The resemblance between the gipsy and the Bedouin is almost too evident to need mention, and the author of this passage has here drawn attention to the singular resemblance between the Bedouin and the Highlander, as described by Scott. There is, however, in the “Legend of Montrose,” a passage which is worthy of being quoted in this place, so strangely close is the parallel. It occurs in the scene where the wounded Mac-Eogh is dying in prison, and is giving his last commands to his grandson. “Keep thou unsoiled the freedom which I leave thee as a birthright. Barter it not, neither for the rich garment, nor for the stone roof, nor for the covered board, nor for the couch of down. Son of the Mist, be free as thy forefathers. Own no land—receive no law—take no hire—give no stipend—build no hut—inclose no pasture—sow no grain.... Begone—shake the dust from thy feet against the habitations of men, whether banded together for peace or war.” Shift the scene from Scotland to Arabia, and no more appropriate words could have been put into the mouth of a dying Bedouin chief.
With characters so impatient of control, it is evident that there can be no government worthy of the name. Like the Son of the Mist, they acknowledge no lord, and there is no one who bears even by courtesy the title of King of the Bedouins. Each clan is governed by its own sheikh, and occasionally a few clans unite for some raid under the presidency of the eldest or most important sheikh, and remain united for some time. But his rule only lasts as long as the others choose to obey him, and instead of being a sovereign, or even a commander-in-chief, he is but primus inter pares.
The clans themselves vary exceedingly in numbers, and, as a general rule, each clan consists of one family, gathered together after the patriarchal system. Then if one of the men should happen to excel his fellows he is sure to get together a band of followers, to separate in time from his family, and found a clan of his own.
In consequence of this insubordinate nature, war, as we understand it, is impossible, simply because discipline cannot be maintained. If, for example, several clans unite under the presidency of one of their number, should one of the confederated sheikhs feel dissatisfied with the commander, he will go off together with his people, and probably join another who is more to his mind.
Though war is unknown, the Bedouins live in a chronic state of feud, no one knowing whether his encampment may not be assailed by another clan, all his little property—dress included—torn from him, if he submits, and his throat very probably cut if he resists. No one ever thinks of giving notice of attack, or of fighting anything like equal numbers. Should they not be far superior in numbers, they contrive to project their assault secretly, and to take their victims by surprise, and the man who is most ingenious in planning such raids, and the most active and courageous in carrying them out, is sure to be the man who will rise to a sort of eminence in his own clan, and finish by founding one of his own. The only object of such a raid is the acquisition of property; and even a handsome horse, or a remarkably swift dromedary, will cause the destruction of a whole clan.
Living in the desert, and only travelling from one fertile spot to another, they cannot be expected to be very delicate in regard to provisions, nor to possess any great skill in cookery. Their greatest luxury is a feast on boiled mutton and the whole process of cooking and serving is almost ludicrously simple. The body of a sheep is cut up and thrown into a pot, together with a sufficiency of water. The pot is then placed on the fire, and in process of time it boils. When it is about two-thirds cooked, according to our ideas, the hungry Bedouins can wait no longer; it is all turned into a large wooden bowl, and the guests assemble round it. Their hands are plunged into the bowl, the scalding and half-raw meat is quickly torn to pieces, and in five minutes nothing is left but the cleanly picked bones. No vegetables are added to it, and no condiments are thought needful. Water is then passed round in another bowl or pail, a deep draught is taken, and the feast is over.
The bread of the Bedouin is as simple as the cookery. The baker pours a few handfuls of flour upon a circular piece of leather, pours a little water upon it, and kneads it into dough. Another man has in the mean time been preparing a fire, and, as soon as it burns up, the dough is patted into a thin circular cake, about one inch thick and six inches diameter. This is laid on the fire and covered with embers, and after being turned once or twice, and the ashes brushed off, it is taken from the fire, broken up, and eaten as it is—“half-kneaded, half-raw, half-roasted, and burnt all round.” Were it not eaten while still hot, it would become so tough and leathery that not even a Bedouin could eat it. In fact, it very much resembles the rough-and-ready bread of the Australian shepherds, which is so well known under the name of “damper.” One advantage of this style of bread is, that it can be readily cooked on a journey, and, on special occasions, a camel-rider can even bake his bread while on the back of his dromedary.
The date is, however, the chief resource of the Bedouin, and on that fruit alone he can exist for a long time, even through the many hardships which he has to endure in his journeying through the desert. In England we do not know what the date really is, nor can understand the rich lusciousness of the fruit before it is dried and preserved. In the latter state it is very heating to a European, and slightly so even to a native, whereas in its fresh state it has no such evil qualities. It contains a marvellous amount of nourishment, and when fresh does not cloy the palate, as is always the case when it is dried.
In consequence of this nourishing property of the fruit, the date tree is not only valued, but absolutely honored. The Arab addresses it as his mother, and treats it with as much reverence as if it were really his parent. A single date tree is a valuable property among all Arab tribes, and, although the genuine Bedouins own none, they reverence it as much as their more stationary brethren. Cutting down the date trees of an enemy is looked upon as the last extremity of cruelty, while planting the trees on a new piece of ground is a sign of peace and prosperity.
The date is eaten in various ways. It is usually preferred while fresh and full of its own sweet juices, but, as it cannot be kept fresh very long, it is dried, pressed together, and so stored for future use. When the dried date forms a portion of a feast, the fruit is served in a large wooden bowl, in the middle of which is a cup containing melted butter. Each guest then picks out the dates singly from the mass, and dips each slightly into the butter before eating it.