 | CHAPTER XXVII. El Fureidîs |  |
27. CHAPTER XXVII.
The first day's journey was performed on horseback.
The road lay for three hours through the beautiful suburban
gardens watered by the Barada and its canals, then
stretched away between the base of Anti-Lebanon on the
left and a boundless plain on the right, melting into the
distant horizon. As the path at times crossed the lower
spurs of the mountain, the plain presented to the traveller's
eye a scene of varied and indescribable beauty,—varied
as the unreal visions of childhood, indescribable as the pleasures
of a happy dream; for the sun played deceitfully over
the prospect, and fair islands, bright gardens, lakes with
rippling surface, and streams with emerald shores,—all
were the effect of the magic mirage. But it was not yet
the genuine desert travel. There were ravines to be
crossed, and villages to be encountered, and occasional
glimpses yet to be seen of stationary, if not civilized life.
A short time only was allotted for lunch at a little Arab
village, and by means of diligent, and at times rapid riding,
Jerûd, the halting-place for the night, was reached at
sunset.
The camels and escort promised by Sheik Zanadeen had
already arrived. As Abdoul proudly led the way through
the principal street of the village, he exchanged frequent
salutations, not only with the inhabitants of the place, who
knew him well, but with several gayly dressed members of
of the guests. As their tribe was on friendly terms with
the sheik of the district, they had been freely admitted within
the gates; but their camels were picketed outside, in the
direction of the desert. The Aga, or Governor, who maintained
his court at Jerûd, came forth from his house to
welcome the travellers and proffer his hospitality; but the
confusion that prevailed in his court-yard, which constituted
a sort of military outpost for the protection of the desert
frontier, was such, that his invitation was declined, and, in
accordance with Abdoul's movement, the party rode out of
the village by the gate opposite to that through which they had
entered, and chose a place of encampment near a little fountain,
around which the camels were already grouped. The
travellers were now on the borders of the desert, were
already the guests of the Arabs, and were surrounded by
evidences of nomadie life. Swarthy Bedouins were passing
to and fro, with the free step and confident air which these
sons of the wilderness assume the moment they are on their
undisputed territory. Camels were stretching their long
necks and intruding their withered faces within the tents.
An Arab boy, outside, was pounding coffee-beans in a wooden
mortar, skilfully beating time, and thus making a rude sort
of music, with his pestle.
Abdoul seemed transformed into a new creature. It was
hard to recognize in him the shy being, who, with his head
on his breast, his arms folded, and his countenance dejected,
shrunk from the eye of man. Now he walked crect, with a
swift, springing gait, or, vaulting lightly into his saddle,
bounded over the fields leading to the village, busily executing
some voluntary errand, or spurring on some lazy
comrade who had failed to execute an order.
The whole expression of the young Arab's face was
ambition. Elevated now to a position of authority and
honor, he served his guests with amiability and zeal. His
better nature, crushed by jealousy and mortification, appeared
to expand under the influence of new responsibilities
and hopes. Even his jealousy seemed satisfied, now that
he believed himself an equal in the contest, and breathed
what he felt to be an atmosphere of fair play. It was impossible
to suspect so unsophisticated a youth of sinister
designs, or to believe so true an Arab would ever violate the
sacred laws of hospitality. Havilah, ashamed of her late
suspicions, saw in him once more the brother of her childhood,
reposed in him an involuntary trust, and never in her
life slept a more undisturbed sleep than on that first night
upon the border of an unknown desert, surrounded by a
Bedouin guard.
The silence and repose of the desert are not shared by
its people. The Arabs are proverbially a noisy, excitable
race. Especially when they have a journey in view,
or work of any sort on hand, they accompany their labors
with such a storm of shrieks, vituperations, and harsh guttural
dialogues, as would, among any other population, betoken
an excess of fury and anger. There seemed to be a
remarkably good understanding between Abdoul and the
escort of which he was chief. Still the occupants of the
tents were disturbed at daybreak by a volley of threats,
exclamations, and epithets, which elsewhere could only
have been equalled by a rebellious soldiery or a crew of
mutineers. Fortunately, strangers as they were in the desert,
our travellers knew enough of Arab life and manners to
understand that these noisy demonstrations were a necessary
feature of an early morning start; and that the camel-drivers
and attendants, who, wrapt in their cloaks, had slept
lungs in a familiar style of oratory.
