moored in rabegh lay the northbrook, an indian marine ship. on board was colonel parker, our liaison officer with sherif ali, to whom he sent my letter from abdulla, giving ali the father’s ‘orders’ to send me at once up to feisal. ali was staggered at their tenour, but could not help himself; for his only telegraph to mecca was by the ship’s wireless, and he was ashamed to send personal remonstrances through us. so he made the best of it, and prepared for me his own splendid riding-camel, saddled with his own saddle, and hung with luxurious housings and cushions of nejd leather-work pieced and inlaid in various colours, with plaited fringes and nets embroidered with metal tissues. as a trustworthy man he chose out tafas el raashid, a hawazim harb tribesman, with his son, to guide me to feisal’s camp.
he did all this with the better grace for the countenance of nuri said, the bagdadi staff officer, whom i had befriended once in cairo when he was ill. nuri was now second in command of the regular force which aziz el masri was raising and training here. another friend at court was faisel ghusein, a secretary. he was a sulut sheikh from the hauran, and a former official of the turkish government, who had escaped across armenia during the war, and had eventually reached miss gertrude bell in basra. she had sent him on to me with a warm recommendation.
to ali himself i took a great fancy. he was of middle height, thin, and looking already more than his thirty-seven years. he stooped a little. his skin was sallow, his eyes large and deep and brown, his nose thin and rather hooked, his mouth sad and drooping. he had a spare black beard and very delicate hands. his manner was dignified and admirable, but direct; and he struck me as a pleasant gentleman, conscientious, without great force of character, nervous, and rather tired. his physical weakness (he was consumptive) made him subject to quick fits of shaking passion, preceded and followed by long moods of infirm obstinacy. he was bookish, learned in law and religion, and pious almost to fanaticism. he was too conscious of his high heritage to be ambitious; and his nature was too clean to see or suspect interested motives in those about him. consequently he was much the prey of any constant companion, and too sensitive to advice for a great leader, though his purity of intention and conduct gained him the love of those who came into direct contact with him. if feisal should turn out to be no prophet, the revolt would make shift well enough with ali for its head. i thought him more definitely arab than abdulla, or than zeid, his young half-brother, who was helping him at rabegh, and came down with ali and nuri and aziz to the palm-groves to see me start. zeid was a shy, white, beardless lad of perhaps nineteen, calm and flippant, no zealot for the revolt. indeed, his mother was turkish; and he had been brought up in the harem, so that he could hardly feel great sympathy with an arab revival; but he did his best this day to be pleasant, and surpassed am, perhaps because his feelings were not much outraged at the departure of a christian into the holy province under the auspices of the emir of mecca. zeid, of course, was even less than abdulla the born leader of my quest. yet i liked him, and could see that he would be a decided man when he had found himself.
ali would not let me start till after sunset, lest any of his followers see me leave the camp. he kept my journey a secret even from his slaves, and gave me an arab cloak and head-cloth to wrap round myself and my uniform, that i might present a proper silhouette in the dark upon my camel. i had no food with me; so he instructed tafas to get something to eat at bir el sheikh, the first settlement, some sixty miles out, and charged him most stringently to keep me from questioning and curiosity on the way, and to avoid all camps and encounters. the masruh harb, who inhabited rabegh and district, paid only lip-service to the sherif. their real allegiance was to hussein mabeirig, the ambitious sheikh of the clan, who was jealous of the emir of mecca and had fallen out with him. he was now a fugitive, living in the hills to the east, and was known to be in touch with the turks. his people were not notably pro-turkish, but owed him obedience. if he had heard of my departure he might well have ordered a band of them to stop me on my way through his district.
tafas was a hazimi, of the beni salem branch of harb, and so not on good terms with the masruh. this inclined him towards me; and when he had once accepted the charge of escorting me to feisal, we could trust him. the fidelity of road-companions was most dear to arab tribesmen. the guide had to answer to a sentimental public with his me for that of his fellow. one harbi, who promised to take huber to medina and broke his word and killed him on the road near rabegh, when he found out that he was a christian, was ostracized by public opinion, and, in spite of the religious prejudices in his favour, had ever since lived miserably alone in the hills, cut off from friendly intercourse, and refused permission to marry any daughter of the tribe. so we could depend upon the good will of tafas and his son, abdulla; and ali endeavoured by detailed instructions to ensure that their performance should be as good as their intention.
we marched through the palm-groves which lay like a girdle about the scattered houses of rabegh village, and then out under the stars along the tehama, the sandy and featureless strip of desert bordering the western coast of arabia between sea-beach and littoral hills, for hundreds of monotonous miles. in day-time this low plain was insufferably hot, and its waterless character made it a forbidding road; yet it was inevitable, since the more fruitful hills were too rugged to afford passage north and south for loaded animals.
