occupied when at

Meccah, the Kabirah supplied me with a pipe, coffee, cold water, and

breakfast. I won her heart by praising the graceless boy Mohammed; like

all mothers, she dearly loved the scamp of the family. When he entered,

and saw his maternal parent standing near me, with only the end of her

veil drawn over her mouth, he began to scold her with divers

insinuations. “Soon thou wilt sit amongst the men in the hall!” he

exclaimed. “O, my son,” rejoined the Kabirah, “fear Allah: thy mother is in

years!”—and truly she was so, being at least fifty. “A-a-h” sneered the youth,

who had formed, as boys of the world must do, or appear to do, a very

low estimate of the sex. The old lady understood the drift of the

exclamation, and departed with a half-laughing “May Allah disappoint thee!”

She soon, however, returned, bringing me water for ablution; and having

heard that I had not yet sacrificed a sheep at Muna, enjoined me to

return and perform without delay that important rite.

[p.217]After resuming our laical toilette, and dressing gaily for the

great festival, we mounted our asses about the cool of the afternoon,

and, returning to Muna, we found the tent full of visitors. Ali ibn Ya

Sin, the Zemzemi, had sent me an amphora of holy water, and the carrier

was awaiting the customary dollar. With him were several Meccans, one

of whom spoke excellent Persian. We sat down, and chatted together for

an hour; and I afterwards learned from the boy Mohammed, that all had

pronounced me to be an ’Ajami.

After their departure we debated about the victim, which is only a

Sunnat, or practice of the Prophet.[FN#38] It is generally sacrificed

immediately after the first lapidation, and we had already been guilty

of delay. Under these circumstances, and considering the meagre

condition of my purse, I would not buy a sheep, but contented myself

with watching my neighbours. They gave themselves great trouble,

especially a large party of Indians pitched near us, to buy the victim

cheap; but the Badawin were not less acute, and he was happy who paid

less than a dollar and a quarter. Some preferred contributing to buy a

lean ox. None but the Sharif and the principal dignitaries slaughtered

camels. The pilgrims dragged their victims to a smooth rock near the

Akabah, above which stands a small open pavilion, whose sides, red with

fresh blood, showed that the prince and his attendants had been busy at

sacrifice. [FN#39] Others stood before their tents, and, directing the

victim’s face towards the Ka’abah, cut its throat, ejaculating, “Bismillah!

Allaho Akbar[FN#40]”

[p.218] The boy Mohammed sneeringly directed my attention to the

Indians, who, being a mild race, had hired an Arab butcher to do the

deed of blood; and he aroused all Shaykh Nur’s ire by his taunting

comments upon the chicken-heartedness of the men of Hind. It is

considered a meritorious act to give away the victim without eating any

portion of its flesh. Parties of Takruri might be seen sitting

vulture-like, contemplating the sheep and goats; and no sooner was the

signal given, than they fell upon the bodies, and cut them up without

removing them. The surface of the valley soon came to resemble the

dirtiest slaughter-house, and my prescient soul drew bad auguries for

the future.

We had spent a sultry afternoon in the basin of Muna, which is not

unlike a volcanic crater, an Aden closed up at the seaside. Towards

night the occasional puffs of Samum ceased, and through the air of

deadly stillness a mass of purple nimbus, bisected by a thin grey line

of mist-cloud, rolled down upon us from the Taif hills. When darkness

gave the signal, most of the pilgrims pressed towards the square in

front of the Muna Mosque, to enjoy the pyrotechnics and the discharge

of cannon. But during the spectacle came on a windy storm, whose

lightnings, flashing their fire from pole to pole paled the rockets;

and whose thunderings, re-echoed by the rocky hills, dumbed the puny

artillery of man. We were disappointed in our hopes of rain. A few huge

drops pattered upon the plain and sank into its thirsty entrails; all

the rest was thunder and lightning, dust-clouds and whirlwind.

[FN#1] Even pitching ground here is charged to pilgrims.

[FN#2] Some authorities advise that this rite of “Ramy” be performed on

foot.

[FN#3] The word “Jamrah” is applied to the place of stoning, as well as to

the stones.

[FN#4] These numbers mark the successive spots where the Devil, in the

shape of an old Shaykh, appeared to Adam, Abraham, and Ishmael, and was

driven back by the simple process taught by Gabriel, of throwing stones

about the size of a bean.

[FN#5] I borrow this phrase from Ali Bey, who, however, speaks more

like an ignorant Catalonian than a learned Abbaside, when he calls the

pillar “La Maison du Diable,” and facetiously asserts that “le diable a eu la

malice de placer sa maison dans un lieu fort etroit qui n’a peut-etre pas

34 pieds de large.”

[FN#6] Some hold the pebble as a schoolboy does a marble, others

between the thumb and forefinger extended, others shoot them from the

thumb knuckle, and most men consult their own convenience.

[FN#7] The barber removed all my hair. Hanifis shave at least a quarter

of the head, Shafe’is a few hairs on the right side. The prayer is, as

usual, differently worded, some saying, “O Allah this my Forelock is in

Thy Hand, then grant me for every Hair a Light on Resurrection-day, by

Thy Mercy O most Merciful of the Merciful!” I remarked that the hair was

allowed to lie upon the ground, whereas strict Moslems, with that

reverence for man’s body—the Temple of the Supreme—which characterizes their

creed, carefully bury it in the earth.

[FN#8] This word is confounded with “Dafa” by many Moslem authors. Some

speak of the Nafr from Arafat to Muzdalifah and the Dafa from

Muzdalifah to Muna. I have used the words as my Mutawwif used them.

[FN#9] They keep the keys of the House. In my day the head of the

family was “Shaykh Ahmad.”

[FN#10] In Ibn Jubayr’s time this large padlock was of gold. It is said

popularly that none but the Benu Shaybah can open it; a minor miracle,

doubtless proceeding from the art of some Eastern Hobbs or Bramah.

[FN#11] However safe a Christian might be at Meccah, nothing could

preserve him from the ready knives of enraged fanatics if detected in

the House. The very idea is pollution to a Moslem.

[FN#12] I do not known the origin of this superstition; but it would be

unsafe for a pilgrim to look fixedly at the Ka’abah ceiling. Under the

arras I was told is a strong planking of Saj, or Indian teak, and above

it a stuccoed Sath, or flat roof.

[FN#13] Exactly realising the description of our English bard:—

“Goodly arras of great majesty,

Woven with gold and silk so close and nere,

That the rich metal lurked privily,

As feigning to be hid from envious eye.”

[FN#14] Ibn Jubayr mentions three columns of teak. Burckhardt and Ali

Bey, two. In Al-Fasi’s day there were four. The Kuraysh erected six

columns in double row. Generally the pillars have been three in number.

[FN#15] This wood, which has been used of old to ornament sacred

buildings in the East, is brought to Meccah in great quantities by

Malay and Java pilgrims. The best kind is known by its oily appearance

and a “fizzing” sound in fire; the cunning vendors easily supply it with

these desiderata.

[FN#16] Ibn Jubayr calls it Bab al-Rahmah.

[FN#17] The Hajar al-Aswad is also called Al-As’ad, or the Propitious.

[FN#18] Here, in Ibn Jubayr’s time, stood two boxes full of Korans.

[FN#19] The key is sometimes placed in the hands of a child of the

house of Shaybah, who sits in state, with black slaves on both sides.

[FN#20] In Ibn Jubayr’s day the Ka’abah was opened with more ceremony. The

ladder was rolled up to the door, and the chief of the Benu Shaybah,

ascending it, was covered by attendants with a black veil from head to

foot, whilst he opened the padlock. Then, having kissed the threshold,

he entered, shut the door behind him, and prayed two Rukats; after

which, all the Benu Shaybah, and, lastly, the vulgar were admitted. In

these day the veil is obsolete. The Shaykh enters the Ka’abah alone,

perfumes it and prays; the pilgrims are then admitted en masse; and the

style in which the eunuchs handle their quarter-staves forms a scene

more animated than decorous.

[FN#21] Some pray four instead of two bows.

[FN#22] Burckhardt erroneously says, “in every corner.”

[FN#23] These Indians are ever in extremes, paupers or millionaires,

and, like all Moslems, the more they pay at Meccah the higher becomes

their character and religious titles. A Turkish Pasha seldom squanders

as much money as does a Moslem merchant from the far East. Khudabakhsh,

the Lahore shawl-dealer, owned to having spent 800l. in feastings and

presents. He appeared to consider that sum a trifle, although, had a

debtor carried off one tithe of it, his health would have been

seriously affected.

[FN#24] The cover of the key is made, like Abraham’s veil, of three

colours, red, black or green. It is of silk, embroidered with golden

letters, and upon it are written the Bismillah, the name of the

reigning Sultan, “Bag of the key of the holy Ka’abah,” and a verselet from

the “Family of Amran” (Koran, ch. 3). It is made, like the Kiswah, at

Khurunfish, a place that will be noticed below.

[FN#25] “Ecorches”—“pelati;” the idea is common to most imaginative nations.

[FN#26] The same is the case at Al-Madinah; many religious men object

on conscientious grounds to enter the Prophet’s mosque. The poet quoted

below made many visitations to Al-Madinah, but never could persuade

himself to approach the tomb. The Esquire Carver saw two young Turks

who had voluntarily had their eyes thrust out at Meccah as soon as they

had seen the glory and visible sanctity of the tomb of Mohammed. I “doubt

the fact,” which thus appears ushered in by a fiction.

[FN#27] I have not thought it necessary to go deep into the list of

“Muharramat,” or actions forbidden to the pilgrim who has entered the

Ka’abah. They are numerous and meaningless.

[FN#28] The use of the feminine pronoun is explained below. When

unclothed, the Ka’abah is called Uryanah (naked), in opposition to its

normal state, “Muhramah,” or clad in Ihram. In Burckhardt’s time the house

remained naked for fifteen days; now the investiture is effected in a

few hours.

[FN#29] The gold-embroidered curtain covering the Ka’abah door is called

by the learned “Burka al-Ka’abah” (the Ka’abah’s face-veil), by the vulgar Burka

Fatimah; they connect it in idea with the Prophet’s daughter.

[FN#30] The pyramids, it is said, were covered from base to summit with

yellow silk or satin.

[FN#31] At present the Kiswah, it need scarcely be said, does not cover

the flat roof.

[FN#32] Ayishah also, when Shaybah proposed to bury the old Kiswah,

that it might not be worn by the impure, directed him to sell it, and

to distribute the proceeds to the poor. The Meccans still follow the

first half, but neglect the other part of the order given by the “Mother

of the Moslems.” Kazi Khan advises the proceeds of the sale being devoted

to the repairs of the temple. The “Siraj al-Wahhaj” positively forbids, as

sinful, the cutting, transporting, selling, buying, and placing it

between the leaves of the Koran. Kutb al-Din (from whom I borrow these

particulars) introduces some fine and casuistic distinctions. In his

day, however, the Benu Shaybah claimed the old, after the arrival of

the new Kiswah; and their right to it was admitted. To the present day

they continue to sell it.

[FN#33] Some authors also mention a green Kiswah, applied by this

monarch. Embroidered on it were certain verselets of the Koran, the

formula of the Moslem faith, and the names of the Prophet’s Companions.

[FN#34] Burckhardt says “Bysous” and “Sandabeir.”

[FN#35] From the “Family of Amran” (chap. 3). “Bekkah” is “a place of crowding”;

hence applied to Meccah generally. Some writers, however, limit it to

the part of the city round the Harim.

[FN#36] It is larger than the suls. Admirers of Eastern calligraphy may

see a “Bismillah,” beautifully written in Tumar, on the wall of Sultan

Mu’ayyad’s Mosque at Cairo.

[FN#37] Mr. Lane (Mod. Egypt. vol. iii. chap. 25) has given an ample

and accurate description of the Kiswah. I have added a few details,

derived from “Khalil Effendi” of Cairo, a professor of Arabic, and an

excellent French scholar.

