We advanced half a mile, and encamped temporarily in a
hill-girt bulge of the Fiumara bed. At eight A.M. we had travelled
about twenty-four miles from Al-Zaribah, and the direction of our
present station was South-west 50°.
Shaykh Mas’ud allowed us only four hours’ halt; he wished to precede the
main body. After breaking our fast joyously upon limes, pomegranates,
and fresh dates, we sallied forth to admire the beauties of the place.
We are once more on classic ground—the ground of the ancient Arab poets,—
“Deserted is the village—waste the halting place and home
At Mina, o’er Rijam and Ghul wild beasts unheeded roam,
On Rayyan hill the channel lines have left their naked trace,
Time-worn, as primal Writ that dints the mountain’s flinty
face;[FN#25]”—
and this Wady, celebrated for the purity of its air, has from remote
ages been a favourite resort of the Meccans. Nothing can be more
soothing to the brain than the dark-green foliage of the limes and
pomegranates; and from
[p.148] the base of the Southern hill bursts a bubbling stream, whose
“Chaire, fresche e dolci acque”
flow through the gardens, filling them with the most delicious of
melodies, the gladdest sound which Nature in these regions knows.
