A Woman in Arabia (19 page)

February 17, 1914

We were held up today by rain. It began, most annoyingly, just after we had struck camp—at least I don't know that it was so very annoying, for we put in a couple of hours' march. But the custom of the country was too strong for me. You do not march in the rain. It was, I must admit, torrential. It came sweeping upon us from behind and passing on blotted out the landscape in front, till my
rafiq
said that he should lose his way, there were no landmarks to be seen. “No Arabs move camp today” said he “they fear to be lost in the Nefud.” And as he trudged on through the wet sand, his cotton clothes clinging to his drenched body, he rejoiced and gave thanks for the rain. “Please God it goes over all the world” he said and “The camels will pasture here for 3 months time.” The clouds lifted a little but when a second flood overtook us I gave way. We pitched the men's tent and lighted a great fire at which we dried ourselves—I was wet too. In a moment's sunshine we pitched the other tents, and then came thunder and hail and rain so heavy that the pools stood twinkling in the thirsty sand. I sat in my tent and read
Hamlet
from beginning to end and, as I read, the world swung back into focus. Princes and powers of Arabia stepped down into their true place and there rose up above them the human soul conscious and answerable to itself, made with such large discourse, looking before and after—. Before sunset I stood on the top of the sand hills and saw the wings of the rain sweeping round ‘Irnan and leaving Misma' light-bathed—Then the hurrying clouds marched over the sand and once more we were wrapped in rain. No fear now of drought ahead of us.

February 20, 1914

God is merciful and we have done with the Nefud. The day after the rain—oh but the wet sand smelt good and there was a twittering of small birds to gladden the heart!—we came in the afternoon to some tents of the Shammar and pitching our camp
not far off we were visited by the old shaikh, Mhailam, who brought us a goat and some butter. Him we induced to come with us as
rafiq.
He is old and lean, gray haired and toothless, and ragged beyond belief; he has not even an '
agal
to bind the kerchief on his head and we have given him a piece of rope. But he is an excellent
rafiq
—I have not had a better. He knows the country and he is anxious to serve us well. And next day we rode over sand to the northern point of Jebel Misma'. Then Mhailam importuned me to camp saying there was no pasturage in the
jellad
, the flat plain below; and Muhammad al-Ma'rawi backed him for he feared that we might fall in with Hetaim raiders if we left the Nefud. But I held firm. Raiders and hunger were as nothing to the possibility of a hard straight road. For you understand that travelling in the Nefud is like travelling in the Labyrinth. You are forever skirting round a deep horseshoe pit of sand, perhaps half a mile wide, and climbing up the opposite slope, and skirting round the next horseshoe. If we made a mile an hour as the crow flies we did well. Even after I had delivered the ultimatum, my two old parties were constantly heading off to the Nefud and I had to keep a watchful eye on them and herd them back every half hour. It was bitter cold; the temperature had fallen to 27° [-2.8°C] in the night and there was a tempestuous north wind. And so we came to the last sand crest and I looked down between the black rocks of Misma' and saw Nejd. It was a landscape terrifying in its desolation. Misma' drops to the east in precipices of sandstone, weathered to a rusty black; at its feet are gathered endless companies of sandstone pinnacles, black too, shouldering one over the other. They look like the skeleton of a vast city planted on a sandstone and sand-strewn floor. And beyond and beyond more pallid lifeless plain and more great crags of sandstone mountains rising abruptly out of it. Over it all the bitter wind whipped the cloud shadows. “
Subhan Allah!
” said one of my Damascenes, “we have come to Jehannum.”
*
Down into it we went and camped on the skirts of the Nefud with a sufficiency of pasturage. And today
the sun shone and the world smiled and we marched off gaily and found the floor of Hell to be a very pleasant place after all. For the rain has filled all the sandstone hollows with clear water, and the pasturage is abundant, and the going, over the flat rocky floor, is all the heart could desire. In the afternoon we passed between the rocks of Jebel Habran, marching over a sandy floor with black pinnacled precipices on either hand, and camped on the east, in a bay of rock with
khabras
of rain water below and pasturage all round us in the sand. We have for neighbours about a mile away a small
ferij
of Shammar tents, and lest there should be anyone so evil minded as to dream of stealing a camel from us, Mhailam has just now stepped out into the night and shouted: “Ho! Anyone who watches! come in to supper! . . . Let anyone who is hungry come and eat!” And having thus invited the universe to our bowl, we sleep, I trust, in peace.