[FN#38] Those who omit the rite fast ten days; three during the

pilgrimage season, and the remaining seven at some other time.

[FN#39] The camel is sacrificed by thrusting a pointed instrument into

the interval between the sternum and the neck. This anomaly may be

accounted for by the thickness and hardness of the muscles of the

throat.

[FN#40] It is strange that the accurate Burckhardt should make the

Moslem say, when slaughtering or sacrificing, “In the name of the most

Merciful God!” As Mr. Lane justly observes, the attribute of mercy is

omitted on these occasions.

[p.219] CHAPTER XXXI.

THE THREE DAYS OF DRYING FLESH.

ALL was dull after the excitement of the Great Festival. The heat of

the succeeding night rendered every effort to sleep abortive; and as

our little camp required a guard in a place so celebrated for

plunderers, I spent the greater part of the time sitting in the clear

pure moon-light.[FN#1]

After midnight we again repaired to the Devils, and, beginning with the

Ula, or first pillar, at the Eastern extremity of Muna, threw at each,

seven stones (making a total of twenty-one), with the ceremonies before

described.

On Thursday (Sept. 15th, 1853), we arose before dawn, and prepared with

a light breakfast for the fatigues of a climbing walk. After half an

hour spent in hopping from boulder to boulder, we arrived at a place

situated on the lower declivity of the Jabal Sabir, the northern wall

of the Muna basin. Here is the Majarr al-Kabsh, “the Dragging-place of

the Ram,” a small, whitewashed square, divided

[p.220] into two compartments. The first is entered by a few ragged

steps in the south-east angle, which lead to an enclosure thirty feet

by fifteen. In the north-east corner is a block of granite (A), in

which a huge gash, several inches broad, some feet deep, and completely

splitting the stone in knife-shape, notes the spot where Ibrahim’s blade

fell when the archangel Gabriel forbade him to slay Ismail his son. The

second compartment contains a diminutive hypogaeum (B). In this cave

the patriarch sacrificed the victim, which gives the place a name. We

descended by a flight of steps, and under the stifling ledge of rock

found mats and praying-rugs, which, at this early hour, were not

overcrowded. We followed the example of the patriarchs, and prayed a

two-bow prayer in each of the enclosures. After distributing the usual

gratification, we left the place, and proceeded to mount the hill, in

hope of seeing some of the apes said still to haunt the heights. These

animals are supposed by the Meccans to have been Jews, thus transformed

for having broken the Sabbath by hunting.[FN#2] They abound in the

elevated regions about Arafat and Taif, where they are caught by mixing

the juice of the Asclepias and narcotics with dates and other sweet

bait.[FN#3] The Hijazi ape is a hideous cynocephalus, with small eyes

placed close together, and almost hidden by a disproportionate snout; a

greenish-brown coat, long arms, and a stern of lively pink, like fresh

meat. They

[p.221] are docile, and are said to be fond of spirituous liquors, and

to display an inordinate affection for women. Al-Mas’udi tells about them

a variety of anecdotes. According to him their principal use in Hind

and Chin was to protect kings from poison, by eating suspected dishes.

The Badawin have many tales concerning them. It is universally believed

that they catch and kill kites, by exposing the rosy portion of their

persons and concealing the rest; the bird pounces upon what appears to

be raw meat, and presently finds himself viciously plucked alive.

Throughout Arabia an old story is told of them. A merchant was once

plundered during his absence by a troop of these apes; they tore open

his bales, and, charmed with the scarlet hue of the Tarbushes, began

applying those articles of dress to uses quite opposite to their normal

purpose. The merchant was in despair, when his slave offered for a

consideration to recover the goods. Placing himself in the front, like

a fugleman to the ape-company, he went through a variety of manœuvres

with a Tarbush, and concluded with throwing it far away. The recruits

carefully imitated him, and the drill concluded with his firing a shot;

the plunderers decamped and the caps were recovered.

Failing to see any apes, we retired to the tent ere the sun waxed hot,

in anticipation of a terrible day. Nor were we far wrong. In addition

to the heat, we had swarms of flies, and the blood-stained earth began

to reek with noisome vapours. Nought moved in the air except kites and

vultures, speckling the deep blue sky: the denizens of earth seemed

paralysed by the fire from above. I spent the time between breakfast

and nightfall lying half-dressed upon a mat, moving round the tent-pole

to escape the glare, and watching my numerous neighbours, male and

female. The Indians were particularly kind, filling my pipe, offering

cooled water, and performing similar little offices. I repaid them with

a supply of provisions,

[p.222] which, at the Muna market-prices, these unfortunates could ill

afford.

When the moon arose the boy Mohammed and I walked out into the town,

performed our second lapidation,[FN#4] and visited the coffee-houses.

The shops were closed early, but business was transacted in places of

public resort till midnight. We entered the houses of numerous

acquaintances, who accosted my companion, and were hospitably welcomed

with pipes and coffee. The first question always was, “Who is this

pilgrim?” and more than once the reply, “An Afghan,” elicited the language of

my own country, which I could no longer speak. Of this phenomenon,

however, nothing was thought: many Afghans settled in India know not a

word of Pushtu, and even above the Passes many of the townspeople are

imperfectly

[p.223] acquainted with it. The Meccans in consequence of their

extensive intercourse with strangers and habits of travelling, are

admirable conversational linguists. They speak Arabic remarkably well,

and with a volubility surpassing the most lively of our continental

nations. Persian, Turkish, and Hindustani are generally known: and the

Mutawwifs, who devote themselves to various races of pilgrims, soon

become masters of many languages.

Returning homewards, we were called to a spot by the clapping of

hands[FN#5] and the loud sound of song. We found a crowd of Badawin

surrounding a group engaged in their favourite occupation of dancing.

The performance is wild in the extreme, resembling rather the hopping

of bears than the inspirations of Terpischore. The bystanders joined in

the song; an interminable recitative, as usual, in the minor key,

and—Orientals are admirable timists—it sounded like one voice. The refrain

appeared to be—

“La Yayha! La Yayha!”

to which no one could assign a meaning. At other times they sang

something intelligible. For instance:—

[Arabic]

That is to say,—

“On the Great Festival-day at Muna I saw my lord.

I am a stranger amongst you, therefore pity me!”

This couplet may have, like the puerilities of certain modern and

European poets, an abstruse and mystical

[p.224] meaning, to be discovered when the Arabs learn to write erudite

essays upon nursery rhymes. The style of saltation, called Rufayah,

rivalled the song. The dancers raised both arms above their heads,

brandishing a dagger, pistol, or some other small weapon. They followed

each other by hops, on one or both feet, sometimes indulging in the

most demented leaps; whilst the bystanders clapped with their palms a

more enlivening measure. This I was told is especially their war-dance.

They have other forms, which my eyes were not fated to see. Amongst the

Badawin of Al-Hijaz, unlike the Somali and other African races, the

sexes never mingle: the girls may dance together, but it would be

disgraceful to perform in the company of men.

After so much excitement we retired to rest, and slept soundly.

On Friday, the 12th Zu’l Hijjah, the camels appeared, according to order,

at early dawn, and they were loaded with little delay. We were anxious

to enter Meccah in time for the sermon, and I for one was eager to

escape the now pestilential air of Muna.

Literally, the land stank. Five or six thousand animals had been slain

and cut up in this Devil’s Punch-bowl. I leave the reader to imagine the

rest. The evil might be avoided by building abattoirs, or, more easily

still, by digging long trenches, and by ordering all pilgrims, under

pain of mulct, to sacrifice in the same place. Unhappily, the spirit of

Al-Islam is opposed to these precautions of common sense,—“Inshallah” and

“Kismat” must take the place of prevention and of cure. And at Meccah, the

head-quarters of the faith, a desolating attack of cholera is preferred

to the impiety of “flying in the face of Providence,” and the folly of

endeavouring to avert inevitable decrees.[FN#6]

[p.225] Mounting our camels, and led by Mas’ud, we entered Muna by the

eastern end, and from the litter threw the remaining twenty-one stones.

I could now see the principal lines of shops, and, having been led to

expect a grand display of merchandise, was surprised to find only

mat-booths and sheds, stocked chiefly with provisions. The exit from

Muna was crowded, for many, like ourselves, were flying from the

revolting scene. I could not think without pity of those whom religious

scruples detained another day and a half in this foul spot.

After entering Meccah we bathed, and when the noon drew nigh we

repaired to the Harim for the purpose of hearing the sermon. Descending

to the cloisters below the Bab al-Ziyadah, I stood wonder-struck by the

scene before me. The vast quadrangle was crowded with worshippers

sitting in long rows, and everywhere facing the central black tower:

the showy colours of their dresses were not to be surpassed by a garden

of the most brilliant flowers, and such diversity of detail would

probably not be seen massed together in any other building upon earth.

The women, a dull and sombre-looking group, sat apart in their peculiar

place. The Pasha stood on the roof of Zemzem, surrounded by guards in

Nizam uniform. Where the principal Olema stationed themselves, the

crowd was thicker; and in the more auspicious spots nought was to be

seen but a pavement of heads and shoulders. Nothing seemed to move but

a few Darwayshes, who, censer in hand, sidled through the rows and

received the unsolicited alms of the Faithful. Apparently in the midst,

and raised above the crowd by the tall, pointed pulpit, whose gilt

spire flamed in the sun, sat the preacher, an old man with snowy beard.

The style of head-dress

[p.226] called Taylasan[FN#7] covered his turband, which was white as

his robes,[FN#8] and a short staff supported his left hand.[FN#9]

Presently he arose, took the staff in his right hand, pronounced a few

inaudible words,[FN#10] and sat down again on one of the lower steps,

whilst a Mu’ezzin, at the foot of the pulpit, recited the call to sermon.

Then the old man stood up and began to preach. As the majestic figure

began to exert itself there was a deep silence. Presently a general “Amin”

was intoned by the crowd at the conclusion of some long sentence. And

at last, towards the end of the sermon, every third or fourth word was

followed by the simultaneous rise and fall of thousands of voices.

I have seen the religious ceremonies of many lands, but never—nowhere—aught

so solemn, so impressive as this.

[FN#1] It is not safe to perform this ceremony at an early hour,

although the ritual forbids it being deferred after sunset. A crowd of

women, however, assembled at the Devils in the earlier part of the 11th

night (our 10th); and these dames, despite the oriental modesty of

face-veils, attack a stranger with hands and stones as heartily as

English hop-gatherers hasten to duck the Acteon who falls in their way.

Hence, popular usage allows stones to be thrown by men until the

morning prayers of the 11th Zu’l Hijjah.

[FN#2] Traditions about these animals vary in the different parts of

Arabia. At Aden, for instance, they are supposed to be a remnant of the

rebellious tribe of ’ad. It is curious that the popular Arabic, like the

Persian names, Sa’adan, Maymun, Shadi, &c., &c., are all expressive of (a

probably euphuistic) “propitiousness.”

[FN#3] The Egyptians generally catch, train, and take them to the banks

of the Nile, where the “Kurayeati” (ape-leader) is a popular character.

[FN#4] This ceremony, as the reader will have perceived, is performed

by the Shafe’is on the 10th, the 11th, and the 12th of Zu’l Hijjah. The

Hanafis conclude their stoning on the 13th. The times vary with each

day, and differ considerably in religious efficacy. On the night of the

10th (our 9th), for instance, lapidation, according to some

authorities, cannot take place; others permit it, with a sufficient

reason. Between the dawn and sunrise it is Makruh, or disapproved of.

