A Pilgrimage to Nejd, the Cradle of the Arab Race. Vol. 2 [of 2]

March 22. – The weather has cleared, and we can see the Hamrin hills to the east, not so very far off. The country is less hideous than it seemed yesterday in the rain. This place is a sort of peninsula or island, formed by two rivers, which come from the Hamrin hills and fall into the Tigris. These seemed to be joined higher up by a canal, so that the space inside is cut off from the desert. It is partly a swamp, partly a thicket of guttub bushes, with here and there patches of cultivation made by felláhin. These call themselves Saadeh, but Seyd Abbas says they come from all parts. He himself is brother to the Sheykh of Ali Ghurbi, a village on the other side of the Tigris. There are no villages at all on this side after Kut, and this island of Wudian is the only inhabited spot. The felláhin are very poor, and complain bitterly of the government, which ruins them. They are completely under the thumb of the Turks, now that the government has steamers on the river, and the tax-gatherers take (if we may believe them), about two-thirds of their crops. They have also to pay ten beshliks (francs) for each tent, half a beshlik for each sheep, two beshliks for each buffalo they keep, and a capitation tax of two and a half beshliks besides. Moreover, they are visited now and then by zaptiehs, who take their horses from them if they do not manage to hide them away, on the pretence that they cannot afford to keep them, while Mizban makes them pay tribute for protection too, or rather for the right of being left alone. The government does absolutely nothing in return for what it takes. They are indeed in a wretched plight, and one wonders why they take all this trouble of cultivation for so little, but perhaps it is a choice between that and starvation.

The great feature of Wudian is its wild-boars. These literally swarm in the fields, trotting about in open day-light, and doing exactly as they like. The people are afraid of them, and keep out of their way, and no wonder, for they are gigantic beasts. A man who was at our tents to-day, shewed us a terrible wound he had received from one which charged him quite without provocation. The people have only their short spears to protect themselves with. The beasts come almost inside the camp, and Wilfrid found one this afternoon fast asleep under a bush, within ten yards of the path which leads to the tents. The people passing along, went a long way round so as not to disturb it, for it lay quite exposed to view. Seyd Abbas begged him to destroy some of them, and Wilfrid has ridden out on Ariel, and taken the Winchester rifle to see what he can do. I have felt feverish, and have stayed at home drying the things which had got wet.

The people here are all Shias, and very fanatical, and Seyd Abbas as a descendant of the Prophet enjoys a high position among them. Among the Ánazeh and Shammar, the Bedouins think nothing of saints and seyyids, but here they have everybody at their feet. Bashaga, the Sheykh, though a Beni Laam and, as such, a “gentleman,” is not nearly so important as the old man in the green turban. The latter has been talking to me this morning and promises to take us to Mizban’s camp, if we insist on going, though he advises strongly not. He says that with him we shall be safe, as they also have a great respect for Seyyids, and besides he has married into Mizban’s family. Seyyid or not, he eats and drinks with us freely; so we feel a certain amount of confidence in him.

Wilfrid has returned triumphant. He was not more than two hours and a half away, and he has killed five boars and a sow. Ariel behaved wonderfully, following the pigs without any need of urging, and without flinching when they charged. It seems to have been splendid sport. Amongst the victims was the old boar that had been seen asleep, and which charged most viciously. It is lucky the dogs were not taken, as they would certainly have got hurt. The Arabs are highly delighted at the result, and we hope it may put us on better terms with them. They have dragged one of the corpses, a disgusting object, to the bank of the river, intending, they say, to send it to the British Resident at Bagdad by the next steamer. No news, alas, of the camels.

March 23. – A fearful storm in the night, and the whole place under water. Wilfrid went out early to try and get news of the camels, riding Job, the grey horse we bought of Col. Nixon. He did not get far, for the streams are so swollen that they are impassable, at least for one who does not know the fords; and Job is a rather timid horse to get into difficulties with. He is young, and fairly bolted when a pig jumped up from out of a bush near him. We are both going out now for some more boar-hunting. I should enjoy it better if I was sure we should ever get away from this swampy place.

* * * * *

We have had a great misfortune. Ariel is badly wounded. We went out to-day, a large party, people on foot with spears and hoes, and one or two on sorry little mares. It was a beautiful day after the rain, birds singing in all the bushes, francolins calling, hoopoes flying about, and woodcocks starting from guttub thickets. The island was half under water, and droves of pigs, boars, sows and little ones, turned out of the bushes, where they generally lie in the day-time, were grunting and trotting and splashing about everywhere. We singled out a great red boar, and all gave chase, but the ground was heavier than yesterday, and we had a longish gallop to come up to him. It was difficult, too, to keep to the boar we had chosen, where there were so many. At last he charged, and was hit, but not enough to stop though it turned him, and then we had another gallop, and another shot rolled him over. The people on foot, who were following them, rushed in, but just as they got near him up he jumped, and bolted towards some deep water, where there was a high guttub bush. I was in front, and Wilfrid shouted to me to turn him, which I would have done if I could, but instead, he turned me, coming at me with a savage grunt and a toss of his head which I knew was dangerous. Then he plunged into the deep water, but instead of going on, suddenly changed his mind, and came back to where the bush was on the land, and before we were aware, had charged right in among us. Wilfrid turned his mare, but, alas, not fast enough, firing as he turned. To my horror, I saw the hideous beast catch Ariel and give her a toss, such as I have seen in the bull-ring given by a bull. He seemed to lift horse and rider clean off the ground. Ariel staggered away, while the boar lay down, and was soon after dispatched by the Arabs.

