Shaykh Nur, Elated By
The Sight Of Old Ali’S Luxuries, Promised Himself Some Joyous Hours; But
Next Morning He Owned With A Sigh That He Had Purchased Splendour At
The Extravagant Price Of Happiness—The Senior’S Tongue Never Rested
Throughout The Livelong Night.
During our half-halt at Al-Suwayrkiyah we determined to have a small
feast; we bought some fresh dates, and we paid a dollar and a half for
a sheep.
Hungry travellers consider “liver and fry” a dish to set before a
Shaykh. On this occasion, however, our enjoyment was marred by the
water; even Soyer’s dinners would scarcely charm if washed down with cups
of a certain mineral-spring found at Epsom.
We started at ten A.M. (Monday, 5th September) in a South-Easterly
direction, and travelled over a flat, thinly dotted with Desert
vegetation. At one P.M we passed a basaltic ridge; and then, entering a
long depressed line of country, a kind of valley, paced down it five
tedious hours. The Samum as usual was blowing hard, and it seemed to
affect the travellers’ tempers. In one place I saw a Turk, who could not
speak a word of Arabic, violently disputing with an Arab who could not
understand a word of Turkish. The pilgrim insisted upon adding to the
camel’s load a few dry sticks, such as are picked up for cooking. The
camel-man as perseveringly threw off the extra burthen. They screamed
with rage, hustled each other, and at last the Turk dealt the Arab a
heavy blow. I afterwards heard that the pilgrim was mortally wounded
that night, his stomach being ripped
[p.128] open with a dagger. On enquiring what had become of him, I was
assured that he had been comfortably wrapped up in his shroud, and
placed in a half-dug grave. This is the general practice in the case of
the poor and solitary, whom illness or accident incapacitates from
proceeding. It is impossible to contemplate such a fate without horror:
the torturing thirst of a wound,[FN#4] the burning sun heating the
brain to madness, and—worst of all, for they do not wait till death—the
attacks of the jackal, the vulture, and the raven of the wild.
At six P.M., before the light of day had faded, we traversed a rough
and troublesome ridge. Descending it our course lay in a southerly
direction along a road flanked on the left by low hills of red
sandstone and bright porphyry. About an hour afterwards we came to a
basalt field, through whose blocks we threaded our way painfully and
slowly, for it was then dark. At eight P.M. the camels began to stumble
over the dwarf dykes of the wheat and barley fields, and presently we
arrived at our halting-place, a large village called Al-Sufayna. The
plain was already dotted with tents and lights. We found the Baghdad
Caravan, whose route here falls into the Darb al-Sharki.
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