Between sunrise and the declination is the Sunnat-time, and therefore

the best. From noon to sunset it is Mubah, or permissible: the same is

the case with the night, if a cause exist. On the 11th and 12th of Zu’l

Hijjah lapidation is disapproved of from sunset to sunrise. The Sunnat

is from noon to sunset, and it is permissible at all other hours. The

number of stones thrown by the Shafe’is, is 49, viz., 7 on the 10th day,

7 at each pillar (total 21) on the 11th day, and the same on the 12th

Zu’l Hijjah. The Hanafis also throw 21 stones on the 13th, which raises

their number to 70. The first 7 bits of granite must be collected at

Muzdalifah; the rest may be taken from the Muna valley; and all must be

washed 7 times before being thrown. In throwing, the Hanafis attempt to

approach the pillar, if possible, standing within reach of it. Shafe’is

may stand at a greater distance, which should not, however, pass the

limits of 5 cubits.

[FN#5] Here called Safk. It is mentioned by Herodotus, and known to

almost every oriental people. The Badawin sometimes, though rarely, use

a table or kettledrum. Yet, amongst the “Pardah,” or miuscal modes of the

East, we find the Hijazi ranking with the Isfahani and the Iraki.

Southern Arabia has never been celebrated for producing musicians, like

the banks of the Tigris to which we owe, besides castanets and cymbals,

the guitar, the drum, and the lute, father of the modern harp. The name

of this instrument is a corruption of the Arabic “Al-’ud” ([Arabic text]),

through liuto and luth, into lute.

[FN#6] NOTE TO THIRD EDITION.—Since this was written there have been two

deadly epidemics, which began, it is reported, at Muna. The victims,

however, have never numbered 700,000, nor is “each pilgrim required to

sacrifice one animal at the shrine of Mohammed,”(!) as we find it in

“Cholera Prospects,” by Tilbury Fox, M.D. (Hardwicke).

[FN#7] A scarf thrown over the head, with one end brought round under

the chin and passed over the left shoulder composes the “Taylasan.”

[FN#8] As late as Ibn Jubayr’s time the preacher was habited from head to

foot in black; and two Mu’ezzins held black flags fixed in rings on both

sides of the pulpit, with the staves propped upon the first step.

[FN#9] Mr. Lane remarks, that the wooden sword is never held by the

preacher but in a country that has been won from infidels by Moslems.

Burckhardt more correctly traces the origin of the custom to the early

days of Al-Islam, when the preachers found it necessary to be prepared

for surprises. And all authors who, like Ibn Jubayr, described the

Meccan ceremonies, mention the sword or staff. The curious reader will

consult this most accurate of Moslem travellers; and a perusal of the

pages will show that anciently the sermon differed considerably from,

and was far more ceremonious than, the present Khutbah.

[FN#10] The words were “Peace be upon ye! and the Mercy of Allah and His

Blessings!”

[p.227] CHAPTER XXXII.

LIFE AT MECCAH, AND UMRAH, OR THE LITTLE PILGRIMAGE.

MY few remaining days at Meccah sped pleasantly enough. Omar Effendi

visited me regularly, and arranged to accompany me furtively to Cairo.

I had already consulted Mohammed Shiklibha—who suddenly appeared at Muna,

having dropped down from Suez to Jeddah, and having reached Meccah in

time for pilgrimage—about the possibility of proceeding Eastward. The

honest fellow’s eyebrows rose till they almost touched his turband, and

he exclaimed in a roaring voice, “Wallah! Effendi! thou art surely mad.”

Every day he brought me news of the different Caravans. The Badawin of

Al-Hijaz were, he said, in a ferment caused by the reports of the Holy

War, want of money, and rumours of quarrels between the Sharif and the

Pasha: already they spoke of an attack upon Jeddah. Shaykh Mas’ud, the

camel man, from whom I parted on the best of terms, seriously advised

my remaining at Meccah for some months even before proceeding to Sana’a.

Others gave the same counsel. Briefly I saw that my star was not then

in the ascendant, and resolved to reserve myself for a more propitious

conjuncture by returning to Egypt.

The Turkish colonel and I had become as friendly as two men ignoring

each other’s speech could be. He had derived benefit from some

prescription; but, like all his countrymen, he was pining to leave

Meccah.[FN#1] Whilst the

[p.228] pilgrimage lasted, said they, no mal de pays came to trouble

them; but, its excitement over, they could think of nothing but their

wives and children. Long-drawn faces and continual sighs evidenced

nostalgia. At last the house became a scene of preparation. Blue

chinaware and basketed bottles of Zemzem water appeared standing in

solid columns, and pilgrims occupied themselves in hunting for

mementoes of Meccah; ground-plans; combs, balm, henna, tooth-sticks;

aloes-wood, turquoises, coral, and mother-o’-pearl rosaries; shreds of

Kiswah-cloth and fine Abas, or cloaks of camels’-wool. It was not safe to

mount the stairs without shouting “Tarik” (Out of the way!) at every step,

on peril of meeting face to face some excited fair.[FN#2] The lower

floor was crowded with provision-vendors; and the staple article of

conversation seemed to be the chance of a steamer from Jeddah to Suez.

Weary of the wrangling and chaffering of the hall below, I had

persuaded my kind hostess, in spite of the surly skeleton her brother,

partially to clear out a small store-room in the first floor, and to

abandon it to me between the hours of ten and four. During the heat of

the day clothing is unendurable at Meccah. The city is so “compacted

together” by hills, that even the Samum can scarcely sweep it; the heat

reverberated by the bare rocks is intense, and the normal atmosphere of

an Eastern town communicates a faint lassitude to the body and

irritability to the mind. The houses being unusually strong and

well-built, might by some art of thermantidote be rendered cool enough

in the hottest weather:

[p.229] they are now ovens.[FN#3] It was my habit to retire immediately

after the late breakfast to the little room upstairs, to sprinkle it

with water, and to lie down on a mat. In the few precious moments of

privacy notes were committed to paper, but one eye was ever fixed on

the door. Sometimes a patient would interrupt me, but a doctor is far

less popular in Al-Hijaz than in Egypt. The people, being more healthy,

have less faith in physic: Shaykh Mas’ud and his son had never tasted in

their lives aught more medicinal than green dates and camel’s milk.

Occasionally the black slave-girls came into the room, asking if the

pilgrim wanted a pipe or a cup of coffee: they generally retired in a

state of delight, attempting vainly to conceal with a corner of

tattered veil a grand display of ivory consequent upon some small and

innocent facetiousness. The most frequent of my visitors was Abdullah,

the Kabirah’s eldest son. This melancholy Jacques had joined our caravan

at Al-Hamra, on the

[p.230] Yambu’ road, accompanied us to Al-Madinah, lived there, and

journeyed to Meccah with the Syrian pilgrimage; yet he had not once

come to visit me or to see his brother, the boy Mohammed. When gently

reproached for this omission, he declared it to be his way—that he never

called upon strangers until sent for. He was a perfect Saudawi

(melancholist) in mind, manners, and personal appearance, and this

class of humanity in the East is almost as uncomfortable to the

household as the idiot of Europe. I was frequently obliged to share my

meals with him, as his mother—though most filially and reverentially

entreated—would not supply him with breakfast two hours after the proper

time, or with a dinner served up forty minutes before the rest of the

household. Often, too, I had to curb, by polite deprecation, the

impetuosity of the fiery old Kabirah’s tongue. Thus Abdullah and I became

friends, after a fashion. He purchased several little articles

required, and never failed to pass hours in my closet, giving me much

information about the country; deploring the laxity of Meccan morals,

and lamenting that in these evil days his countrymen had forfeited

their name at Cairo and at Constantinople. His curiosity about the

English in India was great, and I satisfied it by praising, as a Moslem

would, their politike, their evenhanded justice, and their good star.

Then he would inquire into the truth of a fable extensively known on

the shores of the Mediterranean and of the Red Sea. The English, it is

said, sent a mission to Mohammed, inquiring into his doctrines, and

begging that the heroic Khalid bin Walid[FN#4] might be sent to

proselytise them. Unfortunately,

[p.231] the envoys arrived too late—the Prophet’s soul had winged its way

to Paradise. An abstract of the Moslem scheme was, however, sent to the

“Ingreez,” who declined, as the Founder of the New Faith was no more, to

abandon their own religion; but the refusal was accompanied with

expressions of regard. For this reason many Moslems in Barbary and

other countries hold the English to be of all “People of the Books” the

best inclined towards them. As regards the Prophet’s tradition concerning

the fall of his birthplace, “and the thin-calved from the Habash

(Abyssinians) shall destroy the Ka’abah,” I was informed that towards the

end of time a host will pass from Africa in such multitudes that a

stone shall be conveyed from hand to hand between Jeddah and Meccah.

This latter condition might easily be accomplished by sixty thousand

men, the distance being only forty-four miles, but the citizens

consider it to express a countless horde. Some pious Moslems have hoped

that in Abdullah bin Zubayr’s re-erection of the Ka’abah the prophecy was

fulfilled[FN#5]: the popular belief, however, remains that the fatal

event is still in the womb of time. In a previous part of this volume I

have alluded to similar evil presentiments which haunt the mind of

Al-Islam; and the Christian, zealous for the propagation of his faith,

may see in them an earnest of its still wider diffusion in future ages.

[FN#6]

Late in the afternoon I used to rise, perform ablution, and repair to

the Harim, or wander about the bazars till sunset. After this it was

necessary to return home and prepare for supper—dinner it would be called

in the West.

[p.232] The meal concluded, I used to sit for a time outside the

street-door in great dignity, upon a broken-backed black-wood chair,

traditionally said to have been left in the house by one of the princes

of Delhi, smoking a Shishah, and drinking sundry cups of strong green

tea with a slice of lime, a fair substitute for milk. At this hour the

seat was as in a theatre, but the words of the actors were of a nature

somewhat too Fescennine for a respectable public. After nightfall we

either returned to the Harim or retired to rest. Our common dormitory

was the flat roof of the house; under each cot stood a water-gugglet;

and all slept, as must be done in the torrid lands, on and not in bed.

I sojourned at Meccah but a short time, and, as usual with travellers,

did not see the best specimens of the population. The citizens appeared

to me more civilised and more vicious than those of Al-Madinah. They

often leave

“Home, where small experience grows,”

and—qui multum peregrinatur, raro sanctificatur—become a worldly-wise,

God-forgetting, and Mammonish sort of folk. Tuf w’ asaa, w’ aamil

al-saba—“Circumambulate and run (i.e. between Safa and Marwah) and commit

the Seven (deadly sins)”—is a satire popularly levelled against them.

Hence, too, the proverb Al-haram f’ il Haramayn—“Evil (dwelleth) in the two

Holy Cities”; and no wonder, since plenary indulgence is so easily

secured.[FN#7] The pilgrim is forbidden, or rather dissuaded, from

abiding at Meccah after the rites, and wisely. Great emotions must be

followed by a re-action. And he who stands struck by the first aspect

of Allah’s house, after a few months, the marvel waxing stale, sweeps

past with indifference or something worse.

[p.233] There is, however, little at Meccah to offend the eye. As among

certain nations further West, a layer of ashes overspreads the fire:

the mine is concealed by a green turf fair to look upon. It is only

when wandering by starlight through the northern outskirts of the town

that citizens may be seen with light complexions and delicate limbs,

coarse turbands, and Egyptian woollen robes, speaking disguise and the

purpose of disguise. No one within the memory of man has suffered the

penalty of immorality. Spirituous liquors are no longer sold, as in

Burckhardt’s day,[FN#8] in shops; and some Arnaut officers assured me

that they found considerable difficulty in smuggling flasks of Araki

from Jeddah.