We meanwhile had torn off our kefiyehs and scarfs, and were trying to staunch a ghastly wound in the poor mare’s leg. The leg was ripped up inside from the hock to the stifle, and an artery had been cut. For a long while it was all in vain. We could not stop the flow, and no words can describe our misery as we watched the blood pouring fast upon the ground. We were in despair, for besides the fact of her being thus precious in race, we are much attached to the mare for her own sake, as who would not be, for Ariel is the noblest and best and gentlest creature that ever was. She has a pathetic look in her eyes, and is absolutely patient under her suffering. We have now some hope of her recovery, but Wilfrid fears she must be abandoned, for the sinew is cut bare, and she cannot put her foot to the ground.

While we were engaged in tending her, suddenly the camels appeared. It would have given us immense pleasure a few hours ago. Now all seemed indifferent. Their presence, however, enabled us to bring our camp here, where the mare is.

March 24. – This certainly is an ill-starred journey. The stupid Agheyls have so neglected our camels that Abdeh is dead, and Shayl unable to go further. Nor are the rest in much better case. We had some discussion this morning about giving up our present plan, and taking the next steamer which passes by for Bussora where we could make a fresh start. This would have been the best chance of saving the mare. But we decided to push on, and accordingly we left Wudian this morning, fording the canal, which is about four feet deep, fortunately without accident, and marching slowly in a south-east direction across a perfectly level plain. Ours is a melancholy caravan, for poor Ariel walks with great difficulty, her leg being terribly swollen; but she has such courage that we hope she may yet pull through. It was a choice of evils, bringing or leaving her; for leaving her would mean that we should never see her again. Bashaga could not be trusted with her, nor any of the Arabs of Wudian except Seyd Abbas, and he has come with us. Seyd Abbas is mounted on a sorry little white kadish, and his son Hassan, who has come too, marches on foot. Wilfrid is mounted now on Job, and Hajji Mohammed on the hamra. Thus we have travelled about ten miles. The plain is here for the most part absolutely bare alluvial soil, like that of Irak, but mixed with saltpetre, and so producing nothing. Here and there, however, there is a swamp, with a little show of verdure, and we have encamped in the middle of a patch of thistles, the first bit of pasture we have come to. We have met no one, but there are some tents now at a distance, with camels feeding, supposed to belong to the Beni Laam. Hajji Mohammed has been to the tents, but he does not seem to know how to manage among the Bedouins, and has come back empty-handed, declaring that the owners were rude to him. We ought, I suppose, to have gone ourselves, but we are in such distress about the mare that we do not like to leave her. We have been dressing her wounds with Holloway’s ointment, as she lies on her side at our tent door. The thistles are of the spotted sort, and all the animals, including Ariel, seem to enjoy them.

March 25. – We hoped that Ariel was better, she had eaten well over-night, and though very stiff this morning, was able to start with us; but after travelling a couple of miles, she staggered and fell down, and though she got up again, she again fell. The third time she refused to move, the pain being too great, and there she lay on her side as if dead. It was useless to try to bring her further, and as we happened to be passing within half a mile of the tents we had seen yesterday, it was agreed that Hassan, Seyd Abbas’ son, should stop with her and get her gradually to them, and so back to Wudian. We have promised him a handsome reward if he succeeds in recovering her and sending her back to Bagdad, and he has protested he will do everything he can. All the same, I do not doubt that we have bid good-bye to Ariel for ever. She lifted up her beautiful head as we took leave of her, and seemed to understand what was happening, for Arab horses understand things as people do. Wilfrid brought her a bucket of water, which she drank, and then she laid her head upon the ground again, and we went away. [14 - What became of Ariel we shall never know. At first reports came to Bagdad that she was alive and recovering; then news that she was dead; and then, when someone was sent to inquire, it was discovered that Seyd Abbas and Bashaga and all the Arabs had deserted and were gone. We hope still she may be with them.]

Travelling without her to-day has seemed unnatural. It is impossible to enjoy looking at the sunshine or the Hamrin hills, though these have been very beautiful. We are again encamped in the open plain not ten miles from these hills, and three or four perhaps from the river, which we have been marching almost parallel with.

A new complication has arisen in the behaviour of Ramazan, the cook, who has proved so insubordinate that he is to be sent about his business. Seyd Abbas is to go to-morrow to Ali Ghurbi on the river, to make purchases of rice and dates for us, and he will take Ramazan with him, as also the groom, who declares he has got fever, caught in the Wudian swamps, and will go no further. Thus our party is melting away at the outset; but we are in the meanwhile to go on, with a young man Seyd Abbas brought with him from last night’s tents, to a large camp of the Beni Laam, which is said to be just under the hills, and wait there till the Seyyid joins us.

