We Grumbled That We
Were Not Entering A Mosque, But In Vain.
Then ensued a long dispute, in
tongues mutually unintelligible, about giving up our weapons:
By dint of
obstinacy we retained our daggers and my revolver. The guide raised a door
curtain, suggested a bow, and I stood in the presence of the dreaded
chief.
The Amir, or, as he styles himself, the Sultan Ahmad bin Sultan Abibakr,
sat in a dark room with whitewashed walls, to which hung--significant
decorations--rusty matchlocks and polished fetters. His appearance was
that of a little Indian Rajah, an etiolated youth twenty-four or twenty-
five years old, plain and thin-bearded, with a yellow complexion, wrinkled
brows and protruding eyes. His dress was a flowing robe of crimson cloth,
edged with snowy fur, and a narrow white turban tightly twisted round a
tall conical cap of red velvet, like the old Turkish headgear of our
painters. His throne was a common Indian Kursi, or raised cot, about five
feet long, with back and sides supported by a dwarf railing: being an
invalid he rested his elbow upon a pillow, under which appeared the hilt
of a Cutch sabre. Ranged in double line, perpendicular to the Amir, stood
the "court," his cousins and nearest relations, with right arms bared
after fashion of Abyssinia.
I entered the room with a loud "Peace be upon ye!" to which H. H. replying
graciously, and extending a hand, bony and yellow as a kite's claw,
snapped his thumb and middle finger.
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