The Meccan is a darker man than the Madinite. The people explain this

by the heat of the climate. I rather believe it to be caused by the

number of female slaves that find their way into the market. Gallas,

Sawahilis, a few Somalis, and Abyssinians are embarked at Suakin,

Zayla, Tajurrah, and Berberah, carried in thousands to Jeddah, and the

Holy City has the pick of every batch. Thence the stream sets

Northwards, a small current towards Al-Madinah, and the main line to

Egypt and Turkey.[FN#9]

Most Meccans have black concubines, and, as has been said, the

appearance of the Sharif is almost that of a negro. I did not see one

handsome man in the Holy City, although some of the women appeared to

me beautiful. The male profile is high and bony, the forehead recedes,

and the head rises unpleasantly towards the region of firmness. In most

families male children, when forty days old, are taken to the Ka’abah,

prayed over, and carried home, where the barber draws with a razor

three parallel gashes

[p.234] down the fleshy portion of each cheek, from the exterior angles

of the eyes almost to the corners of the mouth. These Mashali, as they

are called,[FN#10] may be of modern date: the citizens declare that the

custom was unknown to their ancestors. I am tempted to assign to it a

high antiquity, and cannot but attribute a pagan origin to a custom

still prevailing, despite all the interdictions of the Olema. In point

of figure the Meccan is somewhat coarse and lymphatic. The ludicrous

leanness of the outward man, as described by Ali Bey, survives only in

the remnants of themselves belonging to a bygone century. The young men

are rather stout and athletic, but in middle age—when man “swills and

swells”—they are apt to degenerate into corpulence.

The Meccan is a covetous spendthrift. His wealth, lightly won, is

lightly prized. Pay, pension, stipends, presents, and the Ikram, here,

as at Al-Madinah, supply the citizen with the means of idleness. With

him everything is on the most expensive scale, his marriage, his

religious ceremonies, and his household expenses. His

[p.235] house is luxuriously furnished; entertainments are frequent,

and the junketings of his women make up a heavy bill at the end of the

year. It is a common practice for the citizen to anticipate the

pilgrimage season by falling into the hands of the usurer. If he be in

luck, he catches and “skins” one or more of the richest Hajis. On the other

hand, should fortune fail him, he will feel for life the effect of

interest running on at the rate of at least fifty per cent., the simple

and the compound forms of which are equally familiar to the wily

Sarraf.[FN#11]

The most unpleasant peculiarities of the Meccan[s][FN#12] are their

pride and coarseness of language. Looking upon themselves as the cream

of earth’s sons, they resent with extreme asperity the least slighting

word concerning the Holy City and its denizens. They plume themselves

upon their holy descent, their exclusion of Infidels,[FN#13] their

strict fastings, their learned men, and their purity of

language.[FN#14] In fact, their pride shows itself at every moment;

[p.236] but it is not the pride which makes a man too proud to do “dirty

work.” My predecessor did not remark their scurrility: he seems, on the

contrary, rather to commend them for respectability in this point. If

he be correct, the present generation has degenerated. The Meccans

appeared to me distinguished, even in this foul-mouthed East, by the

superior licentiousness of their language. Abuse was bad enough in the

streets, but in the house it became intolerable. The Turkish pilgrims

remarked, but they were too proud to notice it. The boy Mohammed and

one of his tall cousins at last transgressed the limits of my

endurance. They had been reviling each other vilely one day at the

house-door about dawn, when I administered the most open reprimand: “In

my country (Afghanistan) we hold this to be the hour of prayer, the

season of good thoughts, when men remember Allah; even the Kafir doth

not begin the day with curses and abuse.” The people around approved, and

the offenders could not refrain from saying, “Thou hast spoken truth, O

Effendi!” Then the bystanders began, as usual, to “improve the occasion.” “See,”

they exclaimed, “this Sulaymani gentleman, he is not the Son of a Holy

City, and yet he teacheth you—ye, the children of the Prophet!—repent and

fear Allah!” They replied, “Verily we do repent, and Allah is a Pardoner

and the Merciful!”—were silent for an hour, and then abused each other more

foully than before. Yet it is a good point in the Meccan character,

that it is open to reason, it can confess itself

[p.237] in error, and it displays none of that doggedness of vice which

distinguishes the sinner of a more stolid race. Like the people of

Southern Europe, the Semite is easily managed by a jest: though grave

and thoughtful, he is by no means deficient in the sly wit which we

call humour, and the solemn gravity of his words contrasts amusingly

with his ideas. He particularly excels in the Cervantic art, the spirit

of which, says Sterne, is to clothe low subjects in sublime language.

In Mohammed’s life we find that he by no means disdained a joke,

sometimes a little hasarde, as in the case of the Paradise-coveting old

woman. The redeeming qualities of the Meccan are his courage, his

bonhommie, his manly suavity of manners, his fiery sense of honour, his

strong family affections, his near approach to what we call patriotism,

and his general knowledge: the reproach of extreme ignorance which

Burckhardt directs against the Holy City has long ago sped to the Limbo

of things that were. The dark half of the picture is formed by pride,

bigotry, irreligion, greed of gain, immorality, and prodigal

ostentation. Of the pilgrimage ceremonies I cannot speak harshly. It

may be true that “the rites of the Ka’abah, emasculated of every idolatrous

tendency, still hang a strange unmeaning shroud around the living

theism of Islam.” But what nation, either in the West or in the East, has

been able to cast out from its ceremonies every suspicion of its old

idolatry? What are the English mistletoe, the Irish wake, the Pardon of

Brittany, the Carnival, and the Worship at Iserna? Better far to

consider the Meccan pilgrimage rites in the light of Evil-worship

turned into lessons of Good than to philosophize about their

strangeness, and to blunder in asserting them to be insignificant. Even

the Badawi circumambulating the Ka’abah fortifies his wild belief by the

fond thought that he treads the path of “Allah’s friend.”

At Arafat the good Moslem worships in imitation of

[p.238] the “Pure of Allah[FN#15]”; and when hurling stones and curses at

three senseless little buttresses which commemorate the appearance of

the fiend, the materialism of the action gives to its sentiment all the

strength and endurance of reality. The supernatural agencies of

pilgrimage are carefully and sparingly distributed. The angels who

restore the stones from Muna to Muzdalifah; the heavenly host whose

pinions cause the Ka’abah’s veil to rise and to wave, and the mysterious

complement of the pilgrim’s total at the Arafat sermon, all belong to the

category of spiritual creatures walking earth unseen,—a poetical tenet,

not condemned by Christianity. The Meccans are, it is true, to be

reproached with their open Mammon-worship, at times and at places the

most sacred and venerable; but this has no other effect upon the

pilgrims than to excite disgust and open reprehension. Here, however,

we see no such silly frauds as heavenly fire drawn from a

phosphor-match; nor do two rival churches fight in the flesh with teeth

and nails, requiring the contemptuous interference of an infidel power

to keep around order. Here we see no fair dames staring with their

glasses, braques at the Head of the Church; or supporting exhausted

nature with the furtive sandwich; or carrying pampered curs who, too

often, will not be silent; or scrambling and squeezing to hear

theatrical music, reckless of the fate of the old lady who—on such

occasions there is always one—has been “thrown down and cruelly trampled

upon by the crowd.” If the Meccan citizens are disposed to scoff at the

wild Takruri, they do it not so publicly or shamelessly as the Roman

jeering with ribald jest at the fanaticism of strangers from the bogs

of Ireland. Finally, at Meccah there is nothing theatrical, nothing

that suggests the opera; but all is simple and impressive, filling the

mind with

“A weight of awe not easy to be borne,”

and tending, I believe, after its fashion, to good.

[p.239] As regards the Meccan and Moslem belief that Abraham and his

son built the Ka’abah, it may be observed the Genesitic account of the

Great Patriarch has suggested to learned men the idea of two Abrahams,

one the son of Terah, another the son of Azar (fire), a Prometheus who

imported civilisation and knowledge into Arabia from Harran, the sacred

centre of Sabaean learning.[FN#16] Moslem historians all agree in

representing Abraham as a star-worshipper in youth, and Eusebius calls

the patriarch son of Athar; his father’s name, therefore, is no Arab

invention. Whether Ishmael or his sire ever visited Meccah to build the

Ka’abah is, in my humble opinion, an open question. The Jewish Scripture

informs us only that the patriarch dwelt at Beersheba and Gerar, in the

south-west of Palestine, without any allusion to the annual visit which

Moslems declare he paid to their Holy City. At the same time Arab

tradition speaks clearly and consistently upon the subject, and

generally omits those miraculous and superstitious adjuncts which cast

shadows of sore doubt upon the philosophic mind.

The amount of risk which a stranger must encounter at the pilgrimage

rites is still considerable. A learned Orientalist and divine intimated

his intention, in a work

[p.240] published but a few years ago, of visiting Meccah without

disguise. He was assured that the Turkish governor would now offer no

obstacle to a European traveller. I would strongly dissuade a friend

from making the attempt. It is true that the Frank is no longer, as in

Captain Head’s day,[FN#17] insulted when he ventures out of the Meccan

Gate of Jeddah; and that our Vice-Consuls and travellers are allowed,

on condition that their glance do not pollute the shrine, to visit Taif

and the regions lying Eastward of the Holy City. Neither the Pasha nor

the Sharif would, in these days, dare to enforce, in the case of an

Englishman, the old law, a choice thrice offered between circumcision

and death. But the first Badawi who caught sight of the Frank’s hat would

not deem himself a man if he did not drive a bullet through the wearer’s

head. At the pilgrimage season disguise is easy on account of the vast

and varied multitudes which visit Meccah exposing the traveller only to

“stand the buffet with knaves who smell of sweat.” But woe to the

unfortunate who happens to be recognised in public as an Infidel—unless

at least he could throw himself at once upon the protection of the

government.[FN#18] Amidst, however, a crowd of pilgrims, whose

fanaticism is worked up to the highest pitch, detection would probably

ensure his dismissal at once al numero de’ piu. Those who find danger the

salt of pleasure may visit Meccah; but if asked whether the results

justify the risk, I should reply in the negative. And the Vice-Consul

at Jeddah would only do his duty in peremptorily forbidding European

travellers to attempt Meccah without disguise, until the day comes when

such steps can be taken in the certainty of not causing a mishap;

[p.241] an accident would not redound to our reputation, as we could

not in justice revenge it.[FN#19]

On the 14th Zu’l Hijjah we started to perform the rite of Umrah, or

Little Pilgrimage. After performing ablution, and resuming the Ihram

with the usual ceremonies, I set out, accompanied by the boy Mohammed

and his brother Abdullah. Mounting asses which resembled mules in size

and speed,[FN#20] we rode to the Harim, and prayed there. Again

remounting, we issued through the Bab al-Safa towards the open country

north-east of the city. The way was crowded with pilgrims, on foot as

well as mounted, and their loud Labbayk distinguished those engaged in

the Umrah rite from the many whose business was with the camp of the

Damascus Caravan. At about half a mile from the city we passed on the

left a huge heap of stones, where my companions stood and cursed. This

grim-looking cairn is popularly believed to note the place of the well

where Abu Lahab laid an ambuscade for the Prophet. This wicked uncle

stationed there a slave, with orders to throw headlong into the pit the

first person who

[p.242] approached him, and privily persuaded his nephew to visit the

spot at night: after a time, anxiously hoping to hear that the deed had

been done, Abu Lahab incautiously drew nigh, and was precipitated by

his own bravo into the place of destruction.[FN#21] Hence the

well-known saying in Islam, “Whoso diggeth a well for his brother shall

fall into it himself.” We added our quota of stones,[FN#22] and

proceeding, saw the Jeddah road spanning the plain like a white ribbon.

In front of us the highway was now lined with coffee-tents, before

which effeminate dancing-boys performed to admiring Syrians; a small

whitewashed “Bungalow,” the palace of the Emir al-Hajj, lay on the left,

and all around it clustered the motley encampment of his pilgrims.

After cantering about three miles from the city, we reached the

Alamayn, or two pillars that limit the Sanctuary; and a little beyond

it is the small settlement popularly called Al-Umrah.[FN#23]

Dismounting here, we

[p.243] sat down on rugs outside a coffee-tent to enjoy the beauty of

the moonlit night, and an hour of Kayf, in the sweet air of the Desert.

