There is a village near the Kasr, about two miles from where we are; and a good many felláhin on donkeys and horses have arrived with provisions for sale, but they have not brought a twentieth part of what is wanted for the Haj. A cry of “stop thief” already announces that we have returned to the Turkish Empire. It has not been heard since we left Mezárib.
February 27.—No abatement of the wind, but less sand. It appears that our acquaintances, Ali Koli Khan and Abd er-Rahim are missing, lost in yesterday’s storm. They rode with us part of the afternoon, and then, hearing that Ruheym was not far off, they started away on their delúls in front of the Haj at a trot, and of course being Persians, lost their way, for the Persians are helpless people in the desert. The sand was very thick at the time, and they must have got out of the track. Ambar has sent people to look all over the country for them, but without result. They never reached Ruheym, and it is feared that they may have perished of cold in the night.
This delayed the Haj from starting early, and at one time it was given out that no move at all would be made to-day, which would have suited us well, as there was plenty of camel pasture at Ruheym, and two of our animals were quite at the end of their strength. But at eight o’clock the drum beat, and we were obliged to load and be off, for now that we had entered Turkish territory, there was danger on the road, and all must keep together. Ibn Rashid’s protection would no longer avail.
The march was tedious, on account of the weariness of the camels, though cheered by the sight of the gilt dome of Meshhed Ali, shining like a star across the blue sea of Nejef, itself a lovely apparition. The sea of Nejef (or as the Arabs call it, the Sheríet-Ibn Haddal), is the counterpart of the Birket el-Korn in the Egyptian Fayum, an artificial lake, formed by cutting a canal from the Euphrates; it is about twenty miles long, by six or seven broad. It is probably of Babylonian origin, though the Arabs say it was made by an Ibn Haddal ancestor of the present Amarrat Sheykhs, so that his camels might have a drinking pool. The Ibn Haddal were, till comparatively lately, lords of the whole of this district, and levied tribute on Meshhed Ali and Huseyn. The town stands upon the eastern shore above a fine line of limestone cliffs, and remained in sight all day long, as we wound slowly round the lake. It was a beautiful sight as far as nature was concerned, but made horrible by the sufferings of the poor dying camels, which now lay thick upon the road, with their unfortunate owners, poor Bedouins perhaps with nothing else in the world, standing beside them, luggage and bedding strewn about, which the pilgrims were trying to carry off on their heads, seeing the journey so nearly over.
Many of the camels had rushed into the lake, to drink, and lain down there, never to get up again. Others could just move one foot before the other, following at the rate of perhaps a mile an hour, with hopeless glazed eyes, and poor emaciated bodies bare of all burden, even of the shedad. We who started late because we were not ready, and had thought to remain quiet at Ruheym, passed all these, amongst others our friend Izzar, the Shammar boy, who was weeping over his delúls—two out of the three were dead. All were loud in their execrations of Ambar, and one or two of Ibn Rashid himself, whom they held responsible for part of the delay. Ibn Rashid’s government is less popular in the desert than in the towns, especially on account of his conduct of the Haj. He impresses the camels and men at a fixed rate, ten mejidies, and gives no compensation for losses. They say, however, that Ambar runs some risk of losing his head, when all his mismanagement becomes known at Haïl, and I confess I think he deserves it.
At last we got to the akabah, or ascent, where the road leads up the cliff, and here the camels lay down by scores, among the rest our beautiful camel, Amud (the pillar), so called from his great height. He was younger than the rest, except poor Shenuan, and had been out of sorts for several days past. A camel that lies down under such circumstances, seldom rises again. It is not the labour, but the want of food that kills; and unless food can be brought to the exhausted animal, he never gets strength to rise. Between five and six hundred must have perished thus to-day.
At the top of the akabah Meshhed Ali lay close before us, a long line of magnificent old walls with twelve round towers, all of burnt brick, the only building appearing over them being the mosque with its cupola of burnished gold, and its four minarets. The whole was reddened by the afternoon sun, and the dome looked like a sun itself.
Through a crowd of dirty children perched on the tombs of the vast burying-ground which, on this side, stretches for some distance from the walls of the city, we approached the gate of Meshhed Ali. These disorderly ragamuffins shouted jeers and rude remarks at the pilgrims, and threw stones at our dogs, and we were glad when, turning an angle of the wall, we reached the camping ground, a short distance from the north-eastern corner of the city, and found ourselves at peace, with leisure to reflect that our pilgrimage is over.
