When the Arab sings he shuts his mouth, and, very literally, "sings through his nose," four notes, or rather tones, amply sufficing for a melody. When we sang they seemed vastly amused, and our younger mukari was caught more than once mimicking our gestures, beating time, and opening his mouth; while the other was in fits of laughter.
The successor of our officer was a Circassian, and, though equally picturesque, of quite a different type. In place of the flowing robe and floating keffeeye of the Bedu he wore an astrachan cap, close-fitting coat, leggings tucked inside low shoes with heels, and the military cloak of the Turkish cavalry. His horse was very powerful, and always well groomed, and, what is more unusual in the Turkish army as represented in Syria, his accoutrements and harness—silver-mounted, with enamel decoration—were bright and well kept. He had all the apparent moroseness characteristic of his race, and never spoke except under pressure; but the Lady reported that he was kindly in rendering small services unasked, would always ride up to her if she became accidentally separated from the party, especially if she were any distance in advance, and was expert in mounting and dismounting her, although never obtruding his assistance.
About half-an-hour from Mshatta the Sportsmen sighted a herd of gazelle, and, still sore from previous disappointments, dismounted to stalk them—as usual, in vain. They vanished like smoke round the base of a low hill, which one of the party climbed, in search rather of information as to their habits, than in hope of a kill. He came back with the report that even a gunshot had failed to break up their ranks, and that they went on their way in perfect order.
The road, still over a wide plain, with occasional undulations, might have been considered barren of interest by those who could not find delight in the wonderful gradations of colouring, dun against the cloudless sky; the sensation of infinite space; the crocuses and minute arums, dainty jewels set in golden sands; the darting lizards, distinguishable only in motion from their surroundings; the tiny white shells of the land-snails; the scent of the wormwood artemisium when crushed beneath our horses' feet; the myriads of larks, including the exquisite crested lark—the Mary-lark of the Highlands of Scotland; while now and then a deep purple shadow crossing our path told of a griffon-vulture or lanner-falcon swooping over the plain, to the terror of bird and beast.
From time to time the Professor would break out into song, not the irritating snatches which are an insult alike to silence and to conversation, but a consistent and complete rendering, as careful as if in any drawing-room, of some quaint old folk-song picked up in his many wanderings—and which, sung with an artistic verve in a mellow tenor, others uniting in bass or alto in a harmonised refrain, filled the air with a melody not unworthy of the surrounding silence.
Suddenly we were startled by a sound so unwonted, yet so strangely familiar, that we could hardly believe in its reality—the shriek of the railway whistle! We were again nearing the Haj railway, at a point where it is actually in use, for 300 kilometres, out of the 2000 projected, are already complete. A little farther and we came across quite a village of the tents of the workmen, the engineers and foremen being mainly German. The Turkish flag was floating, and Turkish soldiers were in charge, for the protection of the undertaking, which seems to be regarded by the Bedu rather with a sad apprehension than with active opposition. Dr Schumacher relates that, when surveying for the English upon the line afterwards abandoned, he discussed the matter with the friendly shech of the 'Anazeh—a superior tribe, said to number 300,000—who is the official protector of the Haj road. Shech Muhammed realised that the presence of the iron monster must rob him of much grazing ground; but he resigned himself, in Moslem fashion, to the inevitable.
"I see well that with the great iron road we cannot remain long in Haurân; but we know that this country is not for ever to be ours, for we have heard how the descendants of those whose bones lie under the ruins of this land are to come back, and rebuild once more its cities, even as they were in the times of their forefathers"; adding, after a pause: "But we will retire to the 'Ajlûn [the district farther north], where there is place yet enough for our tribe. Allah yebârik!" ("May Allah's blessing be upon it!"). The Bedu hold the tradition that the frenjy (Franks) originally possessed the country, and will one day return; that all over the land are indications, marked upon stones, of treasure to be recovered; and that the visits of archæologists are for the purpose of so changing these marks as to confuse the Arabs, who are beginning to understand them too; for have they not their museums in Constantinople and Jerusalem, and are they not making investigations and excavations of their own?
We crossed the railway, a point where it had reached 200 kilometres south of Damascus, and very soon afterwards began to feel that we were once more in the world of man, however remote may have been the date of his occupation. Caves and grottoes in the hillside showed traces of adaptation to his needs; hewn stones lay about in piles; what looked like the remains of a cenotaph attracted our attention; and we dismounted to examine a group of sarcophagi—some but lately exposed to view, others which had long lain upon the surface. Most had a resting-place for the head and a groove for the lid.
A sudden turning at the ford of a rapid stream revealed the town of Ammân, lying in a narrow valley between low but precipitous hills. Most of us were utterly unprepared, after six hours of riding across a lonely tableland, to find an orderly town of 10,000 inhabitants, of an aspect so superior to anything we had seen since leaving Jerusalem, or even, so far as the actual town is concerned, to Jerusalem itself, that an explanation seemed necessary, and the statement that the population was Circassian was, geographically, an added perplexity. The houses, built partly of mud brick and partly of ancient material like those of Madaba, were well placed, most had porticos and balconies, and some were enclosed with well-swept yards. It was not immediately that we realised to the full the causes of a certain sense of unfamiliarity, of having passed into another country, with other conditions. The ear was, perhaps, the first sense conscious of change. The town was silent. There was none of the shrieking, none of the high-pitched voices, none of the singing of an Arab entourage—not only because we were among Circassians, but also because we were in a place where not a woman, not even a young girl, was to be seen! There were men in plenty, silently stalking about, like shabby ghosts of the Prince Regent, in tight-waisted coats, high vests, a display of silver buttons and braid, full skirts, and high boots. Instead of the dangling sword proper to the rest of their historic effect, all carried a revolver at the side, as well as a long dagger upright in the girdle. All were armed, and a row of cartridges across the breast was as much de rigueur as the low astrachan cap which completed the costume. There were no cafés; no dice-boards at street corners; no lounging, screaming, idling; no "making kafe"—the Arabic phrase for doing nothing, in company with others similarly employed, and a row of water-pipes.