Then Reaching The
Northern Side, And Ascending A Gentle Slope, We Found Ourselves Upon
The Battle-Field.
This spot, so celebrated in the annals of Al-Islam, is a shelving strip
of land, close to the Southern base of Mount Ohod.
The army of the
Infidels advanced from the Fiumara in crescent shape, with Abu Sufiyan,
the general, and his idols in the centre. It is distant about three
miles from Al-Madinah, in a Northerly direction.[FN#16] All the visitor
sees is hard gravelly ground, covered with little heaps of various
coloured granite, red sandstone, and bits of porphyry, to denote the
different places where the martyrs fell, and were buried.[FN#17] Seen
from this point, there is something appalling in the look of the Holy
Mountain. Its seared and jagged flanks rise like masses of iron from
the plain, and the crevice into which the Moslem host retired, when the
disobedience of the archers in hastening to plunder enabled Khalid bin
Walid to fall upon Mohammed's rear, is the only break in the grim wall.
Reeking with heat, its surface produces
[p.426]not one green shrub or stunted tree; neither bird nor beast
appeared upon its inhospitable sides, and the bright blue sky glaring
above its bald and sullen brow, made it look only the more repulsive. I
was glad to turn away my eyes from it.
To the left of the road North of the Fiumara, and leading to the
mountains, stands Hamzah's Mosque, which, like the Harim of Al-Madinah,
is a Mausoleum as well as a fane. It is a small strongly built square
of hewn stone, with a dome covering the solitary hypostyle to the
South, and the usual minaret. The Westward wing is a Zawiyah or
oratory,[FN#18] frequented by the celebrated Sufi and Saint, Mohammed
al-Samman, the "Clarified Butter-Seller," one of whose blood, the
reader will remember, stood by my side in the person of Shaykh Hamid.
On the Eastern side of the building a half wing projects; and a small
door opens to the South, upon a Mastabah or stone bench five or six
feet high: this completes the square of the edifice. On the right of
the road opposite Hamzah's Mosque, is a large erection, now in ruins,
containing a deep hole leading to a well, with huge platforms for the
accommodation of travellers. Beyond, towards the mountains, are the
small edifices presently to be described.
Some Turkish women were sitting veiled upon the shady platform opposite
the Martyrs' Mosque. At a little distance their husbands, and the
servants holding horses and asses, lay upon the ground, and a large
crowd of Badawin, boys, girls, and old women, had gathered around to
beg, draw water, and sell dry dates. They
[p.427]were awaiting the guardian, who had not yet acknowledged the
summons. After half an hour's vain patience, we determined to proceed
with the ceremonies. Ascending by its steps the Mastabah subtending
half the Eastern wall, Shaykh Hamid placed me so as to front the tomb.
There standing in the burning sun, we repeated the following prayer:
"Peace be upon Thee, O our Lord Hamzah! O Paternal Uncle of Allah's
Apostle! O Paternal Uncle of Allah's Prophet! Peace be upon Thee, O
Paternal Uncle of Mustafa! Peace be upon Thee, O Prince of the Martyrs!
O Prince of the Happy! Peace be upon Thee, O Lion of Allah! O Lion of
His Prophet!" After which, we asked Hamzah and his companions to lend
us their aid in obtaining for us and ours pardon, worldly prosperity
and future happiness. Scarcely had we finished, when, mounted on a
high-trotting dromedary, appeared the emissary of Mohammed Kalifah,
descendant of Al-Abbas, who keeps the key of the Mosque, and who
receives the fees and donations of the devout. It was to be opened for
the Turkish pilgrims. I waited to see the interior. The Arab drew forth
from his pouch, with abundant solemnity, a bunch of curiously made
keys, and sharply directed me to stand away from and out of sight of
the door. When I obeyed, grumblingly, he began to rattle the locks, and
to snap the padlocks, opening them slowly, shaking them, and making as
much noise as possible. The reason of the precaution-it sounded like
poetry if not sense-is this. It is believed that the souls of martyrs,
leaving the habitations of their senseless clay,
[FN#19] are fond of sitting together in spiritual
[p.428]converse, and profane eye must not fall upon the scene. What
grand pictures these imaginative Arabs see! Conceive the majestic
figures of the saints-for the soul with Mohammedans is like the old
European spirit, a something immaterial in the shape of the body-with
long grey beards, earnest faces, and solemn eyes, reposing beneath the
palms, and discussing events now buried in the gloom of a thousand
years. I would fain be hard upon this superstition, but shame prevents.
When in Nottingham, eggs may not be carried out after sunset; when
Ireland hears Banshees, or apparitional old women, with streaming hair,
and dressed in blue mantles; when Scotland sees a shroud about a
person, showing his approaching death; when France has her loup-garous,
revenants, and poules du Vendredi Saint (i.e. hens hatched on Good
Friday supposed to change colour every year): as long as the Holy Coat
cures devotees at Treves, Madonnas wink at Rimini, San Januario melts
at Naples, and Addolorate and Estatiche make converts to hysteria at
Rome: whilst the Virgin manifests herself to children on the Alps and
in France, whilst Germany sends forth Psychography, whilst Europe, the
civilised, the enlightened, the sceptical, dotes over clairvoyance and
table-turning, and whilst even hard-headed America believes in
"mediums," in "snail-telegraphs," and "spirit-rappings,"[FN#20]-I must
hold the men of Al-Madinah to be as wise, and their superstition to be
as respectable, as that of others.
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