March 26. – Four hours’ march has brought us to the hills. As we got near them, we found the usual signs of a Bedouin encampment, distant flocks of sheep and then shepherds, all moving with that exaggerated, mysterious appearance of speed the mirage gives. We galloped on to reconnoitre from a tall tell in front of us, and soon made out the camp. There was a stream of water just below, and the tell and the plain near it were covered with something like turf, while the hill sides were visibly green with grass. A shepherd told us that the camp was Musa’s, the sheykh we were in search of; and, waiting till the camels came up with us, we went on there.

Musa ibn Sollal was absent, and we were directed to his brother Akul’s tent. We found him fast asleep in a corner of the tent, but he woke up when we entered, and received us politely. He told us that the Sheykh had gone to Amara, at a summons from the mutesserif of that town, to meet his brother Mizban, and have their quarrel made up. It seems that Musa, Akul and Homeydi, all sons of one mother, are making war against their half-brother, Mizban, who is head of the Ibn Sollal family, as well as principal Sheykh of all the Beni Laam; and the quarrel is now a serious affair, for Mizban has killed one of Musa’s sons. There can be little chance of its being patched up by Turkish intervention, for the present mutesserif is weak “like a lady,” they say, and not at all the man to deal with a blood-feud.

Akul is an elderly man, with a grey beard, and devoted to children. He has been doing his best to entertain us, as well as to amuse a little group of small children who came clustering around him when he awoke. His tent is a poor one, small and hot like a stewpan; and we escaped from it the moment we could with propriety go to our own, pitched only a few yards off – too few, alas! for comfort, for the people here, though well-behaved, cannot resist their curiosity to “farraj.”

These Beni Laam must be counted as true Bedouins, as none of them are felláhin, or would lift a finger to till the ground, for which purpose they employ such low tribes as our friends the Saadeh and the Abiad. But they are quite different from any other true Bedouins I have visited, not only in manners but in looks; and there seems to be among them a great mixture of races. Seyd Abbas has told us that they intermarry with Persian and Kurdish tribes, and that they also receive and adopt into their own tribe vagabonds from no one knows where; and this account is fully borne out by their appearance. Mixed descent may be read in their faces. Neither do they, as far as I can make out, lay much claim to good breeding, except in the ruling family, Ibn Sollal, which is proud of its ancestry in the male line. Akul and his brother Homeydi, who visited us in the evening, talked a great deal about their Nejdean descent. According to their own account they (the Ibn Sollal) came from Nejd twelve generations ago and I do not doubt the correctness of the tradition; but their Arabian blood has since become so much diluted with foreign additions, that in Nejd itself they would not be accepted as nobly born. They do not deny their marriages with the daughters of the neighbouring lands, but seem to think it a matter of no consequence. They will even marry with townspeople and Bagdadis; and we heard on board the steamer of a relative of Mizban’s married to a certain Jazin Sabunji, a tradesman in Bagdad. His brother, Ahmet Sabunji, had, on the strength of the connection, given us a letter to add to our packet of introductions to Mizban.

The horses here seem to be of small account. Fifteen or twenty mare’s, wearing the usual iron shackles, are grazing about a mile off, some with foals by their sides, all standing in water above their fetlocks. We walked round to examine them, and saw one good-looking white mare that may be thoroughbred, and also a bay somewhat better than the rest, but they are inferior animals. A foal was born last night, and was being removed with its mother, a wretched little creature, to the dry ground at the camp. There were no camels to be seen. They and the sheep are at pasture at a considerable distance.

A couple of Bagdad sheep-dealers have come by with a large flock just purchased from Mizban’s people. Their description is glowing of the wealth and grandeur, and excellent reception to be met with at the great Sheykh’s tents. They are travelling quietly, and apparently without precaution or fear of being attacked by the ghazús, so much talked about. But I suppose they know what they are doing.

Several women came to see me, accompanied by some children, two or three of whom were really beautiful, one little boy especially. Their visit soon attracted a crowd, for everybody who passed stopped to join the circle in front of our tent. They were good-humoured and rather encroaching and forward, but kept in check by a middle-aged man with a big stick, who undertook the office of master of the ceremonies. His method was rough and ready; every now and then to effect a complete dispersion of the party by rushing into the midst of them and dealing out blows on every side without distinction of age or sex. The visitors then ran away in all directions laughing, and almost immediately returned more gay and merry than before. One young lady, Basha by name, proposed to accompany us on our journey, and my answer, “Marhaba, fetch your mare and come,” brought down on her endless chaff.

A few small presents have made Musa very amiable, and he has sent us a guard for our tents. There is, it would seem, some apprehension of attack on the part of the hostile section of the tribe who are not far off, and a ghazú from Mizban is much talked of. So the conference of the two brothers at Amara does not prevent their followers from carrying on the war.

March 27. – Nothing worse happened during the night than a thunderstorm. Wilfrid started early on Job to try and find old Seyd Abbas, of whom nothing was heard yesterday. He went alone, and cantered for about ten miles in the direction of the river, but finding a large marsh between him and it, and, moreover, that Ali Ghurbi was beyond the river, he returned. He met, he tells me, a number of Arabs whom he believes to have been Mizban’s people. They made some show of trying to circumvent him, but were too ill-mounted to be dangerous. At midday the Seyyid arrived with two donkey loads of provisions from the village. We had all but given him up for lost, and in our dearth of friends, we now begin to feel something like affection for him, seeing him return.

