The black basaltic field was dotted with the huge and
doubtful forms of spongy-footed camels with silent tread,
Looming like
phantoms in the midnight air; the hot wind moaned, and whirled from the
torches flakes and sheets of flame and fiery smoke, whilst ever and
anon a swift-travelling Takht-rawan, drawn by mules, and surrounded by
runners bearing gigantic mashals or cressets,[FN#7] threw a passing
glow of red light upon the dark road and the dusky multitude. On this
occasion the rule was “every man for himself.” Each pressed forward into
the best path, thinking only of preceding his neighbour. The Syrians,
amongst whom our little party had become entangled, proved most
unpleasant companions: they often stopped the way, insisting upon their
right to precedence. On one occasion a horseman had the audacity to
untie the halter of my dromedary, and thus to cast us adrift, as it
were, in order to make room for some excluded friend. I seized my
sword; but Shaykh Abdullah stayed my hand, and addressed the intruder
in terms sufficiently violent to make him slink away. Nor was this the
only occasion on which my
[p.133] companion was successful with the Syrians. He would begin with
a mild “Move a little, O my father!” followed, if fruitless, by “Out of the
way, O Father of Syria[FN#8]!” and if still ineffectual, advancing to a
“Begone, O he!” This ranged between civility and sternness.
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