Ii. P. 174. [FN#43] Of Which I Have Given An Account In Chapter Xvi. [FN#44] The Only Abnormal

Sound amongst the consonants heard here and in Al-Hijaz generally is the pronouncing of k (A[rabic]) a hard

G—for instance, “Gur’an” for “Kur’an” (a Koran), and Haggi or Hakki (my right). This g, however, is pronounced deep in the throat, and does not resemble the corrupt Egyptian pronunciation of the jim (j, [Arabic]), a letter which the Copts knew not, and which their modern descendants cannot articulate. In Al-Hijaz, the only abnormal sounds amongst the vowels are o for u, as Khokh, a peach, and [Arabic] for [Arabic], as Ohod for Uhud. The two short vowels fath and kasr are correctly pronounced, the former never becoming a short e, as in Egypt (El for Al and Yemen for Yaman), or a short i, as in Syria (“min” for “man” who? &c.) These vowels, however, are differently articulated in every part of the Arab world. So says St. Jerome of the Hebrew: “Nec refert atrum Salem aut Salim nominetur; cum vocalibus in medio literis perraro utantur Hebraei; et pro voluntate lectorum, ac varietate regionum, eadem verba diversis sonis atque accentibus proferantur.” [FN#45] e.g., Ant Zarabt—thou struckedst—for Zarabta. The final vowel, suffering apocope, would leave “Zarabt” equally applicable to the first person singular and the second person singular masculine.

[p.28]CHAPTER XXII.

A VISIT TO THE SAINTS’ CEMETERY.

A splendid comet, blazing in the western sky, had aroused the apprehensions of the Madani. They all fell to predicting the usual disasters—war, famine, and pestilence,—it being still an article of Moslem belief that the Dread Star foreshows all manner of calamities. Men discussed the probability of Abd al-Majid’s immediate decease; for here as in Rome,

“When beggars die, there are no comets seen: The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes:”

and in every strange atmospheric appearance about the time of the Hajj, the Hijazis are accustomed to read tidings of the dreaded Rih al-Asfar.[FN#l]

Whether the event is attributable to the Zu Zuwabah—the “Lord of the Forelock,”—or whether it was a case of post hoc, ergò, propter hoc, I would not commit myself by deciding; but, influenced by some cause or other, the Hawazim and the Hawamid, sub-families of the Benu-Harb, began to fight about this time with prodigious fury. These tribes are generally at feud, and the least provocation fans their smouldering wrath into a flame. The Hawamid number, it is said, between three and four thousand fighting men, and the Hawazim not more than seven hundred: the latter however, are considered a race of desperadoes who pride themselves upon never retreating,

[p.29]and under their fiery Shaykhs, Abbas and Abu Ali, they are a thorn in the sides of their disproportionate foe. On the present occasion a Hamidah[FN#2] happened to strike the camel of a Hazimi which had trespassed; upon which the Hazimi smote the Hamidah, and called him a rough name. The Hamidah instantly shot the Hazimi, the tribes were called out, and they fought with asperity for some days. During the whole of the afternoon of Tuesday, the 30th of August, the sound of firing amongst the mountains was distinctly heard in the city. Through the streets parties of Badawin, sword and matchlock in hand, or merely carrying quarterstaves on their shoulders, might be seen hurrying along, frantic at the chance of missing the fray. The townspeople cursed them privily, expressing a hope that the whole race of vermin might consume itself. And the pilgrims were in no small trepidation, fearing the desertion of their camel-men, and knowing what a blaze is kindled in this inflammable land by an ounce of gunpowder. I afterwards heard that the Badawin fought till night, and separated after losing on both sides ten men.

This quarrel put an end to any lingering possibility of my prosecuting my journey to Maskat,[FN#3] as originally intended. I had on the way from Yambu’ to Al-Madinah privily made a friendship with one Mujrim of the Benu-Harb. The “Sinful,” as his name, ancient and classical amongst the Arabs, means, understood that I had some motive of secret interest to undertake the perilous journey. He could not promise at first to guide me, as his beat lay between Yambu’, Al-Madinah, Mec[c]ah, and Jeddah. But he offered to make all inquiries about the route, and to

[p.30] bring me the result at noonday, a time when the household was asleep. He had almost consented at last to travel with me about the end of August, in which case I should have slipped out of Hamid’s house and started like a Badawi towards the Indian Ocean. But when the war commenced, Mujrim, who doubtless wished to stand by his brethren the Hawazim, began to show signs of recusancy in putting off the day of departure to the end of September. At last, when pressed, he frankly told me that no traveller—nay, not a Badawi—could leave the city in that direction, even as far as historic Khaybar,[FN#4] which information I afterwards ascertained to be correct. It was impossible to start alone, and when in despair I had recourse to Shaykh Hamid, he seemed to think me mad for wishing to wend Northwards when all the world was hurrying towards the South. My disappointment was bitter at first, but consolation soon suggested itself. Under the most favourable circumstances, a Badawi-trip from Al-Madinah to Maskat, fifteen or sixteen hundred miles, would require at least ten months; whereas, under pain of losing my commission,[FN#5] I was ordered to be at Bombay before the end of March. Moreover, entering Arabia by Al-Hijaz, as has before been said, I was obliged to leave behind all my instruments except a watch and a pocket-compass, so the benefit rendered to geography by my trip would have been scanty.

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