Shaykh Mas’Ud Correctly Guessed The Cause Of Our
Detention At The Inhospitable “Halting-Place Of The Mutayr” (Badawin).
“Cook
your bread and boil your coffee,” said the old man; “the camels will rest
for awhile, and the gun will sound at nightfall.”
We had passed over about eighteen miles of ground; and our present
direction was South-west twenty degrees of Al-Sufayna.
At half-past ten that evening we heard the signal for
[p.132] departure, and, as the moon was still young, we prepared for a
hard night’s work. We took a south-westerly course through what is called
a Wa’ar—rough ground covered with thicket. Darkness fell upon us like a
pall. The camels tripped and stumbled, tossing their litters like
cockboats in a short sea; at times the Shugdufs were well nigh torn off
their backs. When we came to a ridge worse than usual, old Mas’ud would
seize my camel’s halter, and, accompanied by his son and nephew bearing
lights, encourage the animals with gesture and voice. It was a strange,
wild scene. The black basaltic field was dotted with the huge and
doubtful forms of spongy-footed camels with silent tread, looming like
phantoms in the midnight air; the hot wind moaned, and whirled from the
torches flakes and sheets of flame and fiery smoke, whilst ever and
anon a swift-travelling Takht-rawan, drawn by mules, and surrounded by
runners bearing gigantic mashals or cressets,[FN#7] threw a passing
glow of red light upon the dark road and the dusky multitude. On this
occasion the rule was “every man for himself.” Each pressed forward into
the best path, thinking only of preceding his neighbour. The Syrians,
amongst whom our little party had become entangled, proved most
unpleasant companions: they often stopped the way, insisting upon their
right to precedence. On one occasion a horseman had the audacity to
untie the halter of my dromedary, and thus to cast us adrift, as it
were, in order to make room for some excluded friend. I seized my
sword; but Shaykh Abdullah stayed my hand, and addressed the intruder
in terms sufficiently violent to make him slink away. Nor was this the
only occasion on which my
[p.133] companion was successful with the Syrians. He would begin with
a mild “Move a little, O my father!” followed, if fruitless, by “Out of the
way, O Father of Syria[FN#8]!” and if still ineffectual, advancing to a
“Begone, O he!” This ranged between civility and sternness. If without
effect, it was supported by revilings to the “Abusers of the Salt,” the
“Yazid,” the “Offspring of Shimr.” Another remark which I made about my
companion’s conduct well illustrates the difference between the Eastern
and the Western man. When traversing a dangerous place, Shaykh Abdullah
the European attended to his camel with loud cries of “Hai! Hai[FN#9]!” and
an occasional switching. Shaykh Abdullah the Asiatic commended himself
to Allah by repeated ejaculations of Ya Satir!
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