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.
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