Leave with due honour.
After affectionate embraces and parting mementoes, we mounted, the boy
Mohammed and I in the litter, and Shaykh Nur in his cot. Then in
company with some Turks and Meccans, for Mas’ud owned a string of nine
camels, we passed through the little gate near the castle, and shaped
our course towards the North. On our right lay the palm-groves, which
conceal this part of the city; far to the left rose the domes of Hamzah’s
Mosques at the foot of Mount Ohod; and in front a band of road, crowded
with motley groups, stretched over a barren stony plain.
After an hour’s slow march, bending gradually from North to North-East,
we fell into the Nijd highway, and came to a place of renown called
Al-Ghadir, or the Basin.[FN#2] This is a depression conducting the
drainage of the plain towards the northern hills. The skirts of Ohod
still limited the prospect to the left. On the right was the Bir Rashid
(Well of Rashid), and the little whitewashed dome of Ali al-Urays, a
descendant from Zayn al-Abidin:—the tomb is still a place of Visitation.
There we halted and turned to take farewell of the Holy City. All the
[p.60] pilgrims dismounted and gazed at the venerable minarets and the
Green Dome,—spots upon which their memories would for ever dwell with a
fond and yearning interest.
Remounting at noon, we crossed a Fiumara which runs, according to my
Camel-Shaykh, from North to South; we were therefore emerging from the
Madinah basin. The sky began to be clouded, and although the air was
still full of Samu[m], cold draughts occasionally poured down from the
hills. Arabs fear this
“bitter change
Of fierce extremes, extremes by change more fierce,”
and call that a dangerous climate which is cold in the hot season and
hot in the cold. Travelling over a rough and stony path, dotted with
thorny Acacias, we arrived about two P.M. at the bed of lava heard of
by Burckhardt.[FN#3] The
[p.61] aspect of the country was volcanic, abounding in basalts and
scoriae, more or less porous: sand veiled the black bed whose present
dimensions by no means equal the descriptions of Arabian historians. I
made diligent enquiries about the existence of active volcanoes in this
part of Al-Hijaz, and heard of none.
At five P.M., travelling towards the East, we entered a Bughaz,[FN#4]
or Pass, which follows the course of a wide Fiumara, walled in by steep
and barren hills,—the portals of a region too wild even for Badawin. The
torrent-bed narrowed where the turns were abrupt, and the drift of
heavy stones, with a water-mark from six to seven feet
[p.62] high, showed that after rains a violent stream runs from East
and South-East to West and North-West. The fertilising fluid is close
to the surface, evidenced by a spare growth of Acacia, camel-grass, and
at some angles of the bed by the Daum, or Theban palm.[FN#5] I remarked
what was technically called “Hufrah,” holes dug for water in the sand; and
the guide assured me that somewhere near there is a spring flowing from
the rocks.
After the long and sultry afternoon, beasts of burden began to sink in
numbers. The fresh carcases of asses, ponies, and camels dotted the
wayside: those that had been allowed to die were abandoned to the foul
carrion-birds, the Rakham (vulture), and the yellow Ukab; and all whose
throats had been properly cut, were surrounded by troops of Takruri
pilgrims. These half-starved wretches cut steaks from the choice
portions, and slung them over their shoulders till an opportunity of
cooking might arrive. I never saw men more destitute. They carried
wooden bowls, which they filled with water by begging; their only
weapon was a small knife, tied in a leathern sheath above the elbow;
and their costume an old skull-cap, strips of leather like sandals
under the feet, and a long dirty shirt, or sometimes a mere rag
covering the loins. Some were perfect savages, others had been
fine-looking men, broad-shouldered, thin-flanked, and long-limbed; many
were lamed by fatigue and by thorns; and looking at most of them, I
fancied death depicted in their forms and features.
After two hours’ slow marching up the Fiumara eastwards, we saw in front
of us a wall of rock; and, turning abruptly southwards, we left the
bed, and ascended rising ground. Already it was night; an hour,
however, elapsed before we saw, at a distance, the twinkling fires, and
heard the watch-cries of our camp. It was
[p.63] pitched in a hollow, under hills, in excellent order; the Pasha’s
pavilion surrounded by his soldiers and guards disposed in tents, with
sentinels, regularly posted, protecting the outskirts of the
encampment. One of our men, whom we had sent forward, met us on the
way, and led us to an open place, where we unloaded the camels, raised
our canvas home, lighted fires, and prepared, with supper, for a good
night’s rest. Living is simple on such marches. The pouches inside and
outside the Shugduf contain provisions and water, with which you supply
yourself when inclined. At certain hours of the day, ambulant vendors
offer sherbet, lemonade, hot coffee, and water-pipes admirably
prepared.[FN#6] Chibuks may be smoked in the litter; but few care to do
so during the Samu[m]. The first thing, however, called for at the
halting-place is the pipe, and its delightfully soothing influence,
followed by a cup of coffee, and a “forty winks” upon the sand, will awaken
an appetite not to be roused by other means.
