At every match-lock
shot, a shudder ran through the huge body, as when the surgeon’s scalpel
touches some more sensitive nerve. The Irregular horsemen, perfectly
useless, galloped up and down over the stones, shouting to and ordering
one another. The Pasha of the army had his carpet spread at the foot of
the left-hand precipice, and debated over his pipe with the officers
what ought to be done. No good genius whispered “Crown the heights.”
Then it was that the conduct of the Wahhabis found favour in my eyes.
They came up, galloping their camels,—
“Torrents less rapid, and less rash,—
with their elf-locks tossing in the wind, and their flaring
[p.144] matches casting a strange lurid light over their features.
Taking up a position, one body began to fire upon the Utaybah robbers,
whilst two or three hundred, dismounting, swarmed up the hill under the
guidance of the Sharif Zayd. I had remarked this nobleman at Al-Madinah
as a model specimen of the pure Arab. Like all Sharifs, he is
celebrated for bravery, and has killed many with his own hand.[FN#24]
When urged at Al-Zaribah to ride into Meccah, he swore that he would
not leave the Caravan till in sight of the walls; and, fortunately for
the pilgrims, he kept his word.
