At last came the funeral. Four men bore on their shoulders a bier, over which was thrown a burnous. The bearers hurried along, followed by some fifty men clad in white burnouses, and behind them as many women in dark dresses. From these arose sobbing cries in measured time.
The noise near me subsided a little; some of the crowd wandered down to the plain to join the funeral, and gradually dispersed altogether.
The wailing of the women came distinctly to my ears, and in the centre of their group I saw a pair of white arms stretched to heaven.
Now the lamentations were stilled, and a deathlike silence reigned during the midday hour; only the buzzing of the flies was to be heard.
Taken aback by the sudden hush, I looked about me; there still sat the man, woman, and child gazing over the plain.
The bier was now deposited on the ground. Around it crouched the glaring white figures, their hoods drawn forward and their hands covering their faces, while the prayer for the dead was recited. The men appeared grief-stricken. Who could tell when Allah might call away another, or knew but what it might be his own turn to be summoned next morning! For the fever raged distressingly in the oasis. So sounds of lamentation rose from the dark group which showed so sadly and so strikingly against the pale golden-brown of the plain and beside the gleaming white crowd of men.
“He was so good, so proud, so strong, but yesterday.
Now he is dead, his wife is all alone,
Oh woe, oh woe, oh woe.
Now she grieves, his children and his friends weep.