We have made so little progress this week that we could not consent to stay another night with Musa, and have come on, in spite of tempestuous skies and alarming rumours of a ghazú, which is said to be on the march from Mizban’s. We have, however, hitherto, escaped all these dangers. The thunderstorms, though rattling like artillery, right, left, in front, and behind us, spared us overhead; and we have seen no living soul all the afternoon. It is a wild, strange piece of country, but covered in places with excellent pasture, so that we have the satisfaction of seeing our dear camels growing fat beneath our eyes. We have stopped for the night at the edge of an enormous red morass, the haunt of innumerable birds. There are two little tells close by, and a pool of rain water good to drink. We have now left the neighbourhood of the Tigris for good, so that these swamps have nothing to do with it. They seem to be caused by small streams running from the Hamrin Hills, and caught in this great flat plain. The railway, in Wilfrid’s opinion, if it is ever made, ought to run along the foot of the hills where the ground is sounder. It is difficult, however, to imagine the use of a railway in such an uninhabited country.

The tells where we are, are called Doheyleh; but there is nothing in the shape of a village anywhere this side the Tigris, nor are there any Bedouins except these Beni Laam.

March 28. – A good morning’s march has brought us safely to Mizban’s. It seems that after all we ran some danger last night, for a ghazú was really out between the two Beni Laam camps, and we find Mizban’s people in commotion. A few miles from the camp we were met by a body of horsemen advancing in open order, who, as soon as they saw us, galloped at full speed towards us, and seemed as if intending to attack. But Seyd Abbas rode forward to meet them on his old grey kadish and waved his cloak and shouted to them to stop. “It is I,” he called, “Seyd Abbas.” Whereupon the horsemen pulled up, and dismounting, kissed the old man’s hand. They were a ghazú, they told us, from Lazim, Mizban’s eldest son, and they were following on the track of some robbers from Musa’s, who had carried off seventeen camels in the night. They cross-questioned Seyd Abbas as to Musa’s whereabouts, but the old man would not let out the secret. It would have been a breach of the hospitality he had just received from Musa. They did not stop long, however, to talk, but went on their way, leaving a couple of the party only to show us to Mizban’s tent.

The tents of the Beni Laam are peculiar. Instead of being, like every other Arab tent we have seen, set on a number of poles each of different height, these are shaped like regular pent-houses, with gable roof and walls. Such, at least, is Mizban’s mudíf, a construction corresponding with the kahwah of a town house, and used only for reception. The living tents are smaller, and the word beyt house here applies only to the harim. The mudíf is a fine airy room, very pleasant in the hot weather we are beginning to have. It is pitched close to the river Tibb in the middle of a very large camp, several hundred tents, and looks imposing enough. The country all round is very bare and trodden down, having been exposed last night to a fearful hail storm, which has wrecked all the vegetation. The hailstones, they say, were as big as dates.

The Tibb is much swollen, and flowing through a deep cutting, looks anything but easy to cross, – a turbid yellow river cutting its way through the alluvial plain without valley of any sort, so that you do not know it is there until you come close to it. It is about fifty yards wide.

At the door of the mudíf we alighted, and presently made the acquaintance of our host – not Mizban, for he, as we heard before, is away at Amara, but his son Beneyeh – a rather handsome but not quite agreeable looking youth, whose forward, almost rude manners show him to be, what he no doubt is, a spoilt child. We have been rather reserved with him in consequence, and have left to Hajji Mohammed the task of explaining our name and quality, and delivering the letters which we have with us for his father. Beneyeh is not the eldest son, and I do not quite understand why he does the honours of his father’s tent instead of Lazim. It is difficult to know exactly how to treat him; but we think it better to be on the side of politeness, so we have sent him the cloak intended for the Sheykh, and have added to it a revolver, with which he seems pleased. We are so completely in his hands for our further progress, that we must do what we can to secure his good will. I have paid a visit to the harim, and have been well received by Beneyeh’s mother, Yeddi, a fat jovial person, young-looking for her age. She is very proud of her son, and the evident cause of his spoiling. Her stepdaughter Hukma, and daughter-in-law Rasi, are both rather pretty; though the latter, like the mother-in-law, shows signs of foreign blood, being inclined to fat, and being red-haired and fair complexioned. The occasion of my visit to them was a distressing one. We had hardly retired to our own tent when a loud explosion was heard, and immediately afterwards a man came running to us to beg us to come, for an accident had happened. In the storm last night some gunpowder belonging to Beneyeh had got wet, and a slave had been set to dry it at the fire in the women’s tent, with the result of a blow up and fearful burning of the unfortunate creature. They wanted us, of course, to cure him; and we gave what advice we could, but with little chance of success. The poor slave lay groaning there behind a matting all the time I was in the tent, but Yeddi and the rest chattered, and laughed, and screamed, regardless as children. Sick people get little peace in the Desert.