Thus the “Yakh! yakh! hai! hai!” with which they shouted
to their camels, and the “Yullah! yullah! wallah! wallah!”
with which they prefaced every remark to each other, created
no more alarm than the crowing of energetic cocks in a
farm-yard, while the oaths and personal abuse with which
they discussed their differences, (for the most friendly Arabs
will quarrel on every question, and argue every point,) simply
signified to the initiated that the daily conflict of opinion
had begun, and that when it was concluded the caravan
would start.
Long before the agitation was allayed, the guests of the
party were ready and impatient to mount, for the sweet,
keen air of the desert is the traveller's inspiration; and
though the sun's rays beat fiercely on his head, they serve
only to kindle a proportionate ardor and an intenser sense
of joy.
“Hateful old camel! cruel, scorching sun! lonely, tedious
journey!” whispered M. Trefoil to his daughter, in a tone of
waggish irony, and rubbing his hands in high glee. Havilah
was standing beside the dromedary intended for her use.
With a smile of gratified surprise, she was surveying the
travelling equipment, her eye glancing from the embroidered
saddle-cloth, with its deep worsted fringes, silken tassels,
and ornaments of shells, to the wide-spreading shugduf,
or cushioned frame-work placed across the animal's
back, and surmounted by a little silken canopy.
Abdoul, meanwhile, held the submissive creature by the
head, and was gurgling in its ear the “Ikh! ikh!” by which
persuasive term the desert camel is invariably taught to
kneel. M. Trefoil had not misinterpreted the animated
glow that had been called up in Havilah's face by the novelty
father's whisper by looking over her shoulder, her face rippling
with a smile, which betrayed a quick comprehension
of the sarcasm; then, placing her foot beside that of Abdoul,
on the neck of the now prostrate dromedary, she sprung into
her snug pavilion, and her smile broke into a peal of girlish
laughter, as she at the same moment caught sight of Geita,
vainly attempting to mount her camel, and making wry
mouths at the scowling Arab, who was gesticulating at her,
and shrieking in the ear of her beast.
“Look there!” exclaimed M. Trefoil, with increased hilarity,
nudging Meredith's elbow, and pointing to Havilah,
in simple unconsciousness how little the Englishman had
eyes for anything else when she was present. “See that
child now in her nest of shawls,—a butterfly among rose-leaves!
Why, she is in her element; and she tried to persuade
me that she dreaded the expedition! A girl's subterfuge,—I
knew it all the while!”—and the self-satisfied
parent trotted off, and commenced the difficult task of climbing
up the side of his own desert ship.
“She laughs!” thought Meredith, generously rejoicing in
the natural outburst. “I have not heard her laugh before
since her mother died;”—and he felt his own heart grow
lighter, as all nature seemed to him to echo the merry
peal.
“She laughs,” said Abdoul to himself, with secret exultation.
“The desert has given back smiles to the Lebanon
Rose. She carries music with her to the tents of
Zanadeen;”—and bounding upon his mare, and proudly
waving his plumed lance over his head, the self-deluded
youth led the way, as he believed, to scenes of yet deeper
enchantment.
All Eastern travellers agree respecting the effect of desert
of the air, which quickens the senses, sharpens the appetite,
elevates the spirits, and diffuses through the whole frame a
sense of increased vitality. “Hence it is,” says Lieutenant
Burton, after eulogizing at length the moral and physical
benefits of this species of travel, “that the most material, as
well as the most imaginative minds, the tamest citizen, the
most peaceful student, the spoiled child of civilization, all
feel their hearts dilate, and their pulses beat strong, as they
look down from their dromedaries upon the `glorious desert.'
