The pillars of Hercules

by David Urquhart

The Saba were, however, civil enough to direct us to one of the Douars of our sheik’s tribe,—the Zieïda. We reached it about nightfall, and without halt or parley, rode right in. Like the change of a theatre by the scene-shifter’s whistle, a couple of tents all standing, the poles, cords, &c., being manned, were lifted from their place and advanced into the centre: matting was spread upon the deep, wet verdure: blazing wood was brought from neighbouring fires, piled into a fire, and in the twinkling of an eye we were roofed, sheltered, settled about our hearth, and in our home, where a moment before the earth lay bare, wet, cold, dark, and comfortless. Then came the elders. The owner of the tent brought a sheep to present at the door: another eggs; another a jar of butter. It was painful and strange to me not to be able to converse with them, and to my instant and repeated inquiries, I could get from my interpreter nothing more than “compliments,”—“compliments.” They soon retired to leave us to get dried, and then was repeated to me their request, which was, that we should think favourably of them now, and speak well of them hereafter. I said, “the proverb runs through the world, ‘hospitable as an Arab,’ now I know it is a truth.” They presently returned with demonstrations of gratitude, my words having been repeated from tent to tent round the Douar.

Often during this second sleepless night did those words recur to me—“We are Saba.” Suppose that one of Job’s descendants had been of the party, we might have set up a claim for the cattle. The Egyptians demanded from the colony of Jews introduced into Egypt by Alexander, repayment for the jewels which the Jewish women had carried away. The claim was admitted, but they pleaded value given in “brick-making.” Alexander held the defendants entitled to a verdict. Eight centuries did not give amongst them the strength to Time which with us is acquired from seven years.

Sheba signified oath;[254] thus Beersheba, the well of the oath. They were the words of the mystery of objurgation, the basis of religions and governments.

The inventions of a people have in antiquity received their name; thus have many vocables been formed. It is in this manner that language becomes history. We have centre courts (atrea), from the manner of building of Atrea. Gauze from Gaza; calico from Calient; muslin from Masulipatam; embroiderers (Phrygiones) from Phrygia. Towers from the Tyrians; ceremonies from Cere. In Spain to-day a waggon is called Elheudi (the Jew). These single words, as clearly as if written on tables of brass, as surely as if sworn to by myriads of witnesses, prove their etymon to be fact. The Jews introduced chariots into Spain; the Etruscans religious forms into Rome, and so for oath, the Saba use the inventions of the ritual of ancient superstition.

Above one thousand years ago, the answer given to me was given to a Calif El Mamrou, who while on his march to attack the Roman empire, meeting a tribe with narrow tunics like the Persians, and long hair, called them to him, and asked them who they were. They answered, “We are Harrane.” He then said, “Are you Christians?” which they denied. He then asked, “Are you Jews?” That they denied also. Then he said, “Have you got no book, and do you follow no prophet?” And as they returned an uncertain answer, he said to them, “Ye are idolaters, and deserve death!” They then alleged that they paid tribute and had contracted with the Mussulmans; but he tells them that they are not of the number of those who can make contracts, and threatens to extirpate them to the last child unless, on his return, they had professed Islam, or one of the religions mentioned in the book (Judaism or Christianity). They then changed their clothes and cut off their hair; and some became Christians and some Mussulmans; but many would not; and being in great fear of the Calif’s return, they applied to an old man to know what they should do. He said to them, “When Mamrou returns, answer him, ‘We are Saba,’ which is the name of the religion which the Great God has named in the Koran; and thus let us be freed from him!”[255]

Mahomet makes Abraham, when passing from Irak into Syria, fall in with Saba, “versed in old books, and who believed what they contained.” Then Abraham says to God: “It does not appear that in the world there are any but I and those who are with me, who are faithful and believe in thee alone. So God ordered him to preach to them; and he called to them, but they would not obey him. ‘How should we,’ said they, ‘believe thee who canst not read?’ So God sent upon them forgetfulness of those sciences and books which they knew.”

And this, then, is the last remnant of the people who first fixed the hours of the day—the points of the compass,—who taught the courses of the stars[256]—who were the teachers of letters, and the first law-givers.[257] Small in numbers, scattered without being disconnected, they had their settlements in Arabia Felix; on the Red Sea; on the Persian Gulf; in Syria; in Asia Minor, and in the far regions of the West; and linked with their camels the sea-borne traffic of their twin race with the Indian and Atlantic Oceans. Yet of them the stock remains—not one orphan of Tyre subsists.

The next morning was beautiful; and turning to the eastward, we proceeded on our journey, expecting early in the day to reach sheik Tibi’s own Douar. We came upon patches or outliers of the cork forests. In ten miles I counted sixteen Douars, averaging seventy tents; and the furthest from us on each side was not more than two miles. Thence for fifteen miles, though the land was cultivated, there was neither tent nor tree to be seen. The soil, almost sand, is thinly spread over a face of rock. The festouks and asphodels had disappeared, and lilies supplied their place; but not a fly, nor a bird, nor a spider, nor insect, save ants. The hollows were marshes or little lakes; but nowhere was the mould shaped by the action of water,—nowhere did the soil imbibe the rain to hold and discharge it,—no trace of a rivulet.

This tract extends along the whole coast, averaging twenty miles in width and five hundred feet in height. Schist, slate, and quartz-rock protrude through it in some places, the line of bearing being at right angles to the coast. I have already explained this formation, the peculiarity of which consists in the surface being converted into stone. At one place the road crossed what looked like a rivulet; but the extent of its course was 250 yards, that is to say, this was the whole distance from the first indenting of the ground till it had opened into a deep chasm. Wherever water filters through, the sand is removed and the rock falls in; and then the rent goes on like a crack in a plate of glass, widening and deepening to the sea.

This is a landscape requiring a new name. I now could understand that strange term, “Rolling Prairies:”—it must be a similar formation, swelling, but not hill-like; tame, but not valley-like; expanse not like that of the sea; undulations not like those of the land; and over the whole a preadamite vastness, unbroken till you come abruptly to the edge of the gulfs. Were the elevation thousands instead of hundreds of feet, and the distance from the sea thousands instead of tens of miles, then it would require but snake-grass and buffaloes to witness an estampado without crossing the Atlantic. It was quite delightful to get upon the hills again: they were rugged aluminous schist, well clothed with trees of extreme beauty, but moderate size, principally the cork oak. I here first saw the Arar, the Thuya articulata, a tree between a cypress in the leaf, and a pine in the figure. The wood is invaluable; no worm touches it, and it endures for ever; it does not split; and though hard is easily wrought. They use it for the beams of the houses which are near the ceilings of apartments: those ceilings of “cedar and vermilion,” that we read of in the Prophets and the “Arabian Nights.” It has the odour of the cedar, and yields pitch and turpentine. There is also an evergreen like the thorn, bearing a berry like the haw: they call it Berri, and make oil from it. This is the Eliodendron of the Greeks. Further to the south there is the Argan, from the nut of which a much esteemed oil is made. The oak furnishes the Bellotis, which, without ceasing to be an Arcadian, is here a real food.