FROM THE PLAIN OF MIS'HAL TO THE SEA
We joined the camels on the way, and after two hours of stones ascended the very steep Akaba Beva. The view from the hills above—about 2,500 feet—is splendid, all the Yafei mountains and the Goddam range ending at Haide Naab, and giving place to the higher mountains of Rekab and Ghiuda. We descended, but not much, into the lovely Wadi Hadda, full of trees smothered with a kind of vine with thick glossy indiarubber-like leaves; then we went on straight up Akaba Hadda to the huge plain of Mis'hal, full of villages, but ill-supplied with water. There are only some very bad wells for the cattle, and they have to fetch drinking-water from afar, from Ghenab and Lammas. We engaged a Bedou's camel to keep us supplied, while resting our own. The plain is 2,700 feet above the sea. The sheikh's name is Mohommod-bin-Nasr Nakai; this is the first time we heard this pronunciation of the Prophet's name. He was determined to give us a grand reception. Sheikh Seil had gone forward to announce us from Ghiuda, and he came to meet us on his pony down both akabas—a fearful journey.
Village of Mis'hal
We always liked Sheikh Seil very much. He was the sheikh of Dirgheg. His hair and his shaggy chest were not white, but a lovely sky-blue. In that part of the world old people's hair is not dyed red with henna, as it is in other parts of Arabia and Asia Minor and in Persia, so the effect of the indigo can be seen.
From a distance we could see the preparations. There was a long line on the sandy plain of between two and three hundred Bedouin, naked save for a blue scarf round their waists, with dagger, powder-horn, &c., stuck in. Some had guns, matchlocks, and some had spears. They mostly had their long hair tied up and sticking out in a fuz behind, as funny a long line of men as ever one saw.
We dismounted, nearly a quarter of a mile off, and all our party advanced hand-in-hand, fourteen besides ourselves and Matthaios, we being the only ones who did not know the words in which to chant our response to the welcoming shout. This they interrupted occasionally by the high gurgling sound they are so fond of, constantly coming out of the rank, one or other, and firing a gun and retiring. The blue-bearded Sheikh Seil galloped up and down in front of us, twirling his spear. We stopped 150 yards from them, and after much more firing the spearmen began to parade before us in a serpentine way, two and two, backwards and forwards, zigzag, and round and round the gunners, gradually getting nearer and nearer to us, and dragging the gunners after them, with a red flag, a seyyid, and their sheikh, Mohommod-bin-Nasr, between them. When they got quite close they welcomed us, and we said 'Peace' to them. They passed us so many times that we could see and notice them well. Some were very tall; one who was very lame led his tiny little boy. The lancers danced very prettily, having a man a little way in front of them executing wild capers and throwing up his spear and catching it, singing all the while songs of welcome. We could not understand more than some allusions, which assured us they were composed for the occasion. After many gyrations they retired to their former place, and then a herald came forward and made a solemn address of welcome.
Then our turn came, and we sent forth a line of men with Sultan Haidar in it to sing and let off guns. When the two lines met they shook hands and kissed, the sultans and seyyids being kissed on the forehead and the upper part of the leg. When they returned to us all our party joined hands to go to our camp, now ready, a good distance off, all keeping step in a kind of stilted, prancing way, singing. The spearmen in front danced with all manner of light and graceful antics, and we were nearly stifled with the dust; and the din was so appalling that we arrived quite dazed at our tents after this welcome, which had lasted fully an hour. We were the first white people who had been at Mis'hal. I tore my camera from its case to take a photograph before the people left us, and it did better than I could have expected in such a crowd, with no sun and so much whirling dust. The town consists of a low square dar and a collection of brushwood arbours, so slight that there is no pretension of concealing anything that goes on inside. We were very thankful for a large pot of coffee and ginger, sent by a sultan, and a fat lamb. The princes ventured to leave us in charge of Abdullah-bin-Abdurrahman, and abode in the tower. Sultan Haidar went home from here.
The tableland of Mis'hal is approached by three akabas: (1) Sauda, to 2,000 feet; (2) Beva, to 2,500 feet; (3) Hadda, to 2,750 feet. The Nakai tribe live here, and are on friendly terms with their neighbours the Fadhli—a sufficiently rare circumstance in this country. The Nakai chief can put four hundred men in the field to help the Fadhli. The Markashi were at war with them; they live in the Goddam range, and had been giving the sultan trouble lately.
The road to Shukra most frequented is the Tarik el Arkob; eastward goes the road to the Hadhramout, over the plain. Northward is the mountainous country of the Aòdeli tribe, where they told us 'it is sometimes so cold that the rain is hard and quite white, and the water like stone.' The plain is ten or fifteen miles long, by about four or five miles at its broadest. If irrigated it would yield enormously. The well is of great depth, but the water very bad. My husband ascended a mountain about 3,000 feet high, but only 400 feet above the plain, with a most remarkable view of the Aòdeli mountains, about twenty miles away, towering up to a great height—far higher than the Yafei range, which Mr. Tate gives as 7,000 feet: these are probably 10,000 feet. The range must run for thirty or forty miles from east to west, with few breaks and no peaks. We were not well the last day at Mis'hal.