February 24, 1914

We are within sight of Hayyil and I might have ridden in today but I thought it better to announce my auspicious coming! So I sent in two men early this morning. Muhammad and 'Ali, and have myself camped a couple of hours outside. We had . . . a most delicious camp in the top of a mountain, Jebel Rakham. I climbed the rocks and found flowers in the crevices—not a great bounty, but in this barren land a feast to the eyes. . . . Yesterday we passed by two more villages and in one there were plum trees flowering—oh the gracious sight! And today we have come through the wild granite crags of Jebel 'Ajja and are camped in the Hayyil plain. From a little rock above my tent I have spied out the land and seen the towers and gardens of Hayyil, and Swaifly lying in the plain beyond, and all is made memorable by
Arabia Deserta
. I feel as if I were on a sort of pilgrimage, visiting sacred sites. And the more I see of this land the more I realize what an achievement that journey was. But isn't it amazing that we should have walked down into Nejd with as much ease as if we had been strolling along Piccadilly!

March 2, 1914

What did I tell you as to the quality most needed for travel among the Arabs? Patience if you remember; that is what one needs. Now listen to the tale of the week we have spent here. I was received with the utmost courtesy. Their slaves,
'abds
, slave is too servile and yet that is what they are—came riding out to meet me and assured me that Ibrahim, the
Amir's wakil
was much gratified by my visit. We rode round the walls of the town and entered in by the south gate—the walls are of quite recent construction, towered, all round the town—and there, just within the gate I was lodged in a spacious house which Muhammad ibn Rashid had built for his summer dwelling. My tents were pitched in the wide court below. Within our enclosure there is an immense area of what was once gardens and cornfields but it is now left unwatered and uncultivated. The Persian Hajj
*
used to lodge here in the old days. As soon as I was established in the
Roshan,
the great columned reception room, and when the men had all gone off to see to the tents and camels, two women appeared. One was an old widow, Lu.lu.ah, who is caretaker in the house; she lives here with her slave woman and the latter's boy. The other was a merry lady, Turkiyyeh, a Circassian who had belonged to Muhammed al Rashid and had been a great favourite of his. She had been sent down from the
qasr
*
to receive me and amuse me and the latter duty she was most successful in performing. In the afternoon came Ibrahim,
*
in state and all smiles. He is an intelligent and well educated man—for Arabia—with a quick nervous manner and a restless eye. He stayed till the afternoon prayer. As he went out he told Muhammad al-Ma'rawi that there was some discontent among the '
ulema
*
at my coming and that etc etc in short, I was not to
come further into the town till I was invited. Next day I sent my camels back to the Nefud borders to pasture. There is no pasture here in the granite grit plain of Hayyil and moreover they badly needed rest. I sold 6, for more than they were worth, for they were in wretched condition; but camels are fortunately dear here at this moment, with the
Amir
away and all available animals with him. And that done I sat still and waited on events. But there were no events. Nothing whatever happened, except that two little Rashid princes came to see me, 2 of the 6 male descendants who are all that remain of all the Rashid stock, so relentlessly have they slaughtered one another. Next day I sent to Ibrahim and said I should like to return his call. He invited me to come after dark and sent a mare for me and a couple of slaves. I rode through the dark and empty streets and was received in the big
Roshan
of the
qasr
, a very splendid place with great stone columns supporting an immensely lofty roof, the walls white washed, the floor of white juss, beaten hard and shining as if it were polished. There was a large company. We sat all round the wall on carpets and cushions, I on Ibrahim's right hand, and talked mostly of the history of the Shammar in general and of the Rashids in particular. Ibrahim is well versed in it and I was much interested. As we talked slave boys served us with tea and then coffee and finally they brought lighted censors and swung the sweet smelling
'ud
*
before each of us three times. This is the signal that the reception is over and I rose and left them. And then followed day after weary day with nothing whatever to do. One day Ibrahim sent me a mare and I rode round the town and visited one of his gardens—a paradise of blossoming fruit trees in the bare wilderness. And the Circassian, Turkiyyeh, has spent another day with me; and my own slaves (for I have 2 of my own to keep my gate for me) sit and tell me tales of raid and foray in the stirring days of 'Abd al Aziz, Muhammad's nephew; and my men come in and tell me the gossip of the town. Finally I have sent for my camels—I should have done so days ago if they had not been so much in need of rest. I can give them no more time to recover for I am penniless. I
brought with me a letter of credit on the Rashid's from their agent in Damascus—Ibrahim refuses to honour it in the absence of the
Amir
and if I had not sold some of my camels I should not have had enough money to get away. As it is I have only the barest minimum. The gossip is that the hand which has pulled the strings in all this business is that of the
Amir
's grandmother, Fatima, of whom Ibrahim stands in deadly fear. In Hayyil murder is like the spilling of milk and not one of the shaikhs but feels his head sitting unsteadily upon his shoulders. I have asked to be allowed to see Fatima and have received no answer. She holds the purse strings in the
Amir
's absence and she rules. It may be that she is at the bottom of it all. I will not conceal from you that there have been hours of considerable anxiety. War is all round us. The
Amir
is raiding Jof to the north and Ibn Sa'ud is gathering up his powers to the south—presumably to raid the
Amir.
If Ibrahim chose to stop my departure till the
Amir'
s return (which is what I feared) it would have been very uncomfortable. I spent a long night contriving in my head schemes of escape if things went wrong. I have however two powerful friends in Hayyil, shaikhs of 'Anezah, with whose help the Rashids hope to recapture that town [Jof]. I have not seen them—they dare not visit me—but they have protested vigorously against the treatment which has been accorded me. I owe their assistance to the fact that I have their nephew with me, 'Ali the postman who came with me 3 years ago across the Hamad.

