On one of our expeditions along the coast from Mukhâlid, we perceived, to our astonishment, unknown rocks or islands out at sea. Soon, however, I saw that our islands were moving, and came to the conclusion that they were drifting wrecks or rafts, wrecked vessels being very common all along this harbourless coast; but presently the blocks broke up and soared into the air; they were two large flocks of pelicans, rocking on the summer sea.
The country near the coast was here all of blown sand, with scattered bushes, and, farther inland, are dunes of semi-consolidated red sandstone. Near Jaffa there are low oak-bushes, which spring from the roots of a forest, now entirely felled; and, east of our camp, an open woodland exists, with a ruin called Umm es Sûr, “mother of the wall.” In this name we see probably remains of Assur, the name of a forest near the coast, through which the English and the Templars fought their way before arriving at Arsûf, during the famous march of Richard Lion-Heart.
The Emîr of the Howârith Arabs was camped near us, and pressed us to visit his tent, which was pitched in the middle of the plain among coarse grass and thistles—a low black camel’s-hair cloth stretched over rude poles, and the sides closed in with reed matting. The women’s apartment was on the north, shut off with matting; on the south and west the tent was open. Carpets were spread, and gay-coloured pillows strewn on the ground. The Emîr’s black slave, Sheikh Saleh, and a little black demon, his head all shaven except the shûsheh, or top-knot, took our horses. The Emîr was not content with our sipping coffee; he insisted on our eating salt with him. A sound of grinding arose behind the matting, and two good-looking women in the dark blue, sweeping, long-sleeved robes peculiar to Bedawin, went off to fetch water, with large jars balanced on their heads. The elders of the tribe sat, half asleep, around us, one being remarkable for a fine pair of silver-mounted pistols.
Other guests began soon to arrive, on good grey mares. The young men were shaved, all but their mustachios, and gaily dressed, having red leather top-boots with tassels. One had baggy trousers of chocolate colour, and the usual square lambskin jacket, wool inside, which is worn in winter; in his hand was a spear, fifteen feet long. They alighted, touching head, lips, and heart to the Emîr, who clasped their hands and kissed them on each cheek. The Arabs do not, as a rule, actually kiss, but lay their foreheads together and make a sound of kissing with their mouths.
The Bedawin are immensely superior to the peasantry in politeness and quietness of manner. Life in the country of the Arabs is really nearer civilisation, in many respects, than that among the villagers, and nothing is a greater error than to speak of the Bedawin as savages. My pleasantest expeditions were always those among the “houses of hair,” and with the wild Arabs we had far less difficulty in dealing than with the Fellahin.
The conversation was curious. We gave the Emîr our staple bit of astonishing information, that the English Queen had more Moslems under her rule than the Sultan; and he inquired how long we had ruled India. One of the elders disagreed with our reply, and said the English had held it only forty-five years. The Emîr made him a cutting answer, and he collapsed.
About one p.m. dinner appeared. A wooden bowl, nearly four feet in diameter, was carried in on a mat. It was piled with rice and portions of roast lamb just killed, with bread and vegetables below, and melted butter over all. We despised the three brass spoons, and, washing our right hands, boldly plunged them in, squeezing the rice into balls. A negro attended with a green glass tumbler of water. As soon as we retired, hungry Arabs slowly filled the vacant places, at the invitation of the Emîr, who only tasted a few mouthfuls until his guests were fed. The dogs licked up the scraps, and the calves walked in and lay by us in the shade. Soap and water, coffee and tobacco followed, and we retired, sending a small tin of gunpowder to our host in the evening.
Our camp was not a pleasant one; the peasantry were surly, and the Arabs dangerous. Almost every night attempts were made to steal our horses and mules, and were only frustrated by the vigilance of Habib, who lay, gun in hand, by the line of tethered animals, and fired on the thieves more than once. The place was also infested with scorpions, and I was stung by one in six places along the leg, before I could get off my riding-breeches in which it had hidden. Habib licked the bitten places carefully, having, as he assured me, once eaten a scorpion, and thus obtained the power of healing the stings; this is a common idea among the natives; the stings were certainly less painful than on a former occasion.
The view from the Mukhâlid camp was very extensive; the Carmel ridge and the Mahrakah peak were plainly seen, with the whole broken line of the watershed blue in the distance, and white villages on little knolls, sharply defined against the shadow of the long flat curve of Ebal; the crater of Sheikh Iskander, with the lower plateau to the north, was distinctly shown against the sky-line, and, yet more distant, appeared the Safed mountains and a silver thread of snow on Hermon, one hundred miles away. To the south, the eye roamed over low sand-dunes with patches of red and of bright yellow, with a few scattered oaks, over corn-land, and, farthest off, a long line of cliff, with a promontory on which the town of Jaffa was seen distinctly. Thus the panorama from Hermon to Jaffa embraced a distance of 120 miles.
On the 7th we marched up into the hills, to a place called Kefr Zîbâd, and experienced a frightfully hot sirocco. The treeless plain was scorched with heat, the flowers all dead and the corn all reaped. The grey hills, the olives, houses, and ruins, had a fossilised appearance, and, over all, a terrible leaden sky was spread; the poor dogs hid from the sun in the thorny bushes, and had to be thrown into every pond that was passed to cool them.