* * * * *

Wilfrid believes he has arranged matters with Beneyeh, who came to dine with us this evening, and talked matters over afterwards with Seyd Abbas. He declared at first that a journey across the frontier into Persia was out of the question, that nobody had ever been that way, that the Beni Laam were at war with the Ajjem (Persians) and could not venture into the neighbourhood of Dizful, or any town of Persia, and that his father was away, and he had no men to spare as escort. After much talking, however, and persuasion on the Seyyid’s part, he has agreed to start with us to-morrow with thirty horsemen and see us safely to the camp of one Kerim Khan, chief of a Kurdish tribe, which lives on the river Karkeria, beyond which Persia proper begins, and that he will take £10 for his trouble. The sum is hardly excessive if he fulfils his part of the bargain, for the country between Turkey and Persia has the reputation of being quite impracticable, not only from the robber bands which inhabit it, but from the rivers which must be crossed. Hajji Mohammed is very gloomy about the whole matter.

In the middle of our conversation a fearful hubbub arose in the camp round, followed by some shots and the galloping of horses, and Beneyeh exclaiming, “A ghazú, a ghazú!” jumped up and rushed out of the tent. Our first thought was to put out the candle, and our second to stand to our arms and look outside. In the dim starlight we could see what seemed to be a fight going on inside and round the mudíf; and though night attacks are very unusual in the desert, we were convinced an enemy was sacking the camp. Though the quarrel was no affair of ours, and we should probably be in little danger had it been daylight, now in the darkness we could not help feeling alarmed. Wilfrid served out cartridges, and gave the order that all should kneel down so as to be prepared for action if the tide of battle should come our way, an arrangement which resulted only in Hajji Mohammed’s letting off his gun by accident, and very nearly shooting one of the Agheyls. The mares had their iron fetters on, and with the keys in our pockets we knew they could not be lost. Still it was an anxious moment. At the end of a quarter of an hour, however, Beneyeh came back in great excitement to say that a ghazú had come from Musa’s, and that some camels had been driven away; that the hubbub in the tent was not fighting, but preparation to fight; and that he was come to borrow a rifle as he and his friends were starting in pursuit. Wilfrid gave him one of the guns and offered to ride with him on his expedition, but Seyd Abbas, who had all the time been cheering us with an assurance that “it was not our affair,” would not hear of this; and, after a long discussion, it was decided that we should all stay together, as indeed is only prudent. I do not believe the ghazú has been anything very serious; for, though Beneyeh and some of his men have galloped off in the supposed direction of the enemy, by far the greater number have remained, preferring shouting and singing to actual fighting. They are now chaunting in chorus “Aduan – Mizban (enemies – Mizban) – Aduan – Mizban,” and striking their spears on the ground to beat time. A great fire has been lit and is blazing in the mudíf, and the dark figures passing and repassing in front of it make the whole thing wild and savage in the extreme.

CHAPTER II

Gloucester. “’Tis true that we are in great danger,
The greater therefore should our courage be.”

    Shakespeare.

“La plus mauvaise rencontre dans le désert est celle de l’homme.”

    Guarmani.

We are betrayed into the hands of robbers – Ghafil and Saadun – We diplomatise – A march across “No-man’s-land” – Night terrors – We claim protection of a Persian prince.

March 29. – The event of last night, though in truth it was less alarming than it seemed, made us anxious not to remain longer at Mizban’s than could be helped. Wilfrid accordingly no sooner saw Beneyeh this morning, than he began to urge our departure on him, as it had been arranged over-night. The young man was in a bad humour, his pursuit of the ghazú having been either unsuccessful, or, as we suspect, never seriously made; and at first he would hear of nothing but that we should go back to Amara, instead of crossing the frontier, which he again declared to be impracticable. He was put out, moreover, because we did not allow him to keep the gun which he had borrowed in the night; and but for old Seyd Abbas, whom he is bound to treat with respect, I doubt if he would have kept to his bargain with us. I begin to regret now that he at last allowed himself to be persuaded, for we seem to have got into a very awkward pass.

Our troubles to-day began early. First of all we had to say farewell to Seyd Abbas, our last connecting link with respectability. The old man said he dared not go further; that in the country where we were going his condition as a seyyid would not be respected, nor could he do more for us than wish us well through it. He washed his hands, in fact, of the whole proceeding, and protested that he had gone farther than he ought in bringing us thus far. We could not indeed find fault with him for wishing to return, and thanking him heartily for all, and so recommending him once more to see to Ariel, we let him go. Since then all has gone wrong. We had first the river to cross, a not very easy proceeding, for the banks were of mud, and the water up to our horses’ shoulders. Still, nothing untoward happened till we had all got over. Then the two Agheyls, our camel-drivers, declared that they too would go no further. The journey into Persia frightened them, they said, as well as Seyd Abbas, and though they gave a variety of reasons besides, it always came back to this, that they did not like to die in a foreign land. It was no use arguing with them that they should not die, and that we would provide handsomely for their return to Bagdad by sea; no offers could move them, nor even the threat of their Sheykh’s displeasure, which we held in terrorem over them. It was impossible to be really angry, yet our case is a forlorn one without them. To-day we and Hajji Mohammed have had to load and drive the camels ourselves, for he is the only servant left us, and Beneyeh and his Arabs would do nothing, contenting themselves with galloping about and shouting out their unasked-for advice. It was very annoying.

