At Aden They Appear Happier Than In Their Native
Country.
There I have often seen a man clapping his hands and dancing,
childlike, alone to relieve the exuberance of his spirits:
Here they
become, as the Mongols and other pastoral people, a melancholy race, who
will sit for hours upon a bank gazing at the moon, or croning some old
ditty under the trees. This state is doubtless increased by the perpetual
presence of danger and the uncertainty of life, which make them think of
other things but dancing and singing. Much learning seems to make them
mad; like the half-crazy Fakihs of the Sahara in Northern Africa, the
Widad, or priest, is generally unfitted for the affairs of this world, and
the Hafiz or Koran-reciter, is almost idiotic. As regards courage, they
are no exception to the generality of savage races. They have none of the
recklessness standing in lieu of creed which characterises the civilised
man. In their great battles a score is considered a heavy loss; usually
they will run after the fall of half a dozen: amongst a Kraal full of
braves who boast a hundred murders, not a single maimed or wounded man
will be seen, whereas in an Arabian camp half the male population will
bear the marks of lead and steel. The bravest will shirk fighting if he
has forgotten his shield: the sight of a lion and the sound of a gun
elicit screams of terror, and their Kaum or forays much resemble the style
of tactics rendered obsolete by the Great Turenne, when the tactician's
chief aim was not to fall in with his enemy.
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