Two or three Hy Soumaulee came to pull me back towards my hut, for I had strolled quite at my ease, some distance from the camp. Turning with my companion, Carmel Ibrahim, to look for some explanation, we saw that the various lesser councils had broken up, and two large circles, at some distance from each other, now discussed the momentous subjects that had occasioned such a numerous attendance of the Wahama. I thought of going to the Tajourah people at once, as twenty or thirty strangers surrounded my hut, but seeing me coming, Adam Burrah, and Moosa, jumped up, and met me, pointing to the hut, then to my carabine, and afterwards to the Wahama. I understood them to say, that I was to get my other gun loaded for the benefit of our visitors, so we all proceeded to the hut, Carmel Ibrahim, pushing a lane through the crowd of fierce-looking savages, who, without a word, fell backwards, as directed, gazing at me as an object of curiosity, but did not ask for a single thing.
It was an ominous silence, and I felt it to be so, but taking my long fowling-piece from beneath the roof of mats, I loaded it, a hint taken by more than one half of the crowd, who left immediately, and slowly paced towards their friends sitting in council, where they dropt upon their heels, adding their long bright spear-heads, glittering in the sun, to the ring of troubled light that was suspended above them. In this body, a few minutes afterwards, a great commotion was observed, and some of them recovering the upright posture, shouted out “Wahama, Wahama,” which was echoed back by the party about my hut, and by all stragglers in the precincts of the camp, as they hurried towards this point of gathering.
The Hy Soumaulee upon hearing this, immediately took me with them to the small denuded base of a former volcanic cone, which was a few feet higher than the surrounding plain; and which, besides the advantages of its elevated and isolated character, afforded a plentiful supply of large stones, or as Carmel Ibrahim called them, “bandook Bedouins,” Bedouin guns. The Tajourah people still continued their calahm, and were joined immediately by every man in the Kafilah, when the war cry of the Wahama was raised. It was very evident that a storm was coming; but still, it appeared, our opponents were a long time in making up their minds to attack us. Neither party had much advantage in point of numbers, although every hour was adding to the force of the Wahama, and this, I supposed, was occasioning the delay, thinking it probable that their leaders were waiting to collect as many of their people as possible, before they attempted to carry into effect the violent measures, that were proposed by some of the party.
In this state of suspense, the little band I was with, sat in silence, for above two hours; the Tajourah people, and the Wahama, all this time being engaged in close calahm. Whatever was said on either side was done in a very low tone of voice, and I was glad, when the sun set, to see the still scene broken into, by several of the slaves of my friends, go out to bring the camels in for the night.
Occasionally might be now seen messengers passing and repassing between the debating circles; and after the camels had been secured, Zaido, with a large skinful of milk and a corresponding wooden bowl, was a welcome visitor to our position. I saw directly that matters were going on favourably, by the saucy bearing and swagger of our black Ganymede, who, had he been serving at some feast of the gods, could not have talked more freely of the impotent assaults of the Titans, than he did of the “dust-eating Wahama,” as he now called them. We all took long deep draughts of the sweet new milk, and twice round the bowl was passed, no question of creed here interfering with the fair distribution of its contents, and we all laughed when Adam Burrah placed the dripping bowl upon the frizzled wig of Zaido, whilst a shower of small stones, tossed up by the rest of the amused Hy Soumaulee, deterred him from removing his wooden helmet, as he hastily retreated to the camp.
Matters, however, were yet far from being amicably arranged, and on one occasion Zaido, in a very different mood than when he visited us before, began to lament the little chance of our ever getting out of the clutches of the Wahama thieves, a pretty good proof that the war party, in the councils of the latter, was influencing more than he desired, the ultimate determination of the tribe. At nine o’clock, seeing there was little chance of returning during the night to my hut, Adam Burrah went to the camp, and having brought me a mat, and a fedeenah or wooden pillow, I laid myself down, and soon fell fast asleep. About midnight I was awakened by Ohmed Mahomed seizing my knee, and then crawling to my side, to tell me that all was settled amicably with the Wahama. He never had a narrower escape from death in his life, than when he took the method he did to apprize me of his presence, and to this day he relates, with exaggerated particulars, the push in the chest with my fortunately uncocked pistol, with which I met his silent and sudden approach.
Peaceable relations between us and the Wahama had been established by Ohmed Mahomed consenting to give, for distribution among the individuals of the tribe assembled at Kuditee, five pieces of blue cloth, and a tobe each to three of the principal chiefs. The fact of the father of Mahomed Allee and his two brothers being present contributed greatly to the reluctant assent given by the tribe, that our Kafilah should be allowed to proceed unmolested, and that no attempt upon my life should be made. This favourably disposed family party was aware of the situation of Mahomed Allee, who probably was in Tajourah at that time, and upon whom and whose property they well knew, retaliation and indemnity would be taken, should any violence be done to us.
I was now allowed by my careful guards, to sleep out the remainder of the night in my hut, and glad enough I was, to exchange my hard uneven bed of stone, for the softer couch of sand the encampment afforded. Taking up my guns, I very soon walked down to my retreat, one of the Hy Soumaulee bringing after me, the mat and wooden pillow. The father of Mahomed Allee was waiting to receive me, and the politic old man, as we shook hands, asked if I were “Engreez?” or “Feringee?” my reply, of course, instructing him as to the character of the conversation he must assume, during the next morning’s interview, which he in bad Arabic proposed, and I readily assented to; glad enough to escape from a lengthened discussion at so late an hour.