the cool of the night was pleasant after the day of checks and discussions which had so dragged at rabegh. tafas led on without speaking, and the camels went silently over the soft flat sand. my thoughts as we went were how this was the pilgrim road, down which, for uncounted generations, the people of the north had come to visit the holy city, bearing with them gifts of faith for the shrine; and it seemed that the arab revolt might be in a sense a return pilgrimage, to take back to the north, to syria, an ideal for an ideal, a belief in liberty for their past belief in a revelation.
we endured for some hours, without variety except at times when the camels plunged and strained a little and the saddles creaked: indications that the soft plain had merged into beds of drift-sand, dotted with tiny scrub, and therefore uneven going, since the plants collected little mounds about their roots, and the eddies of the sea-winds scooped hollows in the intervening spaces. camels appeared not sure-footed in the dark, and the starlit sand carried little shadow, so that hummocks and holes were difficult to see. before midnight we halted, and i rolled myself tighter in my cloak, and chose a. hollow of my own size and shape, and slept well in it till nearly dawn.
as soon as he felt the air growing chill with the coming change, tafas got up, and two minutes later we were swinging forward again. an hour after it grew bright, as we climbed a low neck of lava drowned nearly to the top with blown sand. this joined a small flow near the shore to the main hejaz lava-field, whose western edge ran up upon our right hand, and caused the coast road to lie where it did. the neck was stony, but brief: on each side the blue lava humped itself into low shoulders, from which, so tafas said, it was possible to see ships sailing on the sea. pilgrims had built cairns here by the road. sometimes they were individual piles, of just three stones set up one above the other: sometimes they were common heaps, to which any disposed passer-by might add his stone — not reasonably nor with known motive, but because others did, and perhaps they knew.
beyond the ridge the path descended into a broad open place, the masturah, or plain by which wadi fura flowed into the sea. seaming its surface with innumerable interwoven channels of loose stone, a few inches deep, were the beds of the flood water, on those rare occasions when there was rain in the tareif and the courses raged like rivers to the sea. the delta here was about six miles wide. down some part of it water flowed for an hour or two, or even for a day or two, every so many years. underground there was plenty of moisture, protected by the overlying sand from the sun-heat; and thorn trees and loose scrub profited by it and flourished. some of the trunks were a foot through: their height might be twenty feet. the trees and bushes stood somewhat apart, in clusters, their lower branches cropped by the hungry camels. so they looked cared for, and had a premeditated air, which felt strange in the wilderness, more especially as the tehama hitherto had been a sober bareness.
two hours up-stream, so tafas told me, was the throat where wadi fura issued from the last granite hills, and there had been built a little village, khoreiba, of running water channels and wells and palm-groves, inhabited by a small population of freedmen engaged in date husbandry. this was important. we had not understood that the bed of wadi fura served as a direct road from near medina to the neighbourhood of rabegh. it lay so far south and east of feisal’s supposed position in the hills that he could hardly be said to cover it. also abdulla had not warned us of the existence of khoreiba, though it materially affected the rabegh question, by affording the enemy a possible watering-place, safe from our interference, and from the guns of our warships. at khoreiba the turks could concentrate a large force to attack our proposed brigade in rabegh.
in reply to further questions, tafas disclosed that at hajar, east of rabegh in the hills, was yet another supply of water, in the hands of the masruh, and now the headquarters of hussein mabeirig, their turcophil chief. the turks could make that their next stage from khoreiba towards mecca, leaving rabegh unmolested and harmless on their flank. this meant that the asked-for british brigade would be unable to save mecca from the turks. for that purpose would be required a force with a front or a radius of action of some twenty miles, in order to deny all three water-supplies to the enemy.
meanwhile in the early sunlight we lifted our camels to a steady trot across the good going of these shingle-beds among the trees, making for masturah well, the first stage out from rabegh on the pilgrim road. there we would water and halt a little. my camel was a delight to me, for i had not been on such an animal before. there were no good camels in egypt; and those of the sinai desert, while hardy and strong, were not taught to pace fair and softly and swiftly, like these rich mounts of the arabian princes.
yet her accomplishments were to-day largely wasted, since they were reserved for riders who had the knack and asked for them, and not for me, who expected to be carried, and had no sense of how to ride. it was easy to sit on a camel’s back without falling off, but very difficult to understand and get the best out of her so as to do long journeys without fatiguing either rider or beast. tafas gave me hints as we went: indeed, it was one of the few subjects on which he would speak. his orders to preserve me from contact with the world seemed to have closed even his mouth. a pity, for his dialect interested me.