” Hence it is, we may add, that the eye is never
weary of scanning those objects, whether distant or near,
which may chance to stand out in the foreground of desolation,
their remoteness or rarity being more than atoned
for by the intensity of a sharpened vision; and even when
nothing is discernible save the blue sky above, and the
sandy or flint-strewn expanse beneath, the soul glows
amid the grandeur and loneliness with the excitement of
treading “a haggard land, infested with wild beasts and
wilder men,—a region whose very fountains murmur the
warning words, `Drink and away.' Thus,” to quote still
further, “man, measuring his puny force with nature's
might, understands the Arab's proverb, `Voyaging is a
victory.' ”
To our excursionists, penetrating but one day's journey
into the Syrian desert, and that too under the guardianship
of a powerful escort, there was all the stimulus which can
be derived from the wild, the picturesque, the sublime, unmixed
with any reasonable cause of apprehension or danger.
Still, it added not a little to the romantic character of the
expedition, that Abdoul thought proper, at intervals, to dart
away from his place at the head of the caravan, mount some
little elevation, and gaze abroad with the keen eye of a
blade of grass in those spots where a scanty herbage
had thrust itself through the hard ground, was sufficient
to excite the youth's suspicions, and put him on the alert.
There was, perhaps, some little affectation in his proceedings,
some assumption of weighty authority, some desire to
display his graceful person and excellent horsemanship;
but it almost invariably proved the case that his quick
intelligence had acted as a telegraph, or his sharp eye as
a telescope. Now, his suspicions were confirmed by the
abrupt appearance of a little company of Bedouins, emerging
from a neighboring hollow, and surprising all the party
save Abdoul, who seemed quite prepared for their approach,
gave them a friendly greeting, and suffered them to pass
unchallenged. Now he suddenly spurred his mare across
the plain, one hand grasping his dagger, the other causing
his long lance to quiver above his head, in preparation for
a stroke. He seemed to be rushing with Quixotic zeal
against an imaginary foe; but the eyes that followed him
were not long in discerning a couple of horsemen, who
were bearing down upon the youth from an opposite direction,
their pointed muskets and vehement gesticulations
alarming the caravan for the safety of their champion,
who might be exposed to some merciless enemy or hereditary
blood-feud.
As the parties met, however, and the new-comers uncovered
their faces, purposely hid until now by their kefiyehs,
weapons were lowered, angry gestures gave place to
salutations, threats to embraces. Mutual inquiries were exchanged
between the young chieftain and these emissaries
of a friendly tribe, then the former wheeled around and
gravely returned to his post; the latter, without approaching
the strange caravan, pursued their course in one of those
Ishmael, his roving descendants have been wont to intersect
the desert.
These and similar incidents alone marked the day. As
no oasis of verdure, not a tree, nor even a shrub, offered its
tempting shade, no halt was made at noon. Lunch was
taken in haste, without dismounting, and the journey progressed
uninterruptedly. Towards sunset our party began
to perceive symptoms of an inhabited district. Horsemen,
singly or in groups, frequently hove in sight; in some
instances, they approached sufficiently near to exchange a
signal with Abdoul; in others, they were satisfied with
careering around the caravan in a wide circle, taking a
distant observation, and then galloping off in the direction
the travellers were pursuing. At length a low, dark line
was discernible against the horizon; a few moments more,
and the black tents of Zanadeen's tribe were clearly visible,
mere specks in the floating cloud of animal life which encompassed
them, and which constituted the wealth of this
pastoral people. Soon the outposts of the encampment
were gained, and the procession was winding amid groups
of camels, picketed at a distance from the tents, at whatever
points the spare herbage might serve the patient animals
for pasture. Here and there, slender, graceful-formed Arab
girls were returning from their milking excursions with pails
of foaming milk upon their heads, and shepherds were calling
in their docile flocks, which followed obedient to the
voices of their masters. These indications of nomadic life
became more frequent at every step of our travellers' progress,
until at length, as they approached the central point,
towards which men and flocks alike converged, they found
themselves amid “one vast forest of camels, with a dense
underwood of sheep and goats.”