Presently the coffee-tent keeper, after receiving payment, brought us

water for ablution. This preamble over, we entered the principal

chapel; an unpretending building, badly lighted, spread with dirty

rugs, full of pilgrims, and offensively close. Here we prayed the Isha,

or night devotions, and then a two-bow prayer in honour of the

Ihram,[FN#24] after which we distributed gratuities to the guardians,

and alms to the importunate beggars. And now I perceived the object of

Abdullah’s companionship. The melancholy man assured me that he had

ridden out for love of me, and in order to perform as Wakil

(substitute) a vicarious pilgrimage for my parents. Vainly I assured

him that they had been strict in the exercises of their faith. He would

take no denial, and I perceived that love of me meant love of my

dollars. With a surly assent, he was at last permitted to act for the

“pious pilgrim Yusuf (Joseph) bin Ahmad and Fatimah bint Yunus,”—my

progenitors. It was impossible to prevent smiling at contrasts, as

Abdullah, gravely raising his hands, and directing his face to the

Ka’abah, intoned, “I do vow this Ihram of Umrah in the name of Yusuf Son of

Ahmad, and Fatimah Daughter of Yunus; then render it attainable unto

them, and accept it of them! Bismillah! Allaho Akbar!”

[p.244] Remounting, we galloped towards Meccah, shouting Labbayk, and

halting at every half-mile to smoke and drink coffee. In a short time

we entered the city, and repairing to the Harim by the Safa Gate,

performed the Tawaf, or circumambulation of Umrah. After this dull

round and necessary repose we left the temple by the same exit, and

mounting once more, turned towards Al-Safa, which stands about a

hundred yards South-East of the Mosque, and as little deserves its name

of “Mountain” as do those that undulate the face of modern Rome. The Safa

end is closed by a mean-looking building, composed of three round

arches, with a dwarf flight of stairs leading up to them out of a

narrow road. Without dismounting, we wheeled our donkeys[FN#25] round,

“left shoulders forward,” no easy task in the crowd, and, vainly striving

to sight the Ka’abah through the Bab al-Safa, performed the Niyat, or vow

of the rite Al-Sai, or the running.[FN#26] After Tahlil, Takbir, and

Talbiyat, we raised our hands in the supplicatory position, and twice

repeated,[FN#27] “There is no god but Allah, Alone, without Partner; His

is the Kingdom, unto Him be Praise; He giveth Life and Death, He is

alive and perisheth not; in His Hand is Good, and He over all Things is

Omnipotent.” Then, with the donkey-boys leading our animals and a stout

fellow preceding us with lantern and a quarter-staff to keep off the

running Badawin, camel-men, and riders of asses, we descended Safa, and

walked slowly down the street Al-Massa, towards Marwah.[FN#28]

[p.245] During our descent we recited aloud, “O Allah, cause me to act

according to the Sunnat of Thy Prophet, and to die in His faith, and

defend me from errors and disobedience by Thy Mercy, O most Merciful of

the Merciful!” Arrived at what is called the Batn al-Wady (Belly of the

Vale), a place now denoted by the Milayn al-Akhzarayn (the two green

pillars[FN#29]), one fixed in the Eastern course of the Harim, the

other in a house on the right side,[FN#30] we began the running by

urging on our beasts. Here the prayer was, “O Lord, pardon and pity, and

pass over what Thou knowest, for Thou art the most dear and the most

generous! Save us from Hell-fire safely, and cause us safely to enter

Paradise! O Lord, give us Happiness here and Happiness hereafter, and

spare us the Torture of the Flames!” At the end of this supplication we

had passed the Batn, or lowest ground, whose farthest limits were

marked by two other pillars.[FN#31] Again we began to ascend,

repeating, as we went, “Verily, Safa and Marwah are two of the Monuments

of Allah. Whoso, therefore, pilgrimeth to the Temple of Meccah, or

performeth Umrah, it shall be no Crime in him (to run between them

both). And as for him who voluntarily doeth a good Deed, verily Allah

is Grateful and Omniscient[FN#32]!” At length we reached Marwah, a little

rise like Safa in the lower slope of Abu Kubays. The houses cluster in

amphitheatre shape above it, and from the Masa’a, or street below, a

short flight of steps to a platform, bounded on three sides like a

tennis-court, by tall walls without arches. The

[p.246] street, seen from above, has a bowstring curve: it is between

eight and nine hundred feet long,[FN#33] with high houses on both

sides, and small lanes branching off from it. At the foot of the

platform we brought “right shoulders forward,” so as to face the Ka’abah, and

raising hands to ears, thrice exclaimed, “Allaho Akbar.” This concluded the

first course, and, of these, seven compose the ceremony Al-Sai, or the

running. There was a startling contrast with the origin of this

ceremony,—

“When the poor outcast on the cheerless wild,

Arabia’s parent, clasped her fainting child,”—

as the Turkish infantry marched, in European dress, with sloped arms,

down the Masa’a to relieve guard. By the side of the half-naked, running

Badawin, they look as if Epochs, disconnected by long centuries, had

met. A laxity, too, there was in the frequent appearance of dogs upon

this holy and most memorial ground, which said little in favour of the

religious strictness of the administration.[FN#34]

Our Sai ended at Mount Marwah. There we dismounted, and sat outside a

barber’s shop, on the right-hand of the street. He operated upon our

heads, causing us to repeat, “O Allah, this my Forelock is in Thy Hand,

then grant me for every Hair a light on the Resurrection-day, O Most

Merciful of the Merciful!” This, and the paying for it, constituted the

fourth portion of the Umrah, or Little Pilgrimage.

Throwing the skirts of our garments over our heads, to show

that our “Ihram” was now exchanged for the normal state, “Ihlal,” we cantered

to the Harim, prayed there a two-bow prayer, and returned home not a

little fatigued.

[FN#1] Not more than one-quarter of the pilgrims who appear at Arafat

go on to Al-Madinah: the expense, the hardships, and the dangers of the

journey account for the smallness of the number. In theology it is “Jaiz,”

or admissible, to begin with the Prophet’s place of burial. But those

performing the “Hajjat al-Islam” are enjoined to commence at Meccah.

[FN#2] When respectable married men live together in the same house, a

rare occurrence, except on journeys, this most ungallant practice of

clearing the way is and must be kept up in the East.

[FN#3] I offer no lengthened description of the town of Meccah: Ali Bey

and Burckhardt have already said all that requires saying. Although the

origin of the Bayt Ullah be lost in the glooms of past time, the city

is a comparatively modern place, built about A.D. 450, by Kusay and the

Kuraysh. It contains about 30,000 to 45,000 inhabitants, with lodging

room for at least treble that number; and the material of the houses is

brick, granite, and sandstone from the neighbouring hills. The site is

a winding valley, on a small plateau, half-way “below the Ghauts.” Its

utmost length is two miles and a half from the Mab’dah (North) to the

Southern mount Jiyad; and three-quarters of a mile would be the extreme

breadth between Abu Kubays Eastward,—upon whose Western slope the most

solid mass of the town clusters,—and Jabal Hindi Westward of the city. In

the centre of this line stands the Ka’abah. I regret being unable to

offer the reader a sketch of Meccah, or of the Great Temple. The

stranger who would do this should visit the city out of the pilgrimage

season, and hire a room looking into the quadrangle of the Harim. This

addition to our knowledge is the more required, as our popular sketches

(generally taken from D’Ohsson) are utterly incorrect. The Ka’abah is

always a recognisable building; but the “View of Meccah” known to Europe is

not more like Meccah than like Cairo or Bombay.

[FN#4] It is curious that the Afghans should claim this Kuraysh noble

as their compatriot. “On one occasion, when Khalid bin Walid was saying

something in his native tongue (the Pushtu or Afghani), Mohammed

remarked that assuredly that language was the peculiar dialect of the

damned. As Khalid appeared to suffer from the observation, and to

betray certain symptoms of insubordination, the Prophet condescended to

comfort him by graciously pronouncing the words “Ghashe linda raora,” i.e.,

bring me my bow and arrows. (Remarks on Dr. Dorn’s Chrestomathy of the

Pushtu or Afghan Language. Trans. Bombay As. Society, 1848.)

[FN#5] See the ninth building of the Ka’abah, described in chap. iv.

[FN#6] It requires not the ken of a prophet to foresee the day when

political necessity—sternest of [Greek]!—will compel us to occupy in force

the fountain-head of Al-Islam.

[FN#7] Good acts done at Meccah are rewarded a hundred-thousand-fold in

heaven; yet it is not auspicious to dwell there. Omar informs us that

an evil deed receives the punishment of seventy.

[FN#8] It must be remembered that my predecessor visited Meccah when

the Egyptian army, commanded by Mohammed Ali, held the town.

[FN#9] In another place I have ventured a few observations concerning

the easy suppression of this traffic.

[FN#10] The act is called “Tashrit,” or gashing. The body is also marked,

but with smaller cuts, so that the child is covered with blood. Ali Bey

was told by some Meccans that the face-gashes served for the purpose of

phlebotomy, by others that they were signs that the scarred was the

servant of Allah’s house. He attributes this male-gashing, like

female-tat[t]ooing, to coquetry. The citizens told me that the custom

arose from the necessity of preserving children from the kidnapping

Persians, and that it is preserved as a mark of the Holy City. But its

wide diffusion denotes an earlier origin. Mohammed expressly forbad his

followers to mark the skin with scars. These “beauty marks” are common to

the nations in the regions to the West of the Red Sea. The Barabarah of

Upper Egypt adorn their faces with scars exactly like the Meccans. The

Abyssinians moxa themselves in hetacombs for fashion’s sake. I have seen

cheeks gashed, as in the Holy City, among the Gallas. Certain races of

the Sawahil trace around the head a corona of little cuts, like those

of a cupping instrument. And, to quote no other instances, some Somalis

raise ghastly seams upon their chocolate-coloured skins.

[FN#11] Sayrafi, money-changer; Sarraf, banker; the Indian “Shroff,”

banker, money-changer, and usurer.

[FN#12] When speaking of the Meccans I allude only to the section of

society which fell under my observation, and that more extensive

division concerning which I obtained notices that could be depended

upon.

[FN#13] The editor of Burckhardt’s “Travels in Arabia” supposes that his

author’s “sect of light extinguishers” were probably Parsees from Surat or

Bombay. The mistake is truly ludicrous, for no pious Parsee will

extinguish a light. Moreover, infidels are not allowed by law to pass

the frontiers of the Sanctuary. The sect alluded to is an obscure

heresy in Central Asia; and concerning it the most improbable scandals

have been propagated by the orthodox.

[FN#14] It is strange how travellers and linguists differ upon the

subject of Arabic and its dialects. Niebuhr compares their relation to

that of Provençal, Spanish, and Italian, whereas Lane declares the

dialects to resemble each other more than those of some different

counties in England. Herbin (Grammar) draws a broad line between

ancient and modern Arabic; but Hochst (Nachrichten von Marokos und Fez)

asserts that the difference is not so great as is imagined. Perhaps the

soundest opinion is that proposed by Clodius, in his “Arabic Grammar”:

“dialectus Arabum vulgaris tantum differt ab erudita, quantum Isocrates

dictio ab hodierna lingua Græca.” But it must be remembered that the Arabs

divide their spoken and even written language into two orders, the “Kalam

Wati,” or vulgar tongue, sometimes employed in epistolary correspondence,

and the “Nahwi,” or grammatical and classical language. Every man of

education uses the former, and can use the latter. And the Koran is no

more a model of Arabic (as it is often assumed to be) than “Paradise Lost”

is of English. Inimitable, no man imitates them.

[FN#15] Safi Ullah—Adam.

