Name
of this oratory to distant places in their giant Caliph-empire.
Here as we halted to perform the mid-day prayer, we were overtaken by
the Damascus Caravan. It was a grand spectacle. The Mahmil, no longer
naked as upon the line of march, flashed in the sun all green and gold.
Around the moving host of white-robed pilgrims hovered a crowd of
Badawin, male and female, all mounted on swift dromedaries, and many of
them armed to the teeth. As their drapery floated in the wind, and
their faces were veiled with the “Lisam,” it was frequently difficult to
[p.182] distinguish the sex of the wild being, flogging its animal to
speed. These people, as has been said, often resort to Arafat for
blood-revenge, in hopes of finding the victim unprepared. Nothing can
be more sinful in Al-Islam than such deed—it is murder, “made sicker” by
sacrilege; yet the prevalence of the practice proves how feeble is the
religion’s hold upon the race. The women are as unscrupulous: I remarked
many of them emulating the men in reckless riding, and striking with
their sticks every animal in the way.
Travelling Eastward up the Arafat Fiumara, after about half an hour we
came to a narrow pass called Al-Akhshabayn[FN#11] or the “Two Rugged
Hills.” Here the spurs of the rock limited the road to about a hundred
paces, and it is generally a scene of great confusion. After this we
arrived at Al-Bazan (the Basin),[FN#12] a widening of the plain; and
another half-hour brought us to the Alamayn (the “Two Signs”), whitewashed
pillars, or rather thin, narrow walls, surmounted with pinnacles, which
denote the precincts of the Arafat plain. Here, in full sight of the
Holy Hill, standing boldly out from the deep blue sky, the host of
pilgrims broke into loud Labbayks. A little beyond, and to our right,
was the simple enclosure called the Masjid Nimrah.[FN#13] We then
[p.183] turned from our eastern course northwards, and began threading
our way down the main street of the town of tents which clustered about
the southern foot of Arafat. At last, about three P.M., we found a
vacant space near the Matbakh, or kitchen, formerly belonging to a
Sharif’s palace, but now a ruin with a few shells of arches.
Arafat is about six hours’ very slow march, or twelve miles,[FN#14] on
the Taif road, due east of Meccah. We arrived there in a shorter time,
but our weary camels, during the last third of the way, frequently
threw themselves upon the ground. Human beings suffered more. Between
Muna and Arafat I saw no fewer than five men fall down and die upon the
highway:
