The donkey-boy
was a pert little Badawi, offensively republican in manner.
He had
several times addressed me impudently, ordering me not to flog his
animal, or to hammer its sides with my heels. On these occasions he
received a contemptuous snub, which had the effect of silencing him.
But now, thinking we were in his power, he swore that he would lead
away the beasts, and leave us behind to be robbed and murdered. A pinch
of the windpipe, and a spin over the ground, altered his plans at the
outset of execution. He gnawed his hand with impotent rage, and went
away, threatening us with the Governor of Jeddah next morning. Then an
Egyptian of the party took up the thread of remonstrance; and, aided by
the old linguist, who said, in English “by G—! you must budge, you’ll catch
it here!” he assumed a brisk and energetic style, exclaiming, “Yallah! rise
and mount; thou art only losing our time; thou dost not intend to sleep
in the Desert!” I replied, “O my Uncle, do not exceed in talk!”—Fuzul (excess)
in Arabic is equivalent to telling a man in English not to be
impertinent—rolled over on the other side heavily, as doth Encelades, and
pretended to snore, whilst the cowed Egyptian urged the others to make
us move. The question was thus settled by the boy Mohammed who had been
aroused by the dispute: “Do you know,” he whispered, in awful accents, “what
that person is?” and he pointed to me. “Why, no,” replied the others. “Well,”
said the youth, “the other day the Utaybah showed us death in the Zaribah
Pass, and what do you think he did?” “Wallah! what do we know!” exclaimed the
Egyptian, “What did he do?” “He called for—his dinner,” replied the youth, with a
slow and
[p.264] sarcastic emphasis. That trait was enough. The others mounted,
and left us quietly to sleep.
I have been diffuse in relating this little adventure, which is
characteristic, showing what bravado can do in Arabia. It also suggests
a lesson, which every traveller in these regions should take well to
heart. The people are always ready to terrify him with frightful
stories, which are the merest phantoms of cowardice. The reason why the
Egyptian displayed so much philanthropy was that, had one of the party
been lost, the survivors might have fallen into trouble. But in this
place, we were, I believe,—despite the declarations of our companions
that it was infested with Turpins and Fra Diavolos,—as safe as in Meccah.
Every night, during the pilgrimage season, a troop of about fifty
horsemen patrol the roads; we were all armed to the teeth, and our
party looked too formidable to be “cruelly beaten by a single footpad.” Our
nap concluded, we remounted, and resumed the weary way down a sandy
valley, in which the poor donkeys sank fetlock-deep. At dawn we found
our companions halted, and praying at the Kahwat Turki, another little
coffee-house.
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