[FN#16] The legend that Abraham was the “Son of Fire” might have arisen

from his birthplace, Ur of the Chaldees. This Ur (whence the Latin uro)

becomes in Persian Hir; in Arabic Irr or Arr. It explains the origin of

“Orotalt” better than by means of “Allahu Ta’ala.” This word, variously spelt

Ourotalt, Orotalt, and Orotal (the latter would be the masculine form

in Arabic), is Urrat-ilat, or the goddess of fire, most probably the

Sun (Al-Shams) which the Semites make a feminine. Forbiggen translates

it Sonnen-gott, an error of gender, as the final consonant proves. The

other deity of pagan Arabia, Alilat, is clearly Al-Lat. May not the

Phoenicians have supplied the word “Irr,” which still survives in Erin and

in Ireland? even so they gave to the world the name of Britain,

Brettainke, Barrat et Tanuki ([Arabic lettering]), the land of tin. And

I should more readily believe that Eeran is the land of fire, than

accept its derivation from Eer (vir) a man.

[FN#17] Captain C. F. Head, author of “Eastern and Egyptian Scenery,” was,

as late as A.D. 1829, pelted by the Badawin, because he passed the

Eastern gate of Jeddah in a Frankish dress.

[FN#18] The best way would be to rush, if possible, into a house; and

the owner would then, for his own interest, as well as honour, defend a

stranger till assistance could be procured.

[FN#19] Future pilgrims must also remember that the season is gradually

receding towards the heart of the hot weather. For the next fifteen

years, therefore, an additional risk will attend the traveller.

[FN#20] Pliny is certainly right about this useful quadruped and its

congeners, the zebra and the wild ass, in describing it as “animal

frigoris maxime impatiens.” It degenerates in cold regions, unless, as in

Afghanistan and Barbary, there be a long, hot, and dry summer. Aden,

Cutch, and Baghdad have fine breeds, whereas those of India and

South-Eastern Africa are poor and weak. The best and the highest-priced

come from the Maghrib, and second to them ranks the Egyptian race. At

Meccah careful feeding and kind usage transform the dull slave into an

active and symmetrical friend of man: he knows his owner’s kind voice,

and if one of the two fast, it is generally the biped. The asses of the

Holy City are tall and plump, with sleek coats, generally ash or

grey-coloured, the eyes of deer, heads gracefully carried, an ambling

gait, and extremely sure-footed. They are equal to great fatigue, and

the stallions have been known, in their ferocity, to kill the groom.

The price varies from 25 to 150 dollars.

[FN#21] Such is the popular version of the tale, which differs in some

points from that recorded in books. Others declare that here, in days

gone by, stood the house of another notorious malignant, Abu Jahl.

Some, again, suppose that in this place a tyrannical governor of Meccah

was summarily “lynched” by the indignant populace. The first two

traditions, however, are the favourites, the vulgar—citizens, as well as

pilgrims—loving to connect such places with the events of their early

sacred history. Even in the twelfth century we read that pilgrims used

to cast stones at two cairns, covering the remains of Abu Lahab, and

the beautiful termagant, his wife.

[FN#22] Certain credulous authors have contrasted these heaps with the

clear ground at Muna, for the purpose of a minor miracle. According to

them this cairn steadily grows, as we may believe it would; and that,

were it not for the guardian angels, the millions of little stones

annually thrown at the devils would soon form a mass of equal

magnitude. This custom of lapidation, in token of hate, is an ancient

practice, still common in the East. Yet, in some parts of Arabia,

stones are thrown at tombs as a compliment to the tenant. And in the

Somali country, the places where it is said holy men sat, receive the

same doubtful homage.

[FN#23] It is called in books Al-Tanim (bestowing plenty); a word which

readers must not confound with the district of the same name in the

province Khaulan (made by Niebuhr the “Thumna,” “Thomna,” or “Tamna,” capital of

the Catabanites). Other authors apply Al-Tanim to the spot where Abu

Lahab is supposed to lie. There are two places called Al-Umrah near

Meccah. The Kabir, or greater, is, I am told, in the Wady Fatimah, and

the Prophet ordered Ayishah and her sister to begin the ceremonies at

that place. It is now visited by picnic parties and those who would

pray at the tomb of Maimunah, one of the Prophet’s wives. Modern pilgrims

commence always, I am told, at the Umrah Saghir (the Lesser), which is

about half-way nearer the city.

[FN#24] Some assume the Ihram garb at this place.

[FN#25] We had still the pretext of my injured foot. When the Sai rite

is performed, as it should be, by a pedestrian, he mounts the steps to

about the height of a man, and then turns towards the temple.

[FN#26] I will not trouble the reader with this Niyat, which is the

same as that used in the Tawaf rite.

[FN#27] Almost every Mutawwif, it must be remembered, has his own set

of prayers.

[FN#28] “Safa” means a large, hard rock; “Marwah,” hard, white flints, full of

fire.

[FN#29] In former times a devastating torrent used to sweep this place

after rains. The Fiumara bed has now disappeared, and the pillars are

used as landmarks. Galland observes that these columns are planted upon

the place which supported Eve’s knees, when, after 300 years’ separation,

she was found by Adam.

[FN#30] This house is called in books Rubat al-Abbas.

[FN#31] Here once stood “As’af” and “Naylah,” two idols, some say a man and a

woman metamorphosed for stupration in the Temple.

[FN#32] Koran, chap. ii.

[FN#33] Ibn Jubayr gives 893 steps: other authorities make the distance

780 short cubits, the size of an average man’s forearm.

[FN#34] The ceremony of running between Safa and Marwah is supposed to

represent Hagar seeking water for her son. Usually pilgrims perform

this rite on the morning of visiting the Ka’aba.

[p.247] CHAPTER XXXIII.

PLACES OF PIOUS VISITATION AT MECCAH.

THE traveller has little work at the Holy City. With exceptions of

Jabal Nur and Jabal Saur,[FN#1] all the places of pious visitation lie

inside or close outside the city. It is well worth the while to ascend

Abu Kubays; not so much to inspect the Makan al-Hajar and the Shakk

al-Kamar,[FN#2] as to obtain an excellent bird’s-eye view of the Harim

and the parts adjacent.[FN#3]

The boy Mohammed had applied himself sedulously to commerce after his

return home; and had actually been seen by Shaykh Nur sitting in a shop

and selling small curiosities. With my plenary consent I was made

[p.248] over to Abdullah, his brother. On the morning of the 15th Zu’l

Hijjah (19th Sept.) he hired two asses, and accompanied me as guide to

the holy places.

Mounting our animals, we followed the road before described to the

Jannat al-Ma’ala, the sacred cemetery of Meccah. A rough wall, with a

poor gateway, encloses a patch of barren and grim-looking ground, at

the foot of the chain which bounds the city’s western suburb, and below

Al-Akabah, the gap through which Khalid bin Walid entered Meccah with

the triumphant Prophet.[FN#4] Inside are a few ignoble, whitewashed

domes: all are of modern construction, for here, as at Al-Bakia,

further north, the Wahhabis indulged their levelling

propensities.[FN#5] The rest of the ground shows some small enclosures

belonging to particular houses,—equivalent to our family vaults,—and the

ruins of humble tombs, lying in confusion, whilst a few parched aloes

spring from between the bricks and stones.[FN#6]

[p.249] The cemetery is celebrated in local history: here the body of

Abdullah bin Zubayr was exposed by order of Hajjaj bin Yusuf; and the

number of saints buried in it has been so numerous, that even in the

twelfth century many had fallen into oblivion. It is visited by the

citizens on Fridays, and by women on Thursdays, to prevent that meeting

of sexes which in the East is so detrimental to public decorum. I shall

be sparing in my description of the Ma’ala ceremonies, as the prayers,

prostrations, and supplications are almost identical with those

performed at Al-Bakia.

After a long supplication, pronounced standing at the doorway, we

entered, and sauntered about the burial-ground. On the left of the road

stood an enclosure, which, according to Abdullah, belonged to his

family. The door and stone slabs, being valuable to the poor, had been

removed, and the graves of his forefathers appeared to have been

invaded by the jackal. He sighed, recited a Fatihah with tears in his

eyes, and hurried me away from the spot.

The first dome which we visited covered the remains of Abd al-Rahman,

the son of Abu Bakr, one of the Worthies of Al-Islam, equally respected

by Sunni and by Shi’ah. The tomb was a simple catafalque, spread with the

usual cloth. After performing our devotions at this grave, and

distributing a few piastres to guardians and beggars, we crossed the

main path, and found ourselves at the door of the cupola, beneath which

sleeps the venerable Khadijah, Mohammed’s first wife. The tomb was

covered with a green cloth, and the walls of the little building were

decorated with written specimens of religious poetry. A little beyond

it, we were shown into another dome, the resting-place of Sitt Aminah,

the Prophet’s mother.[FN#7] Burckhardt chronicles its ill-usage by

[p.250] the fanatic Wahhabis: it has now been rebuilt in that frugal

style that characterizes the architecture of Al-Hijaz. An exceedingly

garrulous old woman came to the door, invited us in, and superintended

our devotions; at the end of which she sprinkled rosewater upon my

face. When asked for a cool draught, she handed me a metal saucer,

whose contents smelt strongly of mastic, earnestly directing me to

drink it in a sitting posture. This tomb she informed us is the

property of a single woman, who visits it every evening, receives the

contributions of the Faithful, prays, sweeps the pavement, and dusts

the furniture. We left five piastres for this respectable maiden, and

gratified the officious crone with another shilling. She repaid us by

signalling to some score of beggars that a rich pilgrim had entered the

Ma’ala, and their importunities fairly drove me out of the hallowed walls.

Leaving the Jannat al-Ma’ala, we returned towards the town, and halted on

the left side of the road, at a mean building called the Masjid al-Jinn

(of the Genii). Here was revealed the seventy-second chapter of the

Koran, called after the name of the mysterious fire-drakes who paid

fealty to the Prophet. Descending a flight of steps,—for this Mosque,

like all ancient localities at Meccah, is as much below as above

ground,—we entered a small apartment containing water-pots for drinking

and all the appurtenances of ablution. In it is shown the Mauza

al-Khatt (place of the writing), where Mohammed wrote a letter to Abu

Mas’ud after the homage of the Jinnis. A second and interior flight of

stone steps led to another diminutive oratory, where the Prophet used

to pray and receive the archangel Gabriel. Having performed a pair of

bows, which caused the perspiration

[p.251 to burst forth as if in a Russian bath, I paid a few piastres,

and issued from the building with much satisfaction.

We had some difficulty in urging our donkeys through the crowded

street, called the Zukak al-Hajar. Presently we arrived at the Bayt

al-Nabi, the Prophet’s old house, in which he lived with the Sitt

Khadijah. Here, says Burckhardt, the Lady Fatimah first saw the

light[FN#8]; and here, according to Ibn Jubayr, Hasan and Hosayn were

born. Dismounting at the entrance, we descended a deep flight of steps,

and found ourselves in a spacious hall, vaulted, and of better

appearance than most of the sacred edifices at Meccah. In the centre,

and well railed round, stood a closet of rich green and gold stuffs, in

shape not unlike an umbrella-tent. A surly porter guarded the closed

door, which some respectable people vainly attempted to open by honeyed

words: a whisper from Abdullah solved the difficulty. I was directed to

lie at full length upon my stomach, and to kiss a black-looking

stone—said to be the lower half of the Lady Fatimah’s quern[FN#9]—fixed at

the bottom of a basin of the same material. Thence we repaired to a

corner, and recited a two-bow at the place where the Prophet used to

pray the Sunnat and the Nafilah, or supererogatory devotions.[FN#10]

Again remounting, we proceeded at a leisurely pace homewards, and on

the way passed through the principal

[p.252] slave-market. It is a large street roofed with matting, and

full of coffee-houses. The merchandise sat in rows, parallel with the

walls. The prettiest girls occupied the highest benches, below were the

plainer sort, and lowest of all the boys. They were all gaily dressed

in pink and other light-coloured muslins, with transparent veils over

their heads; and, whether from the effect of such unusual splendour, or

from the re-action succeeding to their terrible land-journey and

sea-voyage, they appeared perfectly happy, laughing loudly, talking

unknown tongues, and quizzing purchasers, even during the delicate

operation of purchasing. There were some pretty Gallas, douce-looking

Abyssinians, and Africans of various degrees of hideousness, from the

half-Arab Somal to the baboon-like Sawahili. The highest price of which

I could hear was £60. And here I matured a resolve to strike, if favoured

by fortune, a death-blow at a trade which is eating into the vitals of

industry in Eastern Africa. The reflection was pleasant,—the idea that

the humble Haji, contemplating the scene from his donkey, might become

the instrument of the total abolition of this pernicious

traffic.[FN#11] What would have become of that pilgrim had the crowd in

the slave-market guessed his intentions?

