Mohammed as we rode away was much elated at the success of this visit, and related to me the pretty things Huseyn had said about us. Huseyn had seen other franjis but none who understood the shoghl Arab, Arab ways, as we did. They had come with an escort to see the ruins, but we had come to see him. “Ah,” said Mohammed, “now they are sitting drinking coffee and talking about us. They are saying to each other that the Beg and I are brothers, and we are travelling together, as is right, in search of relations, and to make friends all over the world. There is nothing so asil (noble) as to travel and make friends. Once upon a time there was an old man who had a son, but very little other property, and when he came to die he called his son and said to him, “O my son, I am about to die, and I have nothing to leave behind me for your good but advice, and my advice is this: ‘Build to yourself houses in every part of the world.’” And the son, who was a child without understanding, wondered how he was to do this, seeing he had no money to build houses with, and so set out on a journey in search of a wise man who could explain to him his father’s last words. And he travelled for many years and visited every part of the world, and made friends in each town, and at last he found the wise man who told him that he had already done as his father had bidden him, “for,” he said, “you have friends everywhere, and is not your friend’s house your own?”
We too were in high spirits, as everything now seemed to be going right. Our course lay nearly south on the road to Ezrak, and we passed several ruined villages and some cultivated land. Every now and then we put up immense packs of sand-grouse, which were busy feeding on the seeds of the zueyti, a kind of thistle which grows abundantly on the fallows. Wilfrid got eight of them at a shot, and at one of the villages we bought ten partridges of a man who had been out with a matchlock, so that we are well supplied with meat for a couple of days. Assad has got a very handsome greyhound with him, of the long-haired breed, which has a wonderful nose for game. His master declares he sees the birds, for the Arabs do not seem to understand the theory of scent.
After two hours’ fair travelling, we stopped at a village called Metém, where Assad had friends, and where we were obliged to go through the ceremony of drinking coffee, losing much time thereby. Then a new discussion arose as to our road, somebody having just come in from Ezrak, who announced that the Sirhán were camped there, and the Sirhán we knew were friendly with Huseyn el-Atrash. Assad, and Salman his companion, refused in consequence to go that way, and were for stopping the night at Metém to think over it; but this we would not listen to. We were determined to go somewhere, and if not to Ezrak then by some other route to Kâf. Somebody suggested El Kreysheh, who was said to be in the Wady er-Rajel, and others the Sirdíeh, who were camped a day’s journey towards the east. It was difficult to decide; but at the well of the village while we were watering our animals, we met a man and his wife, who told us they knew where to find the Sirdíeh, and were themselves on their way to join them. So this decided us, and we determined on the Sirdíeh. The Sirdíeh are friends of Huseyn’s, and our Druse guides made no objection to going that way; Awwad the Shammari declared also that it was all right. Accordingly we left the Ezrak road, and striking off to the east, soon found ourselves out of the range of cultivation. Metém is to be the last village we shall see, and the desert is now before us all the way to Nejd.
We are encamped at the edge of a plateau, from which there is an immense prospect of hill and plain, and Wilfrid has been very busy making out a rough chart of the different landmarks, as they may be useful to-morrow if we should happen to miss our way. The man and woman we met at the well are with us, and know the different points by name. Awwad too, declares he knows every part of the desert between this and Kâf and he has pointed out a tell, south-east by south, beyond which it lies. The Druses, like townsmen, are already nervous at the sight of the desert, and angry with us for camping away from villages and tents. Our camp is well concealed in an old volcanic crater, where also we are sheltered from the wind, which is very cold. There is a spring just below called Ain el-Ghiaour (the infidel’s spring); according to the Druses, the scene of a great battle fought by the Arabs of the first invasion, in which they routed the Christians. At that time all the country we have been passing through, and perhaps the broken ground in front of us, was well inhabited; and there is a tell with a ruined convent on it not far off to the north-west, still known as Ed Deyr. There is capital pasture here, rotha, which the camels have been making the most of. We too have dined, and now all is quiet, and the sky is full of stars. We have been sitting on the edge of the crater talking over plans for to-morrow. The Sirdíeh, it now appears, are at a khabra or pool, called Shubboitia, which we could see before the sun set like a yellow line far away to the northeast, too far out of our road for us to go there. Awwad is in favour of going straight to Kâf and taking our chance of what Arabs we may meet. El Kreysheh is somewhere in front of us, and so they say is Ibn Majil, the Akid of the Roala, whom we met last year. At any rate, we must take a good supply of water with us, and go forward at the first streak of dawn.
December 23.—As soon as it was light we climbed up to the top of the crater and looked over the plain. It was a wonderful sight with its broken tells and strange chaotic wadys, all black with volcanic boulders, looking blacker still against the yellow morning sky. There is always something mysterious about a great plain, and especially such a plain as this, where Europeans, one may say, have never been, and which even the people of the Hauran know little of. Besides, it seems to have had a history if only in the days of Og, king of Basan. But it was not to look at the view or for any romantic reason that we had come there; only to examine the country before us and see if we could discover traces of Arab encampments. After looking carefully all round we at last made out a thin column of smoke to the northeast, ten or twelve miles away, and another nearly due east. The first must be the Sirdíeh, the second perhaps the Kreysheh. Satisfied with this we returned to our party, who were just setting the camels in motion, and as the sun rose we began our march.