Beneyeh’s manner has changed alarmingly. Finding us practically in his power, now we have crossed the Tibb and cannot retreat, he has become most insolent, trying all day to pick a quarrel with us about the revolver we gave him, and which he has put out of order by his clumsiness, and asking for one thing and another belonging to us exactly like a rude, ill-bred child. Wilfrid was obliged to speak sharply to him and bid him be ashamed of himself, as his manners are those of an Iraki fellah, not of a Sheykh’s son. Still he went on, now asking for Wilfrid’s sword, now proposing to buy my mare, impertinences both, till, on being told he was a fool, he rode on in a huff with his men. There were nine of them, and one only remained with us, an older man who seemed ashamed of his young chief, and with whom we got on more pleasantly. Still it is a disagreeable prospect to have to travel with such rascals all the way to Persia. The party are tolerably mounted, the Beni Laam having a few asil mares, principally of the Wadnan breed, and at Mizban’s camp there was a horse which they called a Nusban, a name new to us.

The country, after passing the Tibb, is a fine rolling down, with capital pasture in the hollows, so that to our other difficulties we are fortunately spared that of anxiety about our camels. It is worth something to see them feeding on rich green grass as they go, making up at last for their long winter’s fast.

At two o’clock we sighted some tents, where we found Beneyeh with his men, waiting for a dinner of lamb which was being prepared. Hungry as we were, we should have much preferred passing on unfeasted, for we are now suspicious of our host, and feel anxious when away from our horses. Still there was no refusing, or seeming to doubt or be afraid, and we joined with as good a grace as we could in the rather rude entertainment. The meal lasted upwards of an hour, and when we were ready to start there were still delays, so that it was dark before we reached the camp which was to be our resting-place for the night. The late rains have put much of the low-lying country under water, and we are now in a broad valley, formerly, one may guess, a rich agricultural district, but long deserted. We passed about sunset the mounds of an ancient city, which are not marked on any of our maps, and which the people here call Jeréysiat; and near these we came upon the camp where we now are.

What its inhabitants are we do not yet know. Dakher, the chief man, is, it would seem, a Beni Laam, but the rest have more the appearance of outlaws than of respectable Bedouins. They have the most evil countenances of any people we have met on any of our travels, and Hajji Mohammed says roundly they are Kurdish robbers. Dakher and his brother Ghafil look capable of any treachery. They have a soft manner, with great flabby faces, and a black look in their eyes, which, with their rows of glittering white teeth, give one a shudder. They received us at first with some show of hospitality in their “mudíf,” which was a large one; but though a fire of logs was blazing in the middle, and pots were standing round, nobody gave us coffee, a very disagreeable omen; and when I asked just now for water, they would not bring it me in one of their own pans, but took ours. They are Shias, probably, and rude on principle. We have pitched our tent the best way we could in the dark, and piled up all our luggage inside, for every man here looks like a thief – I might say like a murderer.

March 30. – Last night, before we lay down to sleep, Beneyeh came to our tent with Dakher, and began bullying again and begging, but Wilfrid would give him nothing except the sum of £10 agreed on, for which he promised, and Dakher promised, that thirty khayal should go on with us to Dizful, a distance of about ninety miles. Beneyeh himself refused to go, saying that Ajjem (Persia) was not his country, but Dakher should go for him, or Ghafil. This was a distinct breach of agreement, but we were only too pleased to get rid of him, and Wilfrid, after some show of expostulation, accepted the substitute. Then Beneyeh made a pretence of writing letters to certain khans or chiefs of the frontier tribes, but I suspect these are not worth much, for having no seal of his own with him, the young jackanapes signed the letters with a seal lent him by a bystander, an irregular and rather suspicious proceeding, but we made no remark, being thankful at any price to be freed from his company. With the grimace of one who has played a successful trick he pocketed the money, and then, without saying good-bye, mounted and rode off, our only friend, the middle-aged man, to our sorrow following him.

We were now left alone with Dakher and his crew, who sat round us while with infinite labour we loaded our camels. Poor old Hajji Mohammed in his rusty uniform, with his sword dangling between his legs, was anything but an efficient camel-man, and in spite of the best will in the world things proceeded slowly. It was as much as we could get out of Dakher that he should tell one of his sulky fellows to lend an occasional hand to the work, and keep the rest from getting in our way. The help was given grudgingly, and in obedience rather to Wilfrid’s command, for he was now obliged to talk loud, than of good-will. Dakher, however, kept up a semblance of politeness, being still our host, a position sacred even in the eyes of the most abandoned, and when his brother Ghafil appeared, announcing himself as our escort, we were suffered to depart.

Once on our horses, and with the camels driven in front of us, we felt more at ease; yet all were not a little anxious. We should, I think, have turned back now but for the recollection of Beneyeh and the river Tibb behind us, evils we knew of while the unknown evils before us seemed preferable. For a while, too, we flattered ourselves with the idea that Ghafil was to be our only company, and for a mile or two the illusion lasted, and we were reassured. There is something, besides, in a very bright morning’s march through a beautiful country, for we were close to the hills, which prevents one feeling anxious, and whatever its inhabitants may be, this frontier-land of Persia looks like a Garden of Eden, with its grass and flowers knee deep in every hollow.

