In the sands of Arabia the camel is a sacred and precious gift. That strong and patient beast of burthen not only supplies the wandering Arab with the greater part of his simple wants: it serves also to secure his immemorial independence by placing the desert between the enemy and himself. Thus the Bedouin has ever been indomitable, and while in other parts of the world we find that the fatal possession of an animal—the sable, the sea-otter—has entailed the curse of slavery upon whole nations, the dromedary in Arabia appears as the instrument of lasting freedom. With temporary or local exceptions, the body of the nation has escaped the yoke of the most powerful monarchies; the arms of Sesostris and Cyrus, of Pompey and Trajan, could never achieve the conquest of Arabia, and while the false glory of the scourges of mankind that have so often thrown the East into bondage has passed away like a fleeting shadow, one century after another bears testimony to the noble independence of the Arab. The manly spirit of this energetic race renders them worthy of the freedom they enjoy under the protection of their arid wastes. Many ages before Mohammed, who, stimulating their valour by fanaticism, made them one of the great conquering nations of the earth, their intrepidity had been severely felt by their neighbours. ‘The patient and active virtues of a soldier,’ says Gibbon, ‘are insensibly nursed in the habits and discipline of pastoral life. The care of the sheep and camels is abandoned to the women of the tribe, but the martial youth, under the banner of the emir, is ever on horseback and in the field, to practise the exercise of the bow, the javelin, and the scymetar. The long memory of their independence is the firmest pledge of its perpetuity, and succeeding generations are animated to prove their descent and to maintain their inheritance. When they advance to battle, the hope of victory is in the front; in the rear, the assurance of a retreat. Their horses and camels, who in eight or ten days can perform a march of 500 miles, disappear before the conqueror; the secret waters of the desert elude his search, and his victorious troops are consumed with thirst, hunger, and fatigue, in the pursuit of an invisible foe, who scorns his efforts, and safely reposes in the heart of the burning solitude.
‘The slaves of a despotic rule may vainly boast of their national independence; but the Arab is as free from a domestic as from a foreign yoke. In every tribe superstition or gratitude or traditional respect has exalted a particular family above the heads of their equals. The dignities of sheik and emir invariably descend in this chosen race; but the order of succession is loose and precarious, and the most worthy or aged of the noble kinsmen are preferred to the simple though important office of composing disputes by their advice and guiding valour by their example. If an emir abuses his power he is quickly punished by the desertion of his subjects. Their independent spirit disdains a base submission to the will of a master, their steps are unconfined, the desert is open and the tribes and families are held together by a mutual and voluntary compact. Accustomed to a life of danger and distress, the breast of the wandering Arab is fortified with the austere virtues of courage, patience, and sobriety; the love of liberty prompts him to exercise the habits of self-command, and the fear of dishonour guards him from the meaner apprehension of pain, of danger, and of death. The self-respect which independence inspires shows itself in the dignity of his outward demeanour: his speech is slow, weighty, and concise; he is seldom provoked to laughter; his only gesture is that of stroking his beard, the venerable symbol of manhood.’
Unfortunately the Bedouin too often tarnishes his liberty by crime, and, accustomed to confound the ideas of stranger and enemy, endeavours to justify by casuistry the base pursuits of a robber. He pretends that in the division of the earth the rich and fertile climates were assigned to the other branches of the human family, and that the posterity of the outlaw Ismael is entitled to recover by fraud or force the portion of inheritance of which he has been unjustly deprived. Equally addicted to theft and merchandise, he ransoms or pillages the caravans that traverse his native desert, and armed against mankind, makes the inoffensive traveller the victim of his rapacious spirit. And yet by one of those strange contradictions, belonging to the mysterious nature of man, this same Arab, the terror of the desert, embraces without enquiry or hesitation, the stranger who dares to confide in his honour and enter his tent. His treatment is kind and respectful, he shares the wealth or the poverty of his host, and, after a needful repose, he is dismissed on his way with thanks, with blessings, and perhaps with gifts.
Now here, now there, the Bedouin’s home is as wide as the desert, and as movable as its drifting sands. The mode of encamping differs according to circumstances. When the tents are but few, they are pitched in a circle; if the number is considerable they extend in a straight line, in rows three or four deep. The sheik’s is always on the side where danger is apprehended, or where travellers are expected;—it being his particular business to oppose the former and to honour the latter. Every chief sticks his lance into the ground in front of his tent, to which he ties his horse or camel; the pack-saddles forming the couch on which he and his guests recline. When wandering in search of water or pasture, they move in parties, slowly over the sandy plain. The armed horsemen ride foremost, the flocks with their young follow, and behind come the beasts of burden, loaded with the women and children, tents, baggage and provisions.
