As I had no interpreter with me, our conversation was limited. I managed to make out his replies to my questions, but it took time.
The breakfast I had brought with me I ate in company with the Khalifa, the Sheikh, and another man. The preserved meats and the delicate bread especially delighted them. In return they offered me kus-kus, eggs, and black bread.
The Khalifa and the Sheikh wrote their names in Arabic in my sketch-book, that I might carry away a memento of them; in return I presented them with my visiting-card, which was put away with great care to be exhibited to future travellers.
I inquired about Hamed-ben-Amar’s relatives, but at the time none were at home.
On the whole I saw very few people at Duirat. The inhabitants were probably away, occupied in agriculture, as was the case in other villages.
The Khalifa spoke much of Drummond Hay, who had evidently made an ineffaceable impression on him. From him I learnt that the latter had scaled the mountain, visited a spring in the valley, and had afterwards galloped to Shenini, a village on the summit of a neighbouring mountain.
I am convinced that the secret of the success of the English Representative amongst the southern tribes—for it was not the first time I had heard his name mentioned in these parts—originates as much from his having inherited his father’s remarkable insight into the manner of thought of the Moslem, as from the fact that he speaks Arabic like a native. Again, he has inherited his father’s strong, fearless nature, and lastly—he is an Englishman.
It was near noon, but I had not time to wait till later, so in the intense heat, and guided by a young Arab, I clambered up to the old and now forsaken town on the top of the mountain.
SHENINI.