An Anizy, who was in a house at Sidad, wishing to fill his pipe, asked his host to lend him his tobacco-bag. “Stop,” said the host, “there is no tobacco in it, but I will go to my neighbour and borrow some.” He went out, and soon returned with his bag apparently replenished, and handed it to the Bedáwy; who thrust the pipe-bowl into the bag, and drew it out full of dry dung. “Do you mean to affront me?” said the Arab, his bosom swelling with indignation; “Kata ardak—we are twain from this moment.”
He mounted his mare, and rode off. When he arrived at his tents, he assembled his friends, and explained to them the gross insult that had been put upon him, inviting them to assist him in revenging his cause. An opportunity was not long wanting. One of the Sidad caravans was reported by the scouts of the Bedouins to be on its way to Palmyra. The Bedouins rode forth and attacked it. The caravan was well armed, and made a stout resistance, but at last was dispersed and plundered. How many of the same caravan were killed or wounded, Abd-el-Rasák would not tell me; but Madame Lascaris, who happened to be on her return from Palmyra in the same caravan, and who gave me some particulars about it, said that all the men were stripped naked, and in that way entered Sidad. Hamed, son of Mahannah, was at the head of the party; and, knowing Madame Lascaris, respected her and her baggage; but her intercessions could do nothing for saving the effects of the caravan in general. She said that the attack and resistance were of short duration. One Bedáwy was killed by the fire; and, before they could load again, the Bedouins rode in upon them; and she saw two or three who resisted speared, but the others ran or surrendered. For the one Bedáwy killed, Mahannah demanded from the village of Sidad the price of his blood; and, to save themselves from a perpetual feud, they paid 2,000 piasters.
In one of my conversations with Abd-el-Rasák, I inquired after Mustafa Aga Duz Oglu, khasnadár of Mûly Ismael, the man who was under my care for a palsy at Mar Giorgius, or Dayr Hamýra. “He is dead,” said Abd-el-Rasák. “Did you know his wife, Aysha?” I asked. “She is dead, also,” cried he. “Heavens! and how?” I rejoined.
His story was as follows:—“You know she was once Mûly Ismael’s concubine (saryah), and that he gave her, when tired of her, in marriage to Mustafa Aga. He, poor fellow, was seized with apoplexy; and, after lingering some time, died. As he had amassed vast sums in his employment of treasurer, she feared that these, now become her own, would be taken from her by the Mûly, under some pretext, and she resolved to secure them by poisoning him.
“It is necessary to inform you that she had a paramour, one of the deláty dragoons, who instigated her, it was thought, in her foul purposes.” “I recollect such a man” (I observed) “coming to Dayr Hamýra whilst I was there, and seeming to be on a very familiar footing with Aysha.” “It is the same,” replied Abd-el-Rasák. “It was concerted between this man and herself that the poison should be bought at Aleppo, in order not to excite suspicion in Hamah. When it was procured, she endeavoured to bribe Merján, one of the Mûly’s black slaves,[83] promising to give him 500 piasters, if he would hand the Mûly a cup of coffee in which she should have previously put something; which he had agreed to do.
“The Mûly came one day to see her. Aysha made the coffee with her own hand, and contrived, unperceived, to drop in the poisonous powder. Merján took the cup, and, whilst in the act of presenting it to his master, felt the terrors of a guilty conscience, and suddenly dashed it on the ground. ‘What do you do that for, you son of a w...?’ said the offended Mûly. ‘Effendim, there was brandy in the cup.’ ‘What!’ said the Mûly, whom a life of reverses had made readily suspicious, ‘there was something else: tell me, instantly, or I’ll have you bastinadoed to death.’ Merján, terrified, confessed the plot. Aysha was immediately seized and strangled, and then hanged upon a tree. The slave was rewarded by a large sum in money, and (which to an Osmanly is even more agreeable) was clad in a splendid suit of new clothes.”
Signor Volpi, coming at this time to Meshmûshy, dined with the Arabs and me. He still retained his European habits, and could not eat without a knife and fork. Long custom had now reconciled me, whenever there were Mahometans present, either to a spoon or even to my fingers, like them. Signor Volpi expressed a wish to see how the Bedouins ate in the Desert. I laid aside my spoon, and begged the Arabs to put themselves at their ease and do the same. They readily complied; and, forming the rice into pellets, they delivered it into their mouths quickly, and with more ease than with a spoon, which to them is a troublesome article. Not suspecting that there was anything extraordinary in their manner, they attached to my request another meaning: they thought that I was willing to seal the bonds of friendship between us still closer, than merely eating with a spoon out of the same dish together. He is determined (they whispered to each other) that it should be complete: byn-el-yedayn—“between both hands” will alone satisfy him.
On the 10th of October, the Arabs took their leave, furnished with letters to Mahannah; and, as to themselves, their pockets and even their wallets were filled. For the Bedouins, indeed I may say all the Turks in general expect, on quitting you, to have their tobacco-bags replenished, provisions given them, and to have nothing to dread from the contingencies of the day. I accompanied them to Abra, where they were to sleep: and, whilst we were smoking in my cottage, I made Abd-el-Rasák sit still, that I might endeavour to sketch his costume. Such was his wish to oblige me, that I saw huge drops of sweat running down his face from the fatigue of keeping the same posture: and he did not change it, until, out of pity, I begged him to do so. The next morning they took the coast road to Tripoli.
I was, for many reasons, compelled to question the accuracy of Volney’s account of the sensations experienced by the Bedouins on entering large towns, and approaching the sea. First of all, they are a race in whom you never can witness marks of sudden emotion, whether of astonishment or otherwise: and, in the next place, these very Bedouins, who came from a more inland Desert than those whom Daher brought to Acre, still led me to think, in answer to my questions, that there were as few sights for them as for any one else. For had they not heard people often enough describe a ship, the sea, and whatever wonders they are thought to be ignorant of in the Desert?