Among pastoral tribes the possession of a well, of a few date-palms, or of a piece of pasture ground, easily leads to quarrels, and, as rude nations generally prefer settling their disputes by the right of the stronger, to sanguinary feuds and wars. Besides the causes of hostility arising from disputed property, the natural jealousy and fiery temperament of the Arab have always proved a source of the most implacable enmity among themselves. They betray the quickest sensibility to any affront or injury, and instances might be multiplied where a contemptuous word, an indecent action, or even the most trifling violation of etiquette can only be expiated by the blood of the offender. If one sheik say to another, ‘Thy bonnet is dirty,’ or ‘The wrong side of thy turban is out,’ it is considered a mortal offence. To spit on the beard of another, even accidentally, is an insult scarcely to be forgiven, and such is their patient inveteracy that they expect whole months and years the opportunity of revenge. A fine or compensation for murder is familiar to the barbarians of every age, but in Arabia the kinsmen of the dead are at liberty to accept the atonement, or to exercise with their own hands the law of retaliation. If the offer is deemed unsatisfactory, the homicide and all his kin comprised within the law of vengeance, make their escape to some friendly tribe. A sacred custom allows the fugitives three days and four hours during which their enemies abstain from the pursuit; the exiles are permitted to return as soon as a reconciliation can be effected. The fine for a murdered man varies among the different tribes. Among the Beni-Harb in Hedjaz the price of blood is rated at 800 dollars, or rather that sum imperfectly expressed by live stock. All the blood relations of the slayer assist to make up the required amount, rating each animal at three or four times its proper value. On such occasions violent scenes arise from the conflict of the Arab’s two darling passions, avarice and revenge. He longs to cut the foe’s throat, but on the other hand he is equally desirous to increase his own possessions. He has always a project of buying a new dromedary, or of investing capital in some promising colt. The consequence is that he is insatiable. Still he receives blood money with a feeling of shame, as a man who has made some sacrifice of duty or fine feeling for the sake of filthy lucre. Hence this mode of arrangement is not common among the more wealthy tribes, and most of the great sheiks would deem themselves dishonoured by compromising in any degree for the slaughter of their relations. The matter being finally settled, a she camel is brought to the tent of the adversary and there killed that blood may be expiated by blood. The parties now reconciled feed upon the flesh of the animal, and at parting the homicide flourishes a white handkerchief on his lance as a public notification that he is free from blood.
The simple unvaried life of the Bedouin must often cause time to hang heavy on his hands. To relieve this weariness and want of novelty he has recourse to various amusements which serve to fill up his vacant hours. A rover or a warrior, his favourite sports are those that imitate war. Throwing the jereed is a kind of rude tournament, which he frequently practises. This is a blunt spear, made of heavy wood, and about a yard long. The object of the game, in which the players evince the most astonishing dexterity, is for one party to pursue, and the other to fly, and try to elude being struck by the weapon. Sometimes they amuse themselves with sham fights; and nothing can be more picturesque, than to see a group of these wild men huddled together in the greatest apparent confusion, with drawn swords and couched lances.
The more domestic pastimes are chess, draughts, dancing, singing, the reciting of poetry and story-telling, for which they have a singular passion. Captain Burton, who witnessed one of their war dances, describes it as wild in the extreme, resembling rather the hopping of bears than the inspirations of Terpsichore. The dancers raised both arms high above their heads, brandishing a dagger or some other small weapon. They followed each other by hops on one or both feet; sometimes indulging in the most demented leaps, whilst the by-standers accompanied them with clapping of hands and various motions of the body. There is a species of song, common all over the desert, in which the youths of both sexes join in the chorus. It is called the mesamer, and is the only opportunity which the lover has of serenading his mistress; the verses are often composed extempore, and relate, of course, to the beauty and qualities of the beloved object, who is sometimes apostrophized in epithets that sound rather oddly to European ears: ‘O Ghalia! if my father were a jackass, I would sell him to purchase Ghalia.’
During their long marches through the desert, the Bedouins likewise have recourse to singing, both to enliven their camels, for it is well known that that animal never moves with so much ease as when he hears his master sing, and to while away the tediousness of the road. Monotonous and droning as it is, their song has yet an artless plaintiveness which admirably suits the singer and the scenery. If you listen to the words you will surely hear allusions to bright verdure, cool shades, bubbling rills, or something which the son of the desert hath not, and yet which his soul desires. A common entertainment among the Bedouins, is the reciting of tales after the manner of the ‘Arabian Nights,’ those enchanting fictions which rival even ‘Robinson Crusoe’ in the affections of childhood. Assembled after a tedious march round the blazing fire which cooks their simple meal of dhourra or sour camel’s milk and flour, and quaffing the soothing fumes of tobacco, they learn to forget their own hardships and fatigue in the captivating narrative of ideal adventures, and become for a time the happiest of men.
Next to the practice of hospitality and expertness in the use of arms, the Arabs value no accomplishments more highly than eloquence and poetry, and in these the roving hordes of the desert, living amidst the solitary grandeur of nature, excel their more civilized brethren. Metrical orations are particularly esteemed, for it is an old Arab saying that fine sentiments delivered in prose are like gems scattered at random; but when confined in verse they resemble strings of pearls.
In former times the poet ranked with the warrior among the noblest possessions a tribe could boast of, and assemblies of different kinds were held where rival bards and orators disputed the palm of victory. In loud and impassioned strains the contending poets addressed the multitude by turns, extolling the superior glory of their own tribe, recounting the names of their eminent warriors, and challenging their opponents to produce their equals. As from the fierce spirit of the Bedouins, and the well-known influence of songs over the martial virtues of a barbarous people, these intellectual tournaments frequently ended in good earnest battles, they were expressly abolished by the Koran; but the old spirit of poetry is still as alive as ever among the Bedouins, who, though no longer equalling them, are passionately fond of their ancient bards. Thus when Burckhardt read portions of the famous romance of Antar to a Bedouin auditory they were in ecstasies of delight, but at the same time so enraged at his bad pronunciation, that they tore the book out of his hands.