Numerous as were the dwellings of this great Anezy
tribe, their numbers were disproportionately small to those
of their flocks and herds, and the latter would to a great
degree have obscured the former, had it not been for the
favorable site which in this instance had been selected for
the “houses of hair.” They stood on a slight eminence,
which commanded the entire plain, and were arranged in
the form of a crescent, their fronts religiously turned towards
Mecca. The house of Zanadeen possessed no advantage
over those of the inferiors of the tribe, except that it was
somewhat larger, was profusely adorned with tassels, shells,
and fringe, and possessed a sort of supplementary tent or
harem. In accordance with Arab notions of hospitality, it
was placed at the extremity or horn of the crescent nearest
to the quarter whence the approach of guests might be
anticipated, and thus, almost before they realized its vicinity,
the party of visitors halted at the very door, and in the very
presence, of their host.
Zanadeen, who had been duly informed of their approach,
received them with patriarchal dignity. The old man was
seated on a strip of Persian carpet, spread before the entrance
of his tent. His appearance was venerable in the
extreme. His spare form was bent with years; his snowy
beard, reaching below his breast, rivalled that of M. Lapierre;
but his brilliant silk robe, his scarlet cloak, the
heavily fringed kefiyeh bound around his white turban,
imparted to the veteran Bedouin a wild and picturesque air.
His deep-set eye was as keen and restless as that of his son;
and, surrounded as the sheik was by his nearest relatives
and most distinguished men, it was easy to recognize in him
the chief dignitary of the tribe.
Whatever might be Zanadeen's pride and ambition as a
host, all emotions were superseded for a moment by the joy
The meeting between the father and son was truly affecting.
Almost before the other members of the party had come to
a halt, the youth had sprung from his saddle, thrown his
arms round the sheik's neck, and kissed him on either cheek,
a caress which was reciprocated with equal ardor; and then,
holding the boy by both hands, and with difficulty refraining
from tears, the old man uttered brief and anxious
inquiries concerning his son's health and welfare. Other
members of the tribe, young and old, stood ready to strike
palms with the young chief, and receive him to their embraces;
and while these affectionate demonstrations were
going forward, Zanadeen turned to bestow a greeting on
his guests. “Marahabbah!” (You are welcome!) “Allah
kerym!” (The Lord is gracious!) and many similar exclamations
of good-will and thanksgiving, met the ears of the
travellers, as one after another they alighted on the carpet
at the tent-door; and the words of courtesy and kindness
were caught up and echoed by the swarthy, curious-eyed
crowd, until the air rang with the acclaim.
Most reverential and flattering was the sheik's reception
of Havilah. As her feet touched the ground, the old man
laid his hand on his heart, and bent before her until the tip
of his beard nearly swept the carpet. “Selámet, ya meleky,
seláme, ya syt!” (Welcome, queen! welcome, madam!) were
the first words of his salutation, succeeded by compliments
uttered in such a high-flown strain as to call the rich blushes
into the young girl's cheek. “My heart melts at the sight
of thy beauty, O fair one! Thou art one of the visions of
Paradise. Thou hast come to my soul in dreams. The
planets of heaven borrow their light from thine eyes.” Such
was the hyperbole of praise which he poured forth, until
Havilah, modestly recoiling both from the old man's profuse
was glad to take refuge in the harem of the sheik, to which
he at length conducted her.
The Bedouin harem is at once the storehouse, kitchen,
bedroom, and nursery of the household. That of Zanadeen
consisted of strips of black goat's-hair cloth, stretched from a
central pole to several similar supports, arranged so as to
form a square. Around the central staff huge jars of honey
or dates, wheat-sacks, coffee-bags, and other family stores,
were stacked in a pyramidal form. Close to this promiscuous
heap was placed a strip of carpet, which constituted the
seat of honor. The remaining space which the tent afforded
was devoted to culinary and other domestic uses. In one
corner, a wrinkled hag, dressed in a long blue robe, and
with a black handkerchief bound around her head, was leaning
over a smoking caldron; near her were two young
women, one of whom was pounding wheat in a copper mortar,
and the other baking thin cakes upon a heated iron pan.
