We have been entertained by Radi with more blood and bones stories, the most terrible of which is that of some Turkish soldiers, [174] who many years ago were treacherously abandoned in the Nefûd. They had occupied Haïl in the days of the first Ibn Rashid, and had been left there as a garrison. But either the Sultan could not communicate with them or forgot them, and after a certain time they wished to go home. Many of them had died at Haïl, and the remainder of them, about five hundred, easily agreed to set out for Damascus under the escort of Obeyd, the Emir’s brother, who had resolved to destroy them. They left Haïl on horseback and followed their Shammar guides to this place, who to all questions as to where they should find wells, answered, a little further, a little further on. At last the Bedouins left them. They seem to have been brave fellows, for the last that was heard of them was a sort of song or chorus which they sang as they struggled on, “Nahnu askar ma nahnu atâsha nahnu askar ma benríd moyeh.” “We are not thirsty, we soldiers want no water.” But at noon that day they must have lost heart, and lain down under the bushes to get a sort of shade, and so they were afterwards found scattered about in the different fuljes. Some of their horses made their way back to Jobba, and became the property of any who could seize them. They were sold by these lucky people for a few sheep or goats each. It is a ghastly tale.
A pleasanter one is that of two young lovers who eloped from Jôf, and were pursued by their relations. Suspecting that they would be tracked, and to avoid scandal, they had agreed that instead of walking together, they would keep parallel lines about a hundred yards apart and so set out on their journey, and when they came to a certain fulj, which Radi pointed out to us, they were too tired and lay down to die each under his bush. Thus they were found and fortunately in time, and their discretion so pleased the relations on both sides, that consent was given to their marriage, and the nuptials celebrated with rejoicings.
At half-past ten we suddenly caught sight of the peaks of Aalem, two conical rocks which jut out of the sand, and make a conspicuous landmark for travellers on their way to Jobba. It was an immense relief to see them, for we had begun to distrust the sagacity of our guide on account of the tortuous line we followed, and now we knew that the worst was over, and that if need were, we could find our way on across the other half of the Nefûd, with some prospect at least of success. We left our camels to follow, and rode on towards the hills. It still took us several hours to reach them, but we were by three o’clock touching the stones with our hands to feel that they were real. It was as if we had been lost at sea and had found a desert island.
We had some time to wait while the caravan laboured slowly on to join us. I remained with the mares and kept a look-out while Wilfrid climbed to the top of the smaller rock. “What a place to be buried in,” he exclaimed. “Mount Nebo must have been like this.” But people who die in the Nefûd have seldom anyone to bury them. As he clambered round the pile of loose stones near the top of the tell, he found to his great delight a painted lady butterfly sunning itself in a sheltered spot. If, as is probable, there is no vegetation suited for the caterpillar of this butterfly nearer than Hebron, this little insect must have travelled at least four hundred miles. Here it seemed happy in the sun. This smaller rock, or rocky hill, was just a hundred feet from the level of the plain, and rose sheer out of it bare and naked as a rock does at sea. The barometer at the top of it shewed 3220 feet. The taller Aalem is perhaps three times its height.
Aalem, Radi says, is Sheykh of the Nefûd, and the little tell is his son. At some miles distance to the north-east there is a cluster of white sand-hills, Aalem’s “harim.” The rocks of Aalem are sandstone weathered black, not granite as we had hoped, and this no doubt is the material from which in the lapse of years the great red sand heaps have been formed. They are not of solid rock but resemble heaps of stones. On the top of the one Wilfrid ascended was a cairn with the remains of some old letters scratched on the stones, of the same kind as those to be seen on Sinai, or rather in the Wady Mokattib. The view was, by Wilfrid’s report, stupendous, but one impossible to draw or even attempt to draw. Here could be seen spread out as on a map the general features of the Nefûd, the uniformity of the ocean of sand streaked with the long lines of its fuljes, Aalem itself rising in their midst like a rock out of a sea streaked with foam.
We are now encamped about two miles beyond Aalem. I have filled a bottle with sand to make an hour-glass with at home.
January 17.—A white frost, some of which was packed up with the tents and carried with us all day.
It is curious that now we have passed Aalem the vegetation has changed. Up to that point the ghada reigned supreme, and I could not have believed it could so suddenly disappear, yet such is the case. Now not a bush of ghada is to be seen, and its place is taken by the yerta which before was rare. It seems impossible to account for this, as there is no material change of level, and absolutely no change in the character of the soil. The bushes by which we camped last night were quite the last southwards. We are sorry to lose them, as ghada is the finest firewood in the world. Charcoal made from it, which one finds here and there where there has been a camp fire, is finer than the finest charcoal used for drawing. The yerta is inferior. On the other hand there is more of the grass called nassí for the camels, and of the hamar, a whitish-blue prickly plant which the mares are very fond of, while the adr, a shrub with stiff green leaves and brownish yellow flowers, is still the commonest plant.
The sand has dried again since yesterday, and as the day grew warmer became very heavy for the camels. The labour of trudging through the yielding surface is beginning to tell on them, and to-day most of our men have walked, Mohammed giving the example. Every one was cheerful, in spite of the hard work, and all showed wonderful strength in running on and playing pranks in the sand. Wilfrid, who is in fair training, was quite unable to keep up with them, and I fared still worse as may be imagined, being as yet very lame; we both, however, felt bound to try and walk at intervals for the sake of our mares. Ibrahim el-tawîl (the tall as contrasted with Ibrahim el-kasír, or the short), who has hitherto been the butt of the party, being sent down on fools’ errands to fetch water from fuljes, and up to the tops of sand-hills, to see imaginary mountains, has proved himself to-day most valiant. He, although a Christian, is a match for any Moslem of the party, and gives as much as he takes in the rough games the Arabs indulge in to keep up their spirits. At one moment he got hold of the servants’ tent pole, a very heavy one, and played at quarter-staff with it among them to such effect, that I thought there would have been bones broken. Abdallah, too, when there is any particularly hard piece of climbing to do and the rest seem fagged, generally runs on and stands on his head till they come up. We encourage this mirth as it makes the work lighter.
Our water is now running rather short, for we have had to divide a skin among the mares each day, but this lightens the loads. Two of the camels are beginning to flag, Hanna’s delúl, which has hardly had fair play, as he and Ibrahim have been constantly changing places on its back, and making a camel kneel and get up repeatedly tires it more than any weight; also the beautiful camel we bought at Mezárib. This last, in spite of his good looks, seems to be weakly. His legs are a trifle long, and his neck a trifle short, two bad points for endurance, and then he is only a three year old and has not had the distemper, at least so Abdallah says. A camel can never be depended on till he has had it. The ugly camel, too, which they call Shenuan, seems distressed. He has certainly got the mange, and I wish we had insisted on this point when we suspected the camels at Damascus, but it is too late now. The rest are still in fine order, in spite of the long journey and the absence of fresh pasture, which at this time of year they require. Nothing green has yet appeared, except a diminutive plant like a nemophila, with a purple flower which is beginning to show its head above the sand. Fresh grass there is none, and last year’s crop stands white and withered still without sign of life.