Ghafil is another and a worse edition of Dakher, having, over and above his brother’s vices of countenance, a most abominable squint. His face looks always like a thunder-cloud, and the smiles on it, (for he smiles sometimes, showing a wonderful set of white teeth from ear to ear) are like the smiles of a wild beast. He has, too, a sort of cat’s manner, soft and cowardly, but very offensive. At starting, and as long as he was alone with us, he seemed amiable enough, but at the end of about an hour we came up with the rest of the party in whose company we were to travel, and then his demeanour changed. These were not horsemen, or an escort at all, but a collection of the most extraordinary vagabonds we have ever seen. There were about forty of them, with about twice as many beasts, camels, and oxen, which they were driving before them loaded with empty sacks. Amongst them were two women on foot, and there was a single horseman heading the procession, mounted on a little white mare. We asked them where they were going, and they answered, “To Dizful, to buy corn,” and then in return plied us with a hundred questions. Many of these were not a little impertinent, but by parrying some, and affecting not to understand the rest, we managed to hold our own, even returning some of their small wit with interest on themselves. Hajji Mohammed, however, poor man, was soon singled out as a special butt for their mirth. His old uniform coat they found supremely absurd, and he was as mercilessly chaffed about his tailor as if he had been amongst a party of roughs on the Epsom Downs, while he had not the sense always to keep his temper. There was, besides, something more than mere high spirits in their wit. He was a Suni, and they were Shias, and religious bitterness made them bitter. From words at last they seemed rapidly coming to blows, when Wilfrid interfered, making his horse curvet amongst them, and dispersing them for a while. But they soon returned, and it was all we could do to prevent the poor cavass from being maltreated. One called on him to dismount and give him a ride, another to let him have a shot with his gun, and a third to fill him a pipe of tobacco, to none of which demands the unfortunate Hajji knew how to give the proper refusal. “Ya Hajji,” “Ya Hajji,” was the perpetual cry all the morning long; “Where is your pipe? where is your tobacco? Quick, I am thirsting for a smoke.” Ghafil in the meanwhile would do nothing or could do nothing in the way of control, sitting on his camel gloomily in silence, or talking in an undertone with a great one-eyed rascal, more villainously hideous than himself. The position was often almost unbearable, and only the doctrine of patience which we had learned in Arabia, and a constant show of good humour to the crowd, made it tolerable. In the course of the afternoon, however, we managed to get upon some sort of friendly terms with two or three of the rabble, so that by the evening, when we stopped, we had established a little party among them in our favour. This, I believe, was the means of preventing a worse disaster, for it is nearly certain that Ghafil and the more serious of the party meant us deliberate mischief.

About an hour before sunset we came to a broad river, broader and deeper than the Tibb, and here Ghafil decreed a halt. If we had been a strong enough party to shift for ourselves, and if we could have crossed the river alone, we should now have gone on and left our persecutors behind; but in our helpless state this was impossible, and we had no choice but to dismount. It was an anxious moment, but I think we did what was wisest in showing no sign of distrust; and we had no sooner stopped than we gave one a horse to hold, and another a gun, while we called on others to help us unload the camels, and get out coffee and provisions for a general feast. This seemed to most of them too good an offer to be declined, and we had already distributed a sack of flour and a sack of rice amongst them, which the two women had promised to bake into loaves for the whole party, when Ghafil and the one-eyed man, who had been down to look for a ford, arrived upon the scene. They were both very angry when they saw the turn things had taken, and were at first for forbidding the people to eat with us, alleging that we were kaffirs (infidels), so at least the people informed us later, but this was more than they could insist on. They would not, however, themselves eat with us or taste our coffee, and remained apart with those of the party which had not made friends with us. The women were on our side, and the better sort of the young men. Still it was a terribly anxious evening, for even our friends were as capricious as the winds, and seemed always on the point of picking an open quarrel. Later, they all went away and left us to our own devices, sitting round a great bonfire of brushwood they had built up, “to scare away lions,” they said. We managed to rig up our tent, and make a barricade of the camel-bags in such a way that we could not be surprised and taken at a disadvantage. I did not shut my eyes all night, but lay watching the bonfire, win my hand on my gun. Hajji Mohammed once in the darkness crept out and got near enough to overhear something of their talk, and he assures us that there was a regular debate as to whether and when and how we should be murdered, in which the principal advocate of extreme measures was the one-eyed man, a great powerful ruffian who carried a sort of club, which he told us he used to frighten the lions, beating it on the ground. The noise, he declared, sounded like a gun and drove them away. With this tale of horror Hajji Mohammed returned to comfort us; nor was it wholly a delusion, for in the middle of the night, Wilfrid being asleep, and Hajji Mohammed, whose watch it was, having fallen into a doze, I distinctly saw Ghafil, who had previously come under pretext of lions or robbers to reconnoitre, prowl stealthily round, and seeing us all as he thought asleep, lift up the flap of the tent and creep under on Wilfrid’s side. I had remained motionless, and from where I lay I could see his figure plainly against the sky. As he stooped I called out in a loud voice, “Who goes there?” and at the sound he started back, and slunk away. This woke Hajji Mohammed, and nobody slept again, but I could see Ghafil prowling like an hyæna round us the best part of the night. [15 - This part of the journal was written at irregular moments when order was not possible. It has been pieced together since.]

