Before Nightfall I Was Accosted, In Turkish, By A One-Eyed Old Fellow,
Who,
“With faded brow,
Entrenched with many a frown, and conic beard,”
And habited in unclean garments, was bestriding a donkey as faded as
himself. When I shook my head, he addressed me in Persian. The same
manœuvre made him try Arabic; still he obtained no answer. Then he
grumbled out good Hindustani. That also failing, he tried successively
Pushtu, Armenian, English, French, and Italian. At last I could “keep a
stiff lip” no longer; at every change of dialect his emphasis beginning
with “Then who the d— are you?” became more emphatic. I turned upon him in
Persian, and found that he had been a pilot, a courier, and a servant
to Eastern tourists, and that he had visited England, France, and
Italy, the Cape, India, Central Asia, and China. We then chatted in
English, which Haji Akif spoke well, but with all manner of courier’s
phrases; Haji Abdullah so badly, that he was counselled a course of
study. It was not a little strange to hear such phrases as “Come ’p, Neddy,”
and “Cre nom d’un baudet,” almost within earshot of the tomb of Ishmael, the
birthplace of Mohammed, and the Sanctuary of Al-Islam.
[p.262] About eight P.M. we passed the Alamayn, which define the
Sanctuary in this direction. They stand about nine miles from Meccah,
and near them are a coffee-house and a little oratory, popularly known
as the Sabil Agha Almas.
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