No Words Are Spoken, But Your Arabs Moan,
Your Camels Sigh, Your Skin Glows, Your Shoulders Ache, And For
Sights You See The Pattern And The Web Of The Silk That Veils Your
Eyes And The Glare Of The Outer Light.
Time labours on; your skin
glows and your shoulders ache, your Arabs moan, your camels sigh,
and you see
The same pattern in the silk, and the same glare of
light beyond, but conquering Time marches on, and by-and-by the
descending sun has compassed the heaven, and now softly touches
your right arm, and throws your lank shadow over the sand right
along on the way to Persia. Then again you look upon his face, for
his power is all veiled in his beauty, and the redness of flames
has become the redness of roses; the fair, wavy cloud that fled in
the morning now comes to his sight once more, comes blushing, yet
still comes on, comes burning with blushes, yet hastens and clings
to his side.
Then arrives your time for resting. The world about you is all
your own, and there, where you will, you pitch your solitary tent;
there is no living thing to dispute your choice. When at last the
spot had been fixed upon and we came to a halt, one of the Arabs
would touch the chest of my camel and utter at the same time a
peculiar gurgling sound. The beast instantly understood and obeyed
the sign, and slowly sunk under me till she brought her body to a
level with the ground, then gladly enough I alighted. The rest of
the camels were unloaded and turned loose to browse upon the shrubs
of the desert, where shrubs there were, or where these failed, to
wait for the small quantity of food that was allowed them out of
our stores.
My servants, helped by the Arabs, busied themselves in pitching the
tent and kindling the fire. Whilst this was doing I used to walk
away towards the east, confiding in the print of my foot as a guide
for my return. Apart from the cheering voices of my attendants I
could better know and feel the loneliness of the Desert. The
influence of such scenes, however, was not of a softening kind, but
filled me rather with a sort of childish exultation in the self-
sufficiency which enabled me to stand thus alone in the wideness of
Asia - a short-lived pride, for wherever man wanders he still
remains tethered by the chain that links him to his kind; and so
when the night closed around me I began to return, to return, as it
were, to my own gate. Reaching at last some high ground I could
see, and see with delight, the fire of our small encampment, and
when at last I regained the spot it seemed to me a very home that
had sprung up for me in the midst of these solitudes. My Arabs
were busy with their bread; Mysseri rattling tea-cups; the little
kettle, with her odd old-maidish looks, sat humming away old songs
about England; and two or three yards from the fire my tent stood
prim and tight, with open portal, and with welcoming look, like
"the old arm-chair" of our lyrist's "sweet Lady Anne."
At the beginning of my journey the night breeze blew coldly; when
that happened, the dry sand was heaped up outside round the skirts
of the tent, and so the wind, that everywhere else could sweep as
he listed along those dreary plains, was forced to turn aside in
his course and make way, as he ought, for the Englishman.
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