Passing through the large bazar, called the Suk al-Layl, I saw the

palace of Mohammed bin Aun, quondam Prince of Meccah. It has a certain

look of rude magnificence,

[p.253] the effect of huge hanging balconies scattered in profusion

over lofty walls, claire-voies of brickwork, and courses of

various-coloured stone. The owner is highly popular among the Badawin,

and feared by the citizens on account of his fierce looks, courage, and

treachery. They described him to me as vir bonus, bene strangulando

peritus; but Mr. Cole, who knew him personally, gave him a high

character for generosity and freedom from fanaticism. He seems to have

some idea of the state which should “hedge in” a ruler. His palaces at

Meccah, and that now turned into a Wakalah at Jeddah, are the only

places in the country that can be called princely. He is now a state

prisoner at Constantinople, and the Badawin pray in vain for his

return.[FN#12]

The other places of pious visitation at Meccah are briefly these:—

1. Natak al-Nabi, a small oratory in the Zukak al-Hajar. It derives its

name from the following circumstance.

[p.254] As the Prophet was knocking at the door of Abu Bakr’s shop, a

stone gave him God-speed, and told him that the master was not at home.

The wonderful mineral is of a reddish-black colour, about a foot in

dimension, and fixed in the wall somewhat higher than a man’s head. There

are servants attached to it, and the street sides are spread, as usual,

with the napkins of importunate beggars.

2. Maulid al-Nabi, or the Prophet’s birthplace.[FN#13] It is a little

chapel in the Suk al-Layl, not far from Mohammed bin Aun’s palace. It is

below the present level of the ground, and in the centre is a kind of

tent, concealing, it is said, a hole in the floor upon which Aminah sat

to be delivered.

3. In the quarter “Sha’ab Ali,” near the Maulid al-Nabi, is the birthplace of

Ali, another oratory below the ground. Here, as in the former place, a

Maulid and a Ziyarah are held on the anniversary of the Lion’s birth.

4. Near Khadijah’s house and the Natak al-Nabi is a place called

Al-Muttaka, from a stone against which the Prophet leaned when worn out

with fatigue. It is much visited by devotees; and some declare that on

one occasion, when the Father of Lies appeared to the Prophet in the

form of an elderly man, and tempted him to sin by asserting that the

Mosque-prayers were over, this stone, disclosing the fraud, caused the

Fiend to flee.

5. Maulid Hamzah, a little building at the old Bab Umrah, near the

Shabayki cemetery. Here was the Bazan, or channel down which the Ayn

Hunayn ran into the Birkat Majid. Many authorities doubt that Hamzah

was born at this place.[FN#14]

[p.255] The reader must now be as tired of “Pious Visitations” as I was.

Before leaving Meccah I was urgently invited to dine by old Ali bin Ya

Sin, the Zemzemi; a proof that he entertained inordinate expectations,

excited, it appeared, by the boy Mohammed, for the simple purpose of

exalting his own dignity. One day we were hurriedly summoned about

three P.M. to the senior’s house, a large building in the Zukak al-Hajar.

We found it full of pilgrims, amongst whom we had no trouble to

recognise our fellow-travellers, the quarrelsome old Arnaut and his

impudent slave-boy. Ali met us upon the staircase, and conducted us

into an upper room, where we sat upon diwans, and with pipes and coffee

prepared for dinner. Presently the semicircle arose to receive a

eunuch, who lodged somewhere in the house. He was a person of

importance, being the guardian of some dames of high degree at Cairo

and Constantinople: the highest place and

[p.256] the best pipe were unhesitatingly offered to and accepted by

him. He sat down with dignity, answered diplomatically certain

mysterious questions about the dames, and applied his blubber lips to a

handsome mouthpiece of lemon-coloured amber. It was a fair lesson of

humility for a man to find himself ranked beneath this high-shouldered,

spindle-shanked, beardless bit of neutrality; and as such I took it

duly to heart.

The dinner was served up in a Sini, a plated copper tray about six feet

in circumference, and handsomely ornamented with arabesques and

inscriptions. Under this was the usual Kursi, or stool, composed of

mother-o’-pearl facets set in sandal-wood; and upon it a well-tinned and

clean-looking service of the same material as the Sini. We began with a

variety of stews—stews with spinach, stews with Bamiyah (hibiscus), and

rich vegetable stews. These being removed, we dipped hands in Biryani,

a meat pillaw, abounding in clarified butter; Kimah, finely chopped

meat; Warak Mahshi, vine leaves filled with chopped and spiced mutton,

and folded into small triangles; Kabab, or bits of roti spitted in

mouthfuls upon a splinter of wood; together with a Salatah of the

crispest cucumber, and various dishes of water-melon cut up into

squares.

Bread was represented by the Eastern scone, but it was of superior

flavour, and far better than the ill-famed Chapati of India. Our drink

was water perfumed with mastic. After the meat came a Kunafah, fine

vermicelli sweetened with honey, and sprinkled with powdered white

sugar; several stews of apples and quinces; Muhallibah, a thin jelly

made of rice, flour, milk, starch, and a little perfume; together with

squares of Rahah,[FN#15] a confiture

[p.257] highly prized in these regions, because it comes from

Constantinople. Fruits were then placed upon the table; plates full of

pomegranate grains and dates of the finest flavour.[FN#16] The dinner

concluded with a pillaw of rice and butter, for the easier discussion

of which we were provided with carved wooden spoons.

Arabs ignore the delightful French art of prolonging a dinner. After

washing your hands, you sit down, throw an embroidered napkin over your

knees, and with a “Bismillah,” by way of grace, plunge your hand into the

attractive dish, changing ad libitum, occasionally sucking your

finger-tips as boys do lollipops, and varying that diversion by

cramming a chosen morsel into a friend’s mouth. When your hunger is

satisfied, you do not sit for your companions; you exclaim “Al Hamd!” edge

away from the tray, wash your hands and mouth with soap, display signs

of repletion, otherwise you will be pressed to eat more, seize your

pipe, sip your coffee, and take your “Kayf.” Nor is it customary, in these

lands, to sit together after dinner—the evening prayer cuts short the

seance. Before we rose to take leave of Ali bin Ya Sin, a boy ran into

the room, and displayed those infantine civilities which in the East

are equivalent to begging a present. I slipped a dollar into his hand;

at the sight of which he, veritable little Meccan, could not contain

his joy. “The Riyal!” he exclaimed; “the Riyal! look, grandpa’, the good

Effendi has given me a Riyal!” The old gentleman’s eyes twinkled with

emotion: he saw how easily the coin had slipped from my fingers, and he

fondly hoped that he had not seen the last piece. “Verily thou art a good

[p.258] young man!” he ejaculated, adding fervently, as prayers cost

nothing, “May Allah further all thy desires.” A gentle patting of the back

evidenced his high approval.

I never saw old Ali after that evening, but entrusted to the boy

Mohammed what was considered a just equivalent for his services.

[FN#1] Jabal Nur, or Hira, has been mentioned before. Jabal Saur rises

at some distance to the South of Meccah, and contains the celebrated

cave in which Mohammed and Abu Bakr took refuge during the flight.

[FN#2] The tradition of these places is related by every historian. The

former is the repository of the Black Stone during the Deluge. The

latter, “splitting of the moon,” is the spot where the Prophet stood when,

to convert the idolatrous Kuraysh, he caused half the orb of night to

rise from behind Abu Kubays, and the other from Jabal Kayka’an, on the

Western horizon. This silly legend appears unknown to Mohammed’s day.

[FN#3] The pilgrimage season, strictly speaking, concluded this year on

the 17th September (13th Zu’l Hijjah); at which time travellers began to

move towards Jeddah. Those who purposed visiting Al-Madinah would start

about three weeks afterwards, and many who had leisure intended

witnessing the Muharram ceremonies at Meccah.

[FN#4] This is the local tradition; it does not agree with authentic

history. Muir (Life of Mahomet, vol. iv. p. 126) reminds me that Khalid

and his Badawin attacked the citizens of Meccah without the Prophet’s

leave. But after the attack he may have followed in his leader’s train.

[FN#5] The reason of their Vandalism has been noticed in a previous

volume.

[FN#6] The Aloe here, as in Egypt, is hung, like the dried crocodile,

over houses as a talisman against evil spirits. Burckhardt assigns, as

a motive for it being planted in graveyards, that its name Saber

denotes the patience with which the believer awaits the Last Day. And

Lane remarks, “The Aloe thus hung (over the door), without earth and

water, will live for several years, and even blossom: hence it is

called Saber, which signifies patience.” In India it is hung up to

prevent Mosquitoes entering a room. I believe the superstition to be a

fragment of African fetichism. The Gallas, to the present day, plant

Aloes on graves, and suppose that when the plant sprouts the deceased

has been admitted into the gardens of “Wak”—the Creator. Ideas breed

vocables; but seldom, except among rhymesters, does a vocable give

birth to a popular idea: and in Arabic “Sibr,” as well as “Sabr,” is the name

of the Aloe.

[FN#7] Burckhardt mentions the “Tomb of Umna, the mother of Mohammed,” in

the Ma’ala at Meccah; and all the ciceroni agree about the locality. Yet

historians place it at Abwa, where she gave up the ghost, after

visiting Al-Madinah to introduce her son to his relations. And the

learned believe that the Prophet refused to pray over or to intercede

for his mother, she having died before Al-Islam was revealed.

[FN#8] Burckhardt calls it “Maulid Sittna Fatimah”: but the name “Kubbat el

Wahy,” applied by my predecessor to this locality, is generally made

synonymous with Al-Mukhtaba, the “hiding-place” where the Prophet and his

followers used in dangerous times to meet for prayer.

[FN#9] So loose is local tradition, that some have confounded this

quern with the Natak al-Nabi, the stone which gave God-speed to the

Prophet.

[FN#10] He would of course pray the Farz, or obligatory devotions, at

the shrine.

[FN#11] About a year since writing the above a firman was issued by the

Porte suppressing the traffic from Central Africa. Hitherto we have

respected slavery in the Red Sea, because the Turk thence drew his

supplies; we are now destitute of an excuse. A single steamer would

destroy the trade, and if we delay to take active measures, the people

of England, who have spent millions in keeping up a West African

squadron, will not hold us guiltless of negligence.

NOTE TO SECOND EDITION.—The slave trade has, since these remarks were

penned, been suppressed with a high hand; the Arabs of Al-Hijaz

resented the measure by disowning the supremacy of the Porte, but they

were soon reduced to submission.

[FN#12] The Prince was first invested with the Sharifat by Mohammed Ali

of Egypt in A.D. 1827, when Yahya fled, after stabbing his nephew in

the Ka’abah, to the Benu Harb Badawin. He was supported by Ahmad Pasha of

Meccah, with a large army; but after the battle of Tarabah, in which

Ibrahim Pasha was worsted by the Badawin, Mohammed Bin Aun, accused of

acting as Sylla, was sent in honourable bondage to Cairo. He again

returned to Meccah, where the rapacity of his eldest son, Abdullah, who

would rob pilgrims, caused fresh misfortunes. In A.D. 1851, when Abd

al-Muttalib was appointed Sharif, the Pasha was ordered to send Bin Aun

to Stambul—no easy task. The Turk succeeded by a manœuvre. Mohammed’s two

sons, happening to be at Jeddah, were invited to inspect a man-of-war,

and were there made prisoners. Upon this the father yielded himself up;

although, it is said, the flashing of the Badawi’s sabre during his

embarkation made the Turks rejoice that they had won the day by

state-craft. The wild men of Al-Hijaz still sing songs in honour of

this Sharif.