Yesterday I demanded a private audience of Ibrahim and was received, again at night, in an upper hall of the
qasr
. I told him that I would stay here no longer, that the withholding of the money due to me had caused me great inconvenience and that I must now ask of him a
rafiq
to go with me to the 'Anazeh borders. He was very civil and assured me that the
rafiq
was ready. It does not look as if they intended to put any difficulties in my way. My plan is to choose out the best of my camels and taking with me Fattuh, 'Ali and the negro boy Fellah, to ride to Nejef [al-Najaf]. The Damascenes I send back to Damascus. They will wait a few days more to give the other camels longer rest and then join a caravan which is going to Medina [al-Madinah]—10
days' journey. Thence by train. Since I have no money I can do nothing but push on to Baghdad, but it is at least consoling to think that I could not this year have done more. I could not have gone south from here; the tribes are up and the road is barred. Ibn Sa'ud has—so we hear—taken the Hasa,
*
and driven out the Turkish troops. I think it highly probable that he intends to turn against Hayyil and if by any chance the
Amir
should not be successful in his raid on [Jof], the future of the Shammar would look dark indeed. The Turkish Govt. are sending them arms . . . but I think that Ibn Saud's star is in the ascendant and if he combines with Ibn Sha'lan (the Ruwalla 'Anazeh) they will have Ibn Rashid between the hammer and the anvil. I feel as if I had lived through a chapter of the
Arabian Nights
during this last week. The Circassian woman and the slaves, the doubt and the anxiety, Fatima weaving her plots behind the
qasr
walls, Ibrahim with his smiling lips and restless shifting eyes—and the whole town waiting to hear the fate of the army which has gone up with the
Amir
against Jof. And to the spiritual sense the place smells of blood. Twice since Khalil was here have the Rashids put one another to the sword—the tales round my camp fire are all of murder and the air whispers murder. It gets upon your nerves when you sit day after day between high mud walls and I thank heaven that my nerves are not very responsive. They have kept me awake only one night out of seven! And good, please God! please God nothing but good.