A little after four P.M. we urged our panting
camels over the fiery sands to join the Meccans, who were standing
ready for the march, on the other side of the torrent bed.
An hour
afterwards we started in an Easterly direction.
My companions having found friends and relations in the Meccan
caravan,-the boy Mohammed's elder brother, about whom more anon, was of
the number,-were full of news and excitement. At sunset they prayed
with unction: even Sa'ad and Hamid had not the face to sit their camels
during the halt, when all around were washing, sanding
themselves,[FN#31] and busy with their devotions. We then ate our
suppers, remounted, and started once more. Shortly after night set in,
we came to a sudden halt. A dozen different reports rose to account for
this circumstance, which was occasioned by a band of Badawin, who had
manned a gorge, and sent forward a "parliamentary," ordering us
forthwith to stop. They at first demanded money to let us pass; but at
last, hearing that we were Sons of the Holy Cities, they granted us
transit on the sole condition that the military,-whom they, like Irish
peasants, hate and fear,-should return to whence they came. Upon this,
our escort, 200 men, wheeled their horses round and galloped back to
their barracks. We moved onwards, without, however, seeing any robbers;
my camel-man pointed out their haunts, and showed me a small bird
hovering over a place where he supposed water trickled from the rock.
The fellow had attempted a sneer at my expense when the fray was
impending.
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