[P.147] they will fire at Heaven!” But I observed that, when Shaykh Mas’ud
came up, the citizen was only gruff.
We then turned Northward, and sighted Al-Mazik, more generally known as
Wady Laymun, the Valley of Limes. On the right bank of the Fiumara
stood the Meccan Sharif’s state pavilion, green and gold: it was
surrounded by his attendants, and he had prepared to receive the Pasha
of the Caravan. 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.
Exactly at noon Mas’ud seized the halter of the foremost camel, and we
started down the Fiumara. Troops of Badawi girls looked over the
orchard walls laughingly, and children came out to offer us fresh fruit
and sweet water. At two P.M., travelling South-west, we arrived at a
point where the torrent-bed turns to the right[;] and, quitting it, we
climbed with difficulty over a steep ridge of granite. Before three
o’clock we entered a hill-girt plain, which my companions called “Sola.” In
some places were clumps of trees, and scattered villages warned us that
we were approaching a city. Far to the left rose the blue peaks of
Taif, and the mountain road, a white thread upon the nearer heights,
was pointed out to me. Here I first saw the tree, or rather shrub,
which bears the balm of Gilead, erst so celebrated for its tonic and
stomachic properties.[FN#26] I told Shaykh Mas’ud to break off a
[p.149] twig, which he did heedlessly. The act was witnessed by our
party with a roar of laughter; and the astounded Shaykh was warned that
he had become subject to an atoning sacrifice.
