Descending It Our Course Lay In A Southerly
Direction Along A Road Flanked On The Left By Low Hills Of Red
Sandstone And Bright Porphyry.
About an hour afterwards we came to a
basalt field, through whose blocks we threaded our way painfully and
slowly, for it was then dark.
At eight P.M. the camels began to stumble
over the dwarf dykes of the wheat and barley fields, and presently we
arrived at our halting-place, a large village called Al-Sufayna. The
plain was already dotted with tents and lights. We found the Baghdad
Caravan, whose route here falls into the Darb al-Sharki. It consists of
a few Persians and Kurds, and collects the people of North-Eastern
Arabia, Wahhabis and others. They are escorted by the Agayl tribe and
by the fierce mountaineers of Jabal Shammar. Scarcely was our tent
pitched, when the distant pattering of musketry and an ominous tapping
of the kettle-drum sent all my companions in different directions to
enquire what was the cause of quarrel. The Baghdad Cafilah, though not
more than 2000 in number, men, women and children, had been proving to
the Damascus Caravan, that, being perfectly ready to fight, they were
not going to yield any point of precedence. From that time the two
bodies
[p.129] encamped in different places. I never saw a more pugnacious
assembly: a look sufficed for a quarrel. Once a Wahhabi stood in front
of us, and by pointing with his finger and other insulting gestures,
showed his hatred to the chibuk, in which I was peaceably indulging.
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