We have been stumbling about all day among the boulders of the Harra, following little tracks just wide enough for the camels to get along, and making a great circuit in order to find ourselves at last barely twelve miles from where we began. At first we kept company with our new acquaintances, the people going to the Sirdíeh, but when we had arrived at the foot of the hills we found them turning away to the north, and so wished them good-bye, much to the Druses’ disgust, who did not at all relish our wild-goose chase of the Kreysheh, and still less the idea of going straight to Kâf. They followed, however, when they found that we would listen to no reason, and I must say good-humouredly. One great charm of the Arab character is that it bears no malice, even about trifles. Sulkiness is very rare with them. They did not pretend to know much of the country, so we made Awwad lead the way. Going straight was out of the question, for the Harra is an impracticable country, not only for camels but for horses, on account of the boulders, except just where the paths lead. We had a bleak desolate ride, for a cold wind had sprung up in our faces with a decided touch of winter. This country must be a furnace, however, in summer with its polished black stones. I noticed that these were very regularly weathered; one side, that towards the north, being grey with a sort of lichen, so that as we rode past they seemed to change colour continually. There was very little sign of life in this region, only a few small birds, and no trace of inhabitants or of any recent passers by. The tracks followed generally the beds of wadys, and wandered on without any particular aim or direction. They looked like the paths made by sheep or camels, only that the stones were so big it seemed impossible that the mere passage of animals could have ever made them. On the whole I think they must be artificial, made by shepherds in very ancient times for their flocks. In the spring, we are told, the whole of this Harra is excellent grazing ground. It is a curious thing that every here and there in the hollows there is a space free from stones where water lies after rain, forming a pool. Why are there no stones there? The soil is a dry clay with a highly glazed surface cracked into very regular squares, so glazed indeed that even close by it has the appearance of water, reflecting the light of the sky. This, no doubt, is the way some of the curious mirage effects are produced in the desert, for it is to be noticed that the most perfect delusions are found just in places where one would naturally expect to find water—that is, where water has been.
At half-past twelve, we came suddenly on a level bit of open ground, which we took at first for one of these khabras, but found it to be part of a long wady running north and south, with a very distinct watercourse in the middle, with tamarisk bushes, and patches of fresh grass, showing that water had run down it not long ago. Both Awwad and the Druses recognised this as the Wady-er-Rajel, where the Kreysheh were reported to be encamped, and the only question was, whether to turn up or down it. While we were debating, however, a flock of sheep was sighted, and presently a boy, who told us he was a Sirdíeh, but that the Kreysheh were only a couple of hours further down the valley. This just suited, as it was exactly in the right direction for us, and we are now at Ali el-Kreysheh’s camp, and being hospitably entertained by a young relation in the Sheykh’s absence. Ali is away at Mezárib with fifty horsemen, to escort the Jerdeh on their way to Maan.
We have had some singing to-night, and playing of the rebab. Among the songs I was pleased to recognise an old Shammar ballad about Abdul Kerim and the man who had no mare.
December 24.—The Kreysheh, at whose camp we now are, belong to the Beni Sokkhr, a large, but not very warlike tribe, which occupies the whole of the district from the pilgrim road eastwards to the extreme edge of the Harra, throughout a wilderness of stones. To this they are said to owe their name of Beni Sokkhr, children of the rocks; and they assure us that they have lived in the Harra “from all time.” They do not come from Nejd, they say, like the Ánazeh, but are Shimali or Northern Arabs. We were told the names of ten divisions into which the Beni Sokkhr have ramified, each owning a separate Sheykh, though nominally subject to Fendi el-Faiz, or rather his son Sóttan, for Fendi is old and has given up practical authority. These divisions are probably nothing more than groups of the tribe, as their names are those of their Sheykhs, the principal being Sóttan, and next to him El Kreysheh, and next again Ed Dreybi ibn Zebbed. The Kreysheh have camels as well as sheep, and seem pretty well off; but they have no great number of mares, and those not of the best type. They keep hawks and greyhounds.
They have given us news of the Roala. Ibn Majil, whom we met last year at Sotamm Ibn Shaalan’s, and who took our side in the negotiations for peace with the Sebaa, has now separated from Sotamm, and is somewhere down by Jôf, so perhaps we may meet him; while Sotamm has just marched north again to attack the Welled Ali. The Kreysheh are friends with Ibn Majil, but at war with Sotamm, another curious instance of the inconsistencies of Bedouin politics. These are, indeed, as changing as the clouds in the sky, and transform themselves so rapidly, that in Desert history, if it were written, ten years would comprise as much incident as a century in Europe.