Interview with the Bey. — Arab Feast. — The Bey’s Hospitality.
August 10.—A few days after arriving in Grennah, having obtained
a general idea of the ruins, and made such arrangements as were
likely to conduce to a comfortable stay, I went to pay my respects
to Bekir Bey, as the Turks call Bu Bekr Hadud, the Governor of
the Arabs in this district. I had been introduced to him by the
Kaimahan in Benghazi, who, besides a verbal recommendation, had
furnished me with letters to him. His residence is a castle, which I
found him still engaged in building, at Caicab, a place about four
hours distant from Grennah, lying between the two roads to Derna;
and from here, with the fifty soldiers who are at his orders, he
manages to keep the country in subjection, and his enemies—who
are many—say, to rob it into the bargain. His family has long
been one of the most powerful in the country; and he is sheikh
of the Berasa, a tribe counting ten clans. The sheikhs of the
other clans are subordinate to him; and by intrigue or violence,
each employed at the right time, he has made himself really the
independent governor of the country, which he rules with an iron
hand, under such protection as his guards afford him, amidst clans
of his own tribe who have sworn his death. His life has been one of
strange vicissitudes; at one time—under the last native sovereign,
Youssouf Pacha, whom the Porte, with the help of the English Consul
General, so cleverly dethroned, or rather, I should say, who so
stupidly allowed himself to be smuggled out of his country—he was
fourteen months a prisoner in irons in Tripoli. His language is now
that of the most abject submission, but he carries things his own way
notwithstanding. He pays to the Porte a yearly sum of 48,000 dollars,
extracting from the Arabs nearly twice as much; the greater part is
destined to swell his own money-bags, the rest being used, according
to the approved receipt in this country, to anoint the eyes of his
superiors in Benghazi and Tripoli. In person he is strongly built,
but not tall, having the finest chest and arm I ever beheld; but his
features are coarse, and his eye twinkles with indescribable cunning.
I arrived about eleven o’clock, and found the Bey seated in his
divan, and surrounded by at least forty persons, most of whom were
squatted on the floor; he was seated in the corner, on a raised
board, not unlike a tailor’s, which ran about twelve feet along
one side of the room. When I entered, the assembly was dismissed;
and I seated myself beside him, having on my other hand three sheikhs
of his tribe, one of whom, his brother, Mansour, is a still more
ferocious, though less cunning, politician than himself. He it is
who can eat an entire sheep at a sitting—a tale which I believe
after seeing his performance at an extra meal which was prepared
for me, when he excused himself for eating so little, on the score
of bad health. In addition to these three, there remained also the
Deftudar, or Secretary-Accountant, whose functions also included
waiting at table. His place was on a straw sofa, on which were
collected all the implements of his calling: a small box, a ream
of paper, a pair of scissors for cutting his despatches or orders
into proper form, a board for counting money, and a waist-inkstand;
open letters with their answers were scattered round him, in what
seemed inextricable confusion. After all the usual inquiries after
health and temper, and when coffee and lemonade had been served,
the Bey resumed his business, while several of the former assembly
returned, some to have their complaints discussed, others to get
a nearer view of the stranger. He, knowing that the Bedawin do
not smoke, regarding this habit as a dirty trick (they only chew
tobacco, mixed with nitre), had taken the precaution of carrying
his pipe with him, to keep himself in countenance during the long
pauses of an Arab visit. This and Mohammed’s exaggerated stories
of him—how he ate and drank, and above all, how he washed in a
tub, and slept on a bed—which were circulated in an undertone,
made the company vote him no better than a Turk, a hateful, but
highly respected character. The Bey from time to time turned round
to bawl out some phrases of exaggerated compliment, in a voice like
that of one of his camels, and then would continue to investigate
the case before him, till, getting animated, he would utter a dozen
“Wallahis” in a breath, throwing his arms about in a manner
that might well alarm his neighbour; then he would pull his beard
two or three times, and, finally, would finish the discussion by
applying the interior of his thumb-nail to that of his upper teeth,
making a slight cracking noise, which meant that nothing more
was to be got out of him. But it is not to be supposed that the
audience sat listening, in respectful silence, to this torrent of
words: the subjects were as energetic as their ruler, and he who
listened to the tones, or beheld the gestures which accompanied
them, would think that they must soon come to blows. When I first
met Bu Bekr in Benghazi, I was astonished at the loud, rough tone
in which he spoke; but after seeing a little more of the Bedawin
(who all speak as if from the mountain-tops), and assisting at
a council at Caicab, it was easy to account for it. Indeed, the
good man could not whisper: he tried to do so, putting his arms
round a servant’s neck, and placing his lips close to his ear,
when he ordered a luncheon, dinner, or whatever it must be called,
to be prepared for me. I had arrived too late for their dinner; and,
after much whispering in a loud tone, and the interchange of one
or two notes with his Secretary (perhaps to show me that there is
one Bey who can write), he ordered another dinner for me. I was not
supposed to hear or understand anything of his hospitable intentions;
and, after an hour and a half of fatiguing inaction, in the midst
of this Babel-like hubbub, I rose to take my leave. This he would
not allow, and seizing a shoulder with one iron hand, and a leg with
the other, he pulled me back to my place. I thus had to sit, making
what little conversation my confined vocabulary would admit of, for
four hours longer, whilst the banquet was being prepared. When the
carpet was at last spread, and the tray placed upon it, I confess
I was disappointed, though little inclined to eat, to find that the
ladies of the harem had not profited by this long interval to furnish
some delicate cates. There was soup—a sort of greenish porridge,
filled with rice and onions; then came two dishes of stewed mutton,
with vegetables; this was followed by two dishes of stewed mutton,
with potatoes; and, finally, a huge wooden bowl of rice, some thirty
inches in diameter, crowned with an entire roasted lamb. Plates of
water-melon, from Benghazi, completed the feast. I have described
the dinner, all fear of criticism notwithstanding, as it was meant
to be a splendid feed, and the host is the wealthiest man in the
country. The chief fault I found with it was the long time it
detained me in Caicab, thereby occasioning me two hours’ ride
in the dark. The Bey, his brother, and Mohammed (whose last wife,
by the way, was a _divorcée_ of Bu Bekr’s), did honour to the
entertainment; the two former picking out, and putting beneath my
fingers, the delicate morsels; and I must do them the justice to say,
that, with true politeness, not an effort was made to make me eat
more largely than I was inclined to do. The appetite which comes
in eating aided me to make a most substantial luncheon; but, beside
the others, I was like a canary-bird amongst ostriches. Mohammed, I
heard, could eat no supper; he was ill and useless all the next day.
This rough, but abundant hospitality, not unbefitting the traditional
idea of an Arab sheikh, is exercised on a most liberal scale by
Bu Bekr; and the enormous drain it must be on his fortune may,
possibly, justify him in his own eyes for the unscrupulous means
by which he augments it. At some seasons, the expenses of his court
can be little short of 20_l_. a day; and to meet this, the Turkish
Government allows him 11_l_. a month. An acquaintance, who spent
some evenings with him this summer, told me that he had counted 378
rations for horses, given out in one evening for the guests; while 86
sheep had been slaughtered, to supply their personal wants. Perhaps
he is by nature thus liberal, and only from education succumbs to
the Arab fondness for the clinging metal.