quite close to the north bank of the masturah, we found the well. beside it were some decayed stone walls which had been a hut, and opposite it some little shelters of branches and palm-leaves, under which a few beduin were sitting. we did not greet them. instead, tafas turned across to the ruinous walls, and dismounted; and i sat in their shade while he and abdulla watered the animals, and drew a drink for themselves and for me. the well was old, and broad, with a good stone steyning, and a strong coping round the top. it was about twenty feet deep; and for the convenience of travellers without ropes, like ourselves, a square chimney had been contrived in the masonry, with foot and hand holds in the corners, so that a man might descend to the water, and fill his goat-skin.
idle hands had flung so many stones down the shaft, that half the bottom of the well was choked, and the water not abundant. abdulla tied his flowing sleeves about his shoulders; tucked his gown under his cartridge belt; and clambered nimbly down and up, bringing each time four or five gallons which he poured for our camels into a stone trough beside the well. they drank about five gallons each, for they had been watered at rabegh a day back. then we let them moon about a little, while we sat in peace, breathing the light wind coming off the sea. abdulla smoked a cigarette as reward for his exertions.
some harb came up, driving a large herd of brood camels, and began to water them, having sent one man down the well to fill their large leather bucket, which the others drew up hand over hand with a loud staccato chant. we watched them, without intercourse; for these were masruh, and we beni salem; and while the two clans were now at peace, and might pass through each other’s districts, this was only a temporary accommodation to further the sherifs’ war against the turks, and had little depth of goodwill in it.
as we watched, two riders, trotting light and fast on thoroughbred camels, drew towards us from the north. both were young. one was dressed in rich cashmere robes and heavy silk embroidered head-cloth. the other was plainer, in white cotton, with a red cotton head-dress. they halted beside the well; and the more splendid one slipped gracefully to the ground without kneeling his camel, and threw his halter to his companion, saying, carelessly, ‘water them while i go over there and rest’. then he strolled across and sat down under our wall, after glancing at us with affected unconcern. he offered a cigarette, just rolled and licked, saying, tour presence is from syria?’ i parried politely, suggesting that he was from mecca, to which he likewise made no direct reply. we spoke a little of the war and of the leanness of the masruh she-camels.
meanwhile the other rider stood by, vacantly holding the halters, waiting perhaps for the harb to finish watering their herd before taking his turn. the young lord cried what is it, mustafa? water them at once’. the servant came up to say dismally, they will not let me’. ‘god’s mercy!’ shouted his master furiously, as he scrambled to his feet and hit the unfortunate mustafa three or four sharp blows about the head and shoulders with his riding-stick ‘go and ask them.’ mustafa looked hurt, astonished, and angry as though he would hit back, but thought better of it, and ran to the well.
the harb, shocked, in pity made a place for him, and let his two camels drink from their water-trough. they whispered, ‘who is he?’ and mustapha said, ‘our lord’s cousin from mecca’. at once they ran and untied a bundle from one of their saddles, and spread from it before the two riding camels fodder of the green leaves and buds of the thorn trees. they were used to gather this by striking the low bushes with a heavy staff, till the broken tips of the branches rained down on a cloth stretched over the ground beneath.
the young sherif watched them contentedly. when his camel had fed, he climbed slowly and without apparent effort up its neck into the saddle, where he settled himself leisurely, and took an unctuous farewell of us, asking god to requite the arabs bountifully. they wished him a good journey; and he started southward, while abdulla brought our camels, and we went off northward. ten minutes later i heard a chuckle from old tafas, and saw wrinkles of delight between his grizzled beard and moustache.
‘what is upon you, tafas?’ said i.
‘my lord, you saw those two riders at the well?’
‘the sherif and his servant?’
‘yes; but they were sherif ali ibn el hussein of modhig, and his cousin, sherif mohsin, lords of the harith, who are blood enemies of the masruh. they feared they would be delayed or driven off the water if the arabs knew them. so they pretended to be master and servant from mecca. did you see how mohsin raged when ali beat him? ali is a devil. while only eleven years old he escaped from his father’s house to his uncle, a robber of pilgrims by trade; and with him he lived by his hands for many months, till his father caught him. he was with our lord feisal from the first day’s battle in medina, and led the ateiba in the plains round aar and bir derwish. it was all camel-fighting; and ali would have no man with him who could not do as he did, run beside his camel, and leap with one hand into the saddle, carrying his rifle. the children of harith are children of battle.’ for the first time the old man’s mouth was full of words.