Hajji Mohammed has behaved very well, though he owns himself much frightened. So am I, only I conceal my alarm better than he does. Indeed I am sure that putting on a bold face is our only chance of safety, for nothing but cowardice now prevents Ghafil and his set from attacking us. We are well armed, and he knows he could not do it with impunity. As long as we are on horseback, I believe we run no great risk, but the night is a disagreeable time. If we had only open desert in front of us we could set them all at defiance.

March 31. – The morning broke tempestuously, and we were afraid the river might have risen in the night, a complication which would have probably decided our fate; but though the clouds lay black and heavy on the hills there was no flood. After trying several places, all of which proved too deep, our akid, the man on the white mare, found a ford, if such it can be called, for the water was over his mare’s back, and all the party followed him. The robbers, for so I now call them, passed easily enough, for their camels were unloaded, but ours barely managed it. The current was very strong, and though Hatheran and the strongest of them came on boldly, two of them stopped in the middle and seemed on the point of turning down and being swept away, when Wilfrid rode back below them, into the deep water, and drove them on. It was nervous work to watch them, seeing nothing of rider and horse but their heads, but Job swam very well, and the camels were saved and all got safely over. This incident proved a fortunate one, for it impressed the better sort of the robbers with an idea of our determination, and there was again a party in our favour. It was fortunate that it was so, for we were no sooner across than Ghafil and the one-eyed monster, Saadun, came forward with a more menacing manner than they had yet dared to show, and said we should proceed no further. It was plain enough what they meant, but we affected not to understand them, and declaring in a cheerful tone that it was a charming spot to stay in, with plenty of grass and water for the beasts, at once consented to a halt. Wilfrid begged Ghafil to sit down and smoke a pipe with him, and when the man sulkily demurred, insisted on it. “Now, Ghafil,” he said, “here you are my guest, as we have been yours; what can I do for you to make you happy?” “Wallah, ya Beg,” interposed Saadun, “you have done nothing for him or any of us, and now you must.” “Must? Indeed, I shall be too delighted. Tell me only in what I can assist you – what it is that Ghafil wants.” Ghafil then began a long history about his dignity as Sheykh of the expedition, and the disgrace it was to him to have received no cloak of honour from the Beg, and the insult that he had thus received from us – at all which Wilfrid expressed the greatest possible pain and surprise. [16 - We trust this duplicity may be pardoned us in consideration of the straits we were in.] “There has been some mistake here,” he said; “I would not for the world that anyone should be treated with less respect than was his due by me. The disgrace would be mine;” and he made a show of taking off his own cloak to give him; still Ghafil seemed dissatisfied. “No, no, it is not that,” said Saadun, in a stage whisper, “what the Sheykh wants is money – money, do you see? – money for all of us.” “And is it possible,” exclaimed Wilfrid, “that you have all remained unpaid? – that Beneyeh gave you nothing of what he received from me? – that you have been working for me, ‘balash,’ for nothing? This is indeed a disgrace. Come, Saadun, let us talk this matter over and repair the mistake.” He then took the one-eyed man by the arm and led him aside for a private conference, while Ghafil sat on gloomily with me. Wilfrid’s first care, when he got the Kurd alone, was to square him with a present of ten krans (francs) for his own account, and a promise of twenty more when we got to the Kerkha, judging rightly that this fellow was in fact our most dangerous enemy. Then he intrusted him with negotiating the rest of the blackmail with Ghafil. We were prepared now for almost any demand, for we were completely in their power, and had a sum of nearly £100 with us, besides property to the value of perhaps as much more. We were consequently no little relieved when Saadun returned with a demand of one hundred krans, and a silk abba, in return for Ghafil’s protection. This, after much affected reluctance to part with so enormous a sum, and a declaration at one moment that rather than pay we would stay where we were for a month, we at last produced – giving the robber the very silk abba which had been one of Ibn Rashid’s presents to us in Nejd – a white silk one, embroidered with gold, but the only one we had; which being done we were suffered to proceed. The truth of the matter probably is that Ghafil dared not drive us to extremities, partly from physical fear, for we soon had proof sufficient of his cowardice, and partly because many of his men would not have joined him in a deed of violence. Bloodshed is a thing no Arab willingly consents to, however low his morality, especially where a guest, or one who has been a guest, is in question; and though the mongrel Kurds and Persians, who made up more than half the band, would have abetted him, the rest would not. One of the women, too, was Ghafil’s wife, and the women were openly friends with us. Another consideration may have been that we were entering now upon an enemy’s country, for the Dueri is the limit of Beni Laam authority, and our men were too miserable cowards not to count upon us for something in case of attack. Part of our agreement with Ghafil was that we were to fight for him in case of need against the Persians, a promise we readily gave. The atmosphere now was somewhat cleared, and we started afresh under rather better conditions. The teasing of Hajji Mohammed continued, but we ourselves were treated with respect, and the one-eyed Kurd even occasionally lent a hand in driving the camels, in company with a youth clothed in green, who had hitherto been one of our worst persecutors.