All three looked up eagerly at Havilah as she entered, but
none of them ceased their operations, or came forward to bid
her welcome. The reception was reserved for the presiding
genius of the place, a tall, well-formed woman, who
stood near the heap of stores, from which she had been dealing
out portions to her subalterns. This was the favorite
wife of the sheik, and the mother of Abdoul. The withered
hag in the corner had formerly boasted the rank and favor
now enjoyed by another. Her two sons, also, had once
been the hope of Zanadeen, but one had been killed in a
foray, one died on a desert march, and their mother had
lived to be dethroned by a younger bride, and to see her
rival's son the star and boast of his tribe. The beauty of
the present pride of the harem was already on the wane;
but she had fulness and dignity of person; her eyes were
blue dye, were compressed and haughty; her whole mien
was indicative of conscious power, and her bright-red kefiyeh,
her armlets and anklets of colored glass, and a heavy
silver ring worn in her nose, suggested a love of savage
finery.
Her reception of Havilah was a strange mingling of
boldness, curiosity, and awe. She unhesitatingly took her
young visitor by the hand, drew her within the tent, and
invited her to take a seat on the carpet; then, squatting
down beside her, scrutinized her dress, her features, and
her behavior in silence.
But impressed as the sheik's wife was by a loveliness and
refinement which surpassed all her preconceived ideas, inquisitiveness
soon got the better of veneration, and she
commenced handling the material of Havilah's dress, scarf,
and shoes, at the same time assailing her with a volley of
questions. Havilah submitted to her hostess's inspection
with good-humor, and patiently answered all her queries;
but it was something of a relief, that the head of the establishment
was frequently interrupted, and summoned from
her inquisitorial post to superintend the cooking department,
and maintain her domestic sway. These episodes
were not calculated to convey a very flattering idea of
her temper or character. Her voice was loud, her manners
and language overbearing and peremptory. Whether portioning
out stores, directing her handmaidens, or making
occasional assaults upon her young children, two little
brothers of Abdoul, who were playing about the tent, she
evinced a pride and severity which made her presence
less welcome each time that she returned to her place beside
Havilah.
Preparations for supper, meanwhile, went rapidly forward.
almost suffocating smoke which filled the tent. The steam
from the caldron was savory with the herbs which were
boiling among the stew. The thin cakes were baked crisp
and brown. At length the huge joints of mutton were
ladled out, and, floating in a sea of rice, were carried forth
to be served to the sheik and his guests, Havilah having
declined everything save coffee, bread, and dates, which
were brought her by the old woman.
Comparative quiet and order now ensued in the harem,
the smoke gradually subsided, the cooking-utensils were
put out of sight. The sun had gone down, and, as the
moon rose late, there was no light in the camp save that
which proceeded from watch-fires burning in front of the
semicircle of tents. The harem stood in the rear of the
sheik's larger dwelling, and was therefore in deep shadow.
Leaning against the camel-furniture, which had been thrown
over the bales and bags, in the centre of the apartment,
Havilah listened to the deep nasal din of Arab talk and
argument going forward in the camp, a din which she rightly
foresaw would continue far into the night. Immediately
around her, however, a refreshing stillness prevailed. The
domineering principal had drawn off her children, and herself
retreated to a partitioned corner of the sheik's tent;
the young serving-women, also, had disappeared. Geita,
vexed at the importunities of the Arab girls, had long
since manifested her disgust at the whole establishment by
curling herself up in a corner, like a kitten, and falling
asleep.
“You are tired, pretty one,” said a harshly-tuned, but
not unkindly voice, breaking in upon Havilah's meditations.
She turned and saw the withered crone crounching close beside
her, and looking up in her face. Havilah had no fear
of the ancient females of the race, and, despite the discontented
scowl which was the beldam's habitual expression,
there was something in her patient assiduity and submission
to a menial lot which had enlisted Havilah's sympathy.
So she acknowledged her fatigue, as a child makes confession
to its nurse, and learned to her satisfaction that she and
Geita were to enjoy undisturbed possession of the harem,
the old woman alone officiating as their companion and protector.
The weary traveller now wrapped herself in a thick
burnous, lay down on a bed of Persian mats, and was hushed
to sleep as by a lullaby, for the last sound she heard was the
voice of the old woman, who, seating herself on the carpet,
swayed her bent form backward and forward, and in monotonous
tones invoked the peace of Allah upon her beautiful
charge, whom she typified by many a sweet, endearing
epithet, such as “Ya ainee!” (My eye!) “Ya kolbee!”
(My heart!)
| CHAPTER XXVII. El Fureidîs | |