NOTE TO SECOND EDITION.—Early in 1856, when the Sharif Abd al-Muttalib

was deposed, Mohammed bin Aun was sent from Constantinople to quiet the

insurrection caused by the new slave laws in Al-Hijaz. In a short space

of time he completely succeeded.

[FN#13] The 12th of Rabia al-Awwal, Mohammed’s birthday, is here

celebrated with great festivities, feasts, prayers, and perusals of the

Koran. These “Maulid” (ceremonies of nativity) are by no means limited to a

single day in the year.

[FN#14] The reader is warned that I did not see the five places above

enumerated. The ciceroni and books mention twelve other visitations,

several of which are known only by name.

1. Al-Mukhtaba, the “hiding-place” alluded to in the preceding pages. Its

locality is the subject of debate.

2. Dar al-Khayzaran, where the Prophet prayed secretly till the

conversion of Omar enabled him to dispense with concealment.

3. Maulid Omar, or Omar’s birthplace, mentioned in books as being visited

by devotees in the 14th Rabia al-Awwal of every year.

4. Abu Bakr’s house near the Natak al-Nabi. It is supposed to have been

destroyed in the twelfth century.

5. Maulid Ja’afar al-Tayyar, near the Shabayki cemetery.

6. Al-Mada’a, an oratory, also called Naf al-Arz, because creation here

began.

7. Dar al-Hijrah, where Mohammed and Abu Bakr mounted for the flight.

8. Masjid al-Rayah, where the Prophet planted his flag when Meccah

surrendered.

9. Masjid al-Shajarah, a spot at which Mohammed caused a tree to

advance and to retire.

10. Masjid al-Ja’aranah, where Mohammed clad himself in the pilgrim garb.

It is still visited by some Persians.

11. Mas[]jid Ibrahim, or Abu Kubays.

12. Masjid Zu Tawa.

[FN#15] Familiar for “Rahat al-Hulkum,”—the pleasure of the throat,—a name

which has sorely puzzled our tourists. This sweetmeat would be pleasant

did it not smell so strongly of the perruquier’s shop. Rosewater tempts

to many culinary sins in the East; and Europeans cannot dissociate it

from the idea of a lotion. However, if a guest is to be honoured,

rosewater must often take the place of the pure element, even in tea.

[FN#16] Meccah is amply supplied with water-melons, dates, limes,

grapes, cucumbers, and other vegetables from Taif and Wady Fatimah.

During the pilgrimage season the former place sends at least 100 camels

every day to the capital.

[p.259] CHAPTER XXXIV.

TO JEDDAH.

A GENERAL plunge into worldly pursuits and pleasures announced the end

of the pilgrimage ceremonies. All the devotees were now “whitewashed”—the

book of their sins was a tabula rasa: too many of them lost no time in

making a new departure “down south,” and in opening a fresh account. The

faith must not bear the blame of the irregularities. They may be

equally observed in the Calvinist, after a Sunday of prayer, sinning

through Monday with a zest, and the Romanist falling back with new

fervour upon the causes of his confession and penance, as in the Moslem

who washes his soul clean by running and circumambulation; and, in

fairness, it must be observed that, as amongst Christians, so in the

Moslem persuasion, there are many notable exceptions to this rule of

extremes. Several of my friends and acquaintances date their

reformation from their first sight of the Ka’abah.

The Moslem’s “Holy Week” over, nothing detained me at Meccah. For reasons

before stated, I resolved upon returning to Cairo, resting there for

awhile, and starting a second time for the interior, via Muwaylah.[FN#1]

The Meccans are as fond of little presents as are nuns: the Kabirah

took an affectionate leave of me, begged me to be careful of her boy,

who was to accompany

[p.260] me to Jeddah, and laid friendly but firm hands upon a brass

pestle and mortar, upon which she had long cast the eye of

concupiscence.

Having hired two camels for thirty-five piastres, and paid half the sum

in advance, I sent on my heavy boxes with Shaykh, now Haji Nur, to

Jeddah.[FN#2] Omar Effendi was to wait at Meccah till his father had

started, in command of the Dromedary Caravan, when he would privily

take ass, join me at the port, and return to his beloved Cairo. I bade

a long farewell to all my friends, embraced the Turkish pilgrims, and

mounting our donkeys, the boy Mohammed and I left the house. Abdullah

the Melancholy followed us on foot through the city, and took leave of

me, though without embracing, at the Shabayki quarter.

Issuing into the open plain, I felt a thrill of pleasure—such joy as only

the captive delivered from his dungeon can experience. The sunbeams

warmed me into renewed life and vigour, the air of the Desert was a

perfume, and the homely face of Nature was as the smile of a dear old

friend. I contemplated the Syrian Caravan, lying on the right of our

road, without any of the sadness usually suggested by a parting look.

It is not my intention minutely to describe the line down which we

travelled that night: the pages of Burckhardt give full information

about the country. Leaving Meccah, we fell into the direct road running

south of Wady Fatimah, and traversed for about an hour a flat

surrounded by hills. Then we entered a valley by a flight of rough

stone steps, dangerously slippery and zigzag, intended to facilitate

the descent for camels and for laden beasts. About midnight we passed

into a hill-girt Wady, here covered with deep sands, there hard with

[p.261] gravelly clay: and, finally, about dawn, we sighted the

maritime plain of Jeddah.

Shortly after leaving the city, our party was joined by other

travellers, and towards evening we found ourselves in force, the effect

of an order that pilgrims must not proceed singly upon this road.

Coffee-houses and places of refreshment abounding, we halted every five

miles to refresh ourselves and the donkeys.[FN#3] At sunset we prayed

near a Turkish guard-house, where one of the soldiers kindly supplied

me with water for ablution.

Before nightfall I was accosted, in Turkish, by a one-eyed old fellow,

who,

“with faded brow,

Entrenched with many a frown, and conic beard,”

and habited in unclean garments, was bestriding a donkey as faded as

himself. When I shook my head, he addressed me in Persian. The same

manœuvre made him try Arabic; still he obtained no answer. Then he

grumbled out good Hindustani. That also failing, he tried successively

Pushtu, Armenian, English, French, and Italian. At last I could “keep a

stiff lip” no longer; at every change of dialect his emphasis beginning

with “Then who the d— are you?” became more emphatic. I turned upon him in

Persian, and found that he had been a pilot, a courier, and a servant

to Eastern tourists, and that he had visited England, France, and

Italy, the Cape, India, Central Asia, and China. We then chatted in

English, which Haji Akif spoke well, but with all manner of courier’s

phrases; Haji Abdullah so badly, that he was counselled a course of

study. It was not a little strange to hear such phrases as “Come ’p, Neddy,”

and “Cre nom d’un baudet,” almost within earshot of the tomb of Ishmael, the

birthplace of Mohammed, and the Sanctuary of Al-Islam.

[p.262] About eight P.M. we passed the Alamayn, which define the

Sanctuary in this direction. They stand about nine miles from Meccah,

and near them are a coffee-house and a little oratory, popularly known

as the Sabil Agha Almas. On the road, as night advanced, we met long

strings of camels, some carrying litters, others huge beams, and others

bales of coffee, grain, and merchandise. Sleep began to weigh heavily

upon my companions’ eye-lids, and the boy Mohammed hung over the flank of

his donkey in a most ludicrous position.

About midnight we reached a mass of huts, called Al-Haddah. Ali Bey

places it eight leagues from Jeddah. At “the Boundary” which is considered

to be the half-way halting-place, Pilgrims must assume the religious

garb,[FN#4] and Infidels travelling to Taif are taken off the Meccan

road into one leading Northward to Arafat. The settlement is a

collection of huts and hovels, built with sticks and reeds, supporting

brushwood and burned and blackened palm leaves. It is maintained for

supplying pilgrims with coffee and water. Travellers speak with horror

of its heat during the day; Ali Bey, who visited it twice, compares it

to a furnace. Here the country slopes gradually towards the sea, the

hills draw off, and every object denotes departure from the Meccan

plateau. At Al-Haddah we dismounted for an hour’s halt. A coffee-house

supplied us with mats, water-pipes, and other necessaries; we then

produced a basket of provisions, the parting gift of the kind Kabirah,

and, this late supper concluded, we lay down to doze.

After half an hour’s halt had expired, and the donkeys were saddled, I

shook up with difficulty the boy Mohammed, and induced him to mount. He

was, to use his own expression, “dead from sleep”; and we had

[p.263] scarcely advanced an hour, when, arriving at another little

coffee-house, he threw himself upon the ground, and declared it

impossible to proceed. This act caused some confusion. The donkey-boy

was a pert little Badawi, offensively republican in manner. He had

several times addressed me impudently, ordering me not to flog his

animal, or to hammer its sides with my heels. On these occasions he

received a contemptuous snub, which had the effect of silencing him.

But now, thinking we were in his power, he swore that he would lead

away the beasts, and leave us behind to be robbed and murdered. A pinch

of the windpipe, and a spin over the ground, altered his plans at the

outset of execution. He gnawed his hand with impotent rage, and went

away, threatening us with the Governor of Jeddah next morning. Then an

Egyptian of the party took up the thread of remonstrance; and, aided by

the old linguist, who said, in English “by G—! you must budge, you’ll catch

it here!” he assumed a brisk and energetic style, exclaiming, “Yallah! rise

and mount; thou art only losing our time; thou dost not intend to sleep

in the Desert!” I replied, “O my Uncle, do not exceed in talk!”—Fuzul (excess)

in Arabic is equivalent to telling a man in English not to be

impertinent—rolled over on the other side heavily, as doth Encelades, and

pretended to snore, whilst the cowed Egyptian urged the others to make

us move. The question was thus settled by the boy Mohammed who had been

aroused by the dispute: “Do you know,” he whispered, in awful accents, “what

that person is?” and he pointed to me. “Why, no,” replied the others. “Well,”

said the youth, “the other day the Utaybah showed us death in the Zaribah

Pass, and what do you think he did?” “Wallah! what do we know!” exclaimed the

Egyptian, “What did he do?” “He called for—his dinner,” replied the youth, with a

slow and

[p.264] sarcastic emphasis. That trait was enough. The others mounted,

and left us quietly to sleep.

I have been diffuse in relating this little adventure, which is

characteristic, showing what bravado can do in Arabia. It also suggests

a lesson, which every traveller in these regions should take well to

heart. The people are always ready to terrify him with frightful

stories, which are the merest phantoms of cowardice. The reason why the

Egyptian displayed so much philanthropy was that, had one of the party

been lost, the survivors might have fallen into trouble. But in this

place, we were, I believe,—despite the declarations of our companions

that it was infested with Turpins and Fra Diavolos,—as safe as in Meccah.

Every night, during the pilgrimage season, a troop of about fifty

horsemen patrol the roads; we were all armed to the teeth, and our

party looked too formidable to be “cruelly beaten by a single footpad.” Our

nap concluded, we remounted, and resumed the weary way down a sandy

valley, in which the poor donkeys sank fetlock-deep. At dawn we found

our companions halted, and praying at the Kahwat Turki, another little

coffee-house. Here an exchange of what is popularly called “chaff” took

place. “Well,” cried the Egyptian, “what have ye gained by halting? We have

been quiet here, praying and smoking for the last hour!” “Go, eat thy

buried beans,[FN#5]” we replied. “What does an Egyptian boor know of

manliness!” The surly donkey-boy was worked up into a paroxysm of passion

by such small jokes as telling him to convey our salams to the Governor

of Jeddah, and by calling the asses after the name of his tribe. He