The granite hills on both
sides were less precipitous; and the borders of the torrent-bed became
natural quays of stiff clay, which showed a water-mark of from twelve
to fifteen feet in height. In many parts the bed was muddy; and the
moist places, as usual, caused accidents. I happened to be looking back
at Shaykh Abdullah, who was then riding in old Ali bin Ya Sin’s fine
Shugduf; suddenly the camel’s four legs disappeared from under him, his
right side flattening the ground, and the two riders were pitched
severally out of the smashed vehicle. Abdullah started up furious, and
with great zest abused the Badawin, who were absent. “Feed these Arabs,” he
exclaimed, quoting a Turkish proverb, “and
[p.147] they will fire at Heaven!” But I observed that, when Shaykh Mas’ud
came up, the citizen was only gruff.
We then turned Northward, and sighted Al-Mazik, more generally known as
Wady Laymun, the Valley of Limes. On the right bank of the Fiumara
stood the Meccan Sharif’s state pavilion, green and gold: it was
surrounded by his attendants, and he had prepared to receive the Pasha
of the Caravan. We advanced half a mile, and encamped temporarily in a
hill-girt bulge of the Fiumara bed. At eight A.M. we had travelled
about twenty-four miles from Al-Zaribah, and the direction of our
present station was South-west 50°.
Shaykh Mas’ud allowed us only four hours’ halt; he wished to precede the
main body. After breaking our fast joyously upon limes, pomegranates,
and fresh dates, we sallied forth to admire the beauties of the place.
We are once more on classic ground—the ground of the ancient Arab poets,—
“Deserted is the village—waste the halting place and home
At Mina, o’er Rijam and Ghul wild beasts unheeded roam,
On Rayyan hill the channel lines have left their naked trace,
Time-worn, as primal Writ that dints the mountain’s flinty
face;[FN#25]”—
and this Wady, celebrated for the purity of its air, has from remote
ages been a favourite resort of the Meccans. Nothing can be more
soothing to the brain than the dark-green foliage of the limes and
pomegranates; and from
[p.148] the base of the Southern hill bursts a bubbling stream, whose
“Chaire, fresche e dolci acque”
flow through the gardens, filling them with the most delicious of
melodies, the gladdest sound which Nature in these regions knows.
Exactly at noon Mas’ud seized the halter of the foremost camel, and we
started down the Fiumara. Troops of Badawi girls looked over the
orchard walls laughingly, and children came out to offer us fresh fruit
and sweet water. At two P.M., travelling South-west, we arrived at a
point where the torrent-bed turns to the right[;] and, quitting it, we
climbed with difficulty over a steep ridge of granite. Before three
o’clock we entered a hill-girt plain, which my companions called “Sola.” In
some places were clumps of trees, and scattered villages warned us that
we were approaching a city. Far to the left rose the blue peaks of
Taif, and the mountain road, a white thread upon the nearer heights,
was pointed out to me. Here I first saw the tree, or rather shrub,
which bears the balm of Gilead, erst so celebrated for its tonic and
stomachic properties.[FN#26] I told Shaykh Mas’ud to break off a
[p.149] twig, which he did heedlessly. The act was witnessed by our
party with a roar of laughter; and the astounded Shaykh was warned that
he had become subject to an atoning sacrifice. [FN#27] Of course he
denounced me as the instigator, and I could not fairly refuse
assistance. The tree has of late years been carefully described by many
botanists; I will only say that the bark resembled in colour a
cherry-stick pipe, the inside was a light yellow, and the juice made my
fingers stick together.
At four P.M. we came to a steep and rocky Pass, up which we toiled with
difficulty. The face of the country was rising once more, and again
presented the aspect of numerous small basins divided and surrounded by
hills. As we
[p.150] jogged on we were passed by the cavalcade of no less a
personage than the Sharif of Meccah. Abd al-Muttalib bin Ghalib is a
dark, beardless old man with African features derived from his mother.
He was plainly dressed in white garments and a white muslin
turband,[FN#28] which made him look jet black; he rode an ambling mule,
and the only emblem of his dignity was the large green satin umbrella
born[e] by an attendant on foot.[FN#29] Scattered around him were about
forty matchlock men, mostly slaves. At long intervals, after their
father, came his four sons, Riza Bey, Abdullah, Ali, and Ahmad, the
latter still a child. The three elder brothers rode splendid
dromedaries at speed; they were young men of light complexion, with the
true Meccan cast of features, showily dressed in bright coloured silks,
and armed, to denote their rank, with sword and gold-hilted
dagger.[FN#30]
[p.151]We halted as evening approached, and strained our eyes, but all
in vain, to catch sight of Meccah, which lies in a winding valley. By
Shaykh Abdullah’s direction I recited, after the usual devotions, the
following prayer. The reader is for[e]warned that it is difficult to
preserve the flowers of Oriental rhetoric in a European tongue.
[p.152]O Allah! verily this is Thy Safeguard (Amn) and Thy (Harim)!
Into it whoso entereth becometh safe (Amin). So deny (Harrim) my Flesh
and Blood, my Bones and Skin, to Hell-fire. O Allah! save me from Thy
Wrath on the Day when Thy Servants shall be raised from the Dead.
