As We Emerged From The
Huge Gateway Of The Caravanserai All The Bystanders, Except Only The
Porter, Who Believed Me
To be a Persian, and had seen me with the
drunken captain, exclaimed, "Allah bless thee, Y'al-Hajj,[FN#3]
And
restore thee to thy country and thy friends!" And passing through the
Bab al-Nasr, where I addressed the salutation of peace to the sentry,
and to the officer commanding the guard, both gave me God-speed with
great cordiality[FN#4]-the pilgrim's blessing in Asia, like the old
woman's in Europe, being supposed to possess peculiar efficacy. Outside
the gate my friends took a final leave of me, and I will not deny
having felt a tightening of heart as their honest faces and forms faded
in the distance.
But Shaykh Nassar switches his camel's shoulder, and appears inclined
to take the lead. This is a trial of manliness. There is no time for
emotion. Not a moment can be spared, even for a retrospect. I kick my
dromedary, who steps out into a jog-trot. The Badawin with a loud
ringing laugh attempt to give me the go-by. I resist, and we continue
like children till the camels are at their speed, though we have
eighty-four miles before us, and above us an atmosphere like a furnace
blast. The road is deserted at this hour, otherwise grave Moslem
[p.144]travellers would have believed the police to be nearer than
convenient to us.
Presently we drew rein, and exchanged our pace for one more seasonable,
whilst the sun began to tell on man and beast. High raised as we were
above the ground, the reflected heat struck us sensibly, and the glare
of a macadamized road added a few extra degrees of caloric.[FN#5] The
Badawin, to refresh themselves, prepare to smoke. They fill my chibuk,
light it with a flint and steel, and cotton dipped in a solution of
gunpowder, and pass it over to me.[FN#6] After a few puffs I return it
to them, and they use it turn by turn. Then they begin to while away
the tedium of the road by asking questions, which passe-temps is not
easily exhausted; for they are never satisfied till they know as much
of you as you do of yourself. They next resort to talking about
victuals; for with this hungry race, food, as a topic of conversation,
takes the place of money in happier lands. And lastly, even this
engrossing subject being exhausted for the moment,
[p.145]they take refuge in singing; and, monotonous and droning as it
is, their Modinha has yet an artless plaintiveness, which admirably
suits the singer and the scenery. If you listen to the words, you will
surely hear allusions to bright verdure, cool shades, bubbling rills,
or something which hereabouts man hath not, and yet which his soul
desires.
And now while Nassar and his brother are chaunting a duet,-the refrain
being,
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