They replied in the usual
phrase, "Nahnu mutawakkilin"--"we are trusters (in Allah)." That evening,
having feasted them hospitably, the chief returned hurriedly to the hut,
declaring that his soothsayer ordered him at once to sacrifice a pilgrim,
and begging the horror-struck auditors to choose the victim. They cast
lots and gave over one of their number: the Gerad placed him in another
hut, dyed his dagger with sheep's blood, and returned to say that he must
have a second life. The unhappy pilgrims rose _en masse_, and fled so
wildly that the chief, with all the cavalry of the desert, found
difficulty in recovering them. He dismissed them with liberal presents,
and not a few jibes about their trustfulness. The wilder Bedouins will
inquire where Allah is to be found: when asked the object of the question,
they reply, "If the Eesa could but catch him they would spear him upon the
spot,--who but he lays waste their homes and kills their cattle and
wives?" Yet, conjoined to this truly savage incapability of conceiving the
idea of a Supreme Being, they believe in the most ridiculous
exaggerations: many will not affront a common pilgrim, for fear of being
killed by a glance or a word.
Our supper, also provided by the hospitable Hajj, is the counterpart of
the midday dinner. After it we repair to the roof, to enjoy the prospect
of the far Tajurrah hills and the white moonbeams sleeping upon the nearer
sea. The evening star hangs like a diamond upon the still horizon: around
the moon a pink zone of light mist, shading off into turquoise blue, and a
delicate green like chrysopraz, invests the heavens with a peculiar charm.
The scene is truly suggestive: behind us, purpling in the night-air and
silvered by the radiance from above, lie the wolds and mountains tenanted
by the fiercest of savages; their shadowy mysterious forms exciting vague
alarms in the traveller's breast. Sweet as the harp of David, the night-
breeze and the music of the water come up from the sea; but the ripple and
the rustling sound alternate with the hyena's laugh, the jackal's cry, and
the wild dog's lengthened howl.
Or, the weather becoming cold, we remain below, and Mohammed Umar returns
to read out more "Book of Lights," or some pathetic ode. I will quote in
free translation the following production of the celebrated poet Abd el
Rahman el Burai, as a perfect specimen of melancholy Arab imagery:
"No exile is the banished to the latter end of earth,
The exile is the banished to the coffin and the tomb
"He hath claims on the dwellers in the places of their birth
Who wandereth the world, for he lacketh him a home.
"Then, blamer, blame me not, were my heart within thy breast,
The sigh would take the place of thy laughter and thy scorn.
"Let me weep for the sin that debars my soul of rest,
The tear may yet avail,--all in vain I may not mourn! [22]
"Woe! woe to thee, Flesh!--with a purer spirit now
The death-day were a hope, and the judgment-hour a joy!
"One morn I woke in pain, with a pallor on my brow,
As though the dreaded Angel were descending to destroy:
"They brought to me a leech, saying, 'Heal him lest he die!'
On that day, by Allah, were his drugs a poor deceit!
"They stripped me and bathed me, and closed the glazing eye,
And dispersed unto prayers, and to haggle for my sheet.
"The prayers without a bow [23] they prayed over me that day,
Brought nigh to me the bier, and disposed me within.
"Four bare upon their shoulders this tenement of clay,
Friend and kinsmen in procession bore the dust of friend and kin.
"They threw upon me mould of the tomb and went their way--
A guest, 'twould seem, had flitted from the dwellings of the tribe!
"My gold and my treasures each a share they bore away,
Without thanks, without praise, with a jest and with a jibe.
"My gold and my treasures each his share they bore away,
On me they left the weight!--with me they left the sin!
"That night within the grave without hoard or child I lay,
No spouse, no friend were there, no comrade and no kin.
"The wife of my youth, soon another husband found--
A stranger sat at home on the hearthstone of my sire.
"My son became a slave, though not purchased nor bound,
The hireling of a stranger, who begrudged him his hire.
"Such, alas, is human life! such the horror of his death!
Man grows like a grass, like a god he sees no end.
"Be wise, then, ere too late, brother! praise with every breath
The hand that can chastise, the arm that can defend:
"And bless thou the Prophet, the averter of our ills,
While the lightning flasheth bright o'er the ocean and the hills."
At this hour my companions become imaginative and superstitious. One
Salimayn, a black slave from the Sawahil [24], now secretary to the Hajj,
reads our fortunes in the rosary. The "fal" [25], as it is called, acts a
prominent part in Somali life. Some men are celebrated for accuracy of
prediction; and in times of danger, when the human mind is ever open to
the "fooleries of faith," perpetual reference is made to their art. The
worldly wise Salimayn, I observed, never sent away a questioner with an
ill-omened reply, but he also regularly insisted upon the efficacy of
sacrifice and almsgiving, which, as they would assuredly be neglected,
afforded him an excuse in case of accident.
