Only in the higher peoples, and quite recently in history, is moral perfection regarded as essential to religious preeminence, and so we find that, in general, a popular saint is venerated for his miracle working, and his moral worth, if any, is totally forgotten. But I wish to insist that this disregard of the holy man’s morality is not a distinction of “savage” or “semi-heathen” men, but, shocking though it be, is common to all the lower moralities, of Europe or elsewhere, in the Middle Ages or the present time. I should explain also that until about seven years ago, when the first Arab shop-keeper settled in our village, the inhabitants did not know their prayers, the calls of the Muezzin or the performance of the worship known as “Mûled” described below. They called themselves Mohammedan, but knew nothing, and my friend the doctor says that the reply to his consolation to patients, “Well, you won’t have this pain in Paradise,” is often, “Who knows if there is a Paradise?”
On a sandy islet in the bay near my station, a spot of almost dreadful loneliness, is a shêkh’s tomb of the simpler kind. The grave itself is surrounded by stones set on edge and the large white shells of Tridacna, and by a sort of hedge of sticks, the longer at the head, which the pious decorate with rags[21]. A second enclosure of stones includes this and the remains of other graves, and the whole area is kept perfectly clean and sprinkled with pure white sand from the beach. The short broken sticks and decayed rags are not thrown away, but carefully taken down and laid aside.
One is naturally interested to enquire who the Shêkh was in life, and what qualities are considered as meriting so much posthumous honour, and conferring the power of intercession with God. Strange to say, no one knows anything excepting that his name was Sad, the prevailing idea seeming to be that, since his usefulness and power began after his burial, there is no reason to be interested in who he was, and what he did, in life. Even after death but one miracle is vaguely recorded, viz. that a certain man attempted to steal some pearl shells which had been deposited at the grave, and so placed under the Shêkh’s charge. The thief was punished by the loss of his hand, but whether by paralysis, or through the agency of a shark when he was diving, my informants neither knew nor cared. “It was something of that sort” was all they would say. And yet I believe that the dead Shêkhs are more thought of as practical help in time of trouble than either God or the Prophet.
Plate XII
Fig. 22. Prayer at the grave of Holy Island
Fig. 23. Note the shaven band over top of head distinctive of little boys; aristocrat on left wears a shirt and strings of amulets, the middle one only a loin cloth and one lucky white stone
The once lonely tomb of Shêkh Barûd, whose name was in those days given to the harbour which is now Port Sudan, was mentioned in Chapter I. The name literally interpreted is “Old Man Flea,” but it has no contemptuous significance to the pious. It was indeed a title of honour, for the old man so felt the sanctity of all life that he would not kill the most degraded of insects. His story is that of a poor pilgrim using all possible shifts to reach Mecca, and in the end succeeding. There are two accounts of his return. In the one he was compelled to trust himself to the sea journey of 180 miles alone in a tiny canoe. The sea spared him and he reached land where his tomb now stands, dying or dead of thirst. At any rate he was dead when found, and, being recognised as one who had perished on the pilgrimage, was buried as a shêkh. It is said that in memory of the manner of his death, sailors passing the spot pour a little fresh water into the sea. But, as a matter of fact, the custom is a general one, and all shêkhs’ tombs are thus honoured. It is a fine example indeed of a persistent, widespread, and very ancient observance, probably less bound up with Moslem and old Christian theology than Omar Khayyam’s well-known lines:
“And not a drop that from our cups we throw