AMZI AT MEDINA.
"With half-shut eyes ever to seem
Falling asleep in a half dream!
To dream and dream like yonder amber light
Which will not leave the myrrh-bush on the height."
—Tennyson.
Without entering into detail it may be briefly stated that the success of Mohammed's disciples in Medina was simply marvelous. Converts joined them every day, while those who were not prepared to believe in the Meccan's divine mission were at least anxious to see and hear the prophet.
Amzi did no work in behalf of the new religion. He was simply an onlooker, though not an unsympathetic one; and, it must be confessed, he spent most of his time in that voluptuous do-nothingness in which the wealthy Oriental dreams away so much of his time,—sitting or reclining on perfumed cushions, a fan in his hand and a long pipe at his mouth, too languid, too listless, even to talk; listening to the soft murmur of Nature's music, the night-wind sighing through the trees beneath a star-gemmed sky, the song of a solitary bulbul warbling plaintively among the myrtle and oleander blooms, the plash of a fountain rippling near with "a sound as of a hidden brook in the leafy month of June"; this, the exquisite languor of the East, "for which the speech of England has no name," the "Kaif" of the Arab, the drowsy falseness of the Lotos-eaters' ideal:
"Death is the end of life; ah, why
Should life all labor be?
Let us alone."
And so the months went by, until at last a band of emissaries, to the number of seventy, was appointed to take a journey to Mecca for the purpose of meeting with Mohammed and discussing with him the advisability of his taking up his residence at Medina.
A herald brought news of this embassy to the prophet. He went forth to meet them, and Yusuf, hearing by chance of the appointed conference, set out posthaste after Mohammed's party, eager to get even a pressure of the hand from Amzi, his heart's brother, who he felt sure would accompany the emissaries. In order to overtake them more quickly, he proceeded with a trusty guide by a shorter route across the hills.
The night was exceptionally dark, and even the guide became confused. The way led on and on between the interminable hills, until the two in complete uncertainty reined their steeds on the verge of a cliff that seemed to overhang a deep and narrow basin, bounded by flinty rock which even in the darkness loomed doubly black, and which rang beneath the horses' feet with that peculiar, metallic sound that proclaimed it black basalt, the "hell-stone" of the Arabs.
It was indeed an eerie spot. A thick fringe of thorny shrubs grew along the edge of the cliff; at intervals yawned deep fissures, across which the wise little Arabian ponies stepped gingerly; and above, outlined in intense black against the dark sky, were numerous peaks and pinnacles and castellated summits, such as the Arabs love to people with all manner of genii and evil spirits of the waste and silent wilderness. It was a spot likely to be infested with robbers, and Yusuf and his guide waited in some trepidation while considering what to do.