'A good Mussulmaun of Hindoostaun resolved on undertaking the Hadje, being under the strong impression of a warning dream that his earthly career would speedily terminate. He travelled on foot, with one companion only, who was a faithfully-attached friend; they had no worldly wealth, and journeyed on their way as mendicants, trusting for each day's food to the bountiful care of Divine Providence: nor was their trust in vain, since the hearts of all who saw these pious travellers were moved by the power of God to yield them present relief.
'On a certain day these pilgrims had journeyed from the dawn until eve without a meal, or meeting any one to assist them, when they were at last encountered by a religious devotee of another nation, with whom they conversed for some time. Their new acquaintance having found they were indeed poor, not even possessed of a single coin to purchase corn or food of any kind, expressed his hearty sympathy, and desired to be of service to the pilgrims; he therefore disclosed to them that he was in possession of a secret for the transmutation of metals,[10] and offered some of his prepared powder to the elder Hadjee, by which he would have persuaded him want should never again intrude; adding, "You will with this be independent of all future care about subsistence on your pilgrimage."
'The pious Hadjee, however, was of a different mind from the devotee, and politely rejected the offer of the powder by which he was to acquire riches, declaring that the possession of such an article would rob him of the best treasure he enjoyed, namely, the most perfect reliance on Him, by whom the birds of the air are fed from day to day without labour or care, and who had hitherto fed him both in the city and in the desert; and that in this trust he had comforts and consolations which the whole world could not grant him: "My God, in whom I trust, will never desert me whilst I rely on Him alone for succour and support."'
My excellent friend says, such pilgrims as the one described may pass through the haunts of the Bedouins without fear or sorrow, and they are always respected. The next anecdote I am about to relate will develop more particularly the Arab's natural disposition, and how necessary it is for men really to be that they would seem, when placed by circumstances within their reach. Some of the parties were known to my venerable relative.
'Six Mussulmauns from India were travelling on foot in Arabia; they assumed the title of pilgrim mendicants. On a certain day they drew nigh to the tent of a Bedouin Arab, who went out to meet them, and entering into conversation, soon discovered by their talk that they were poor pilgrims from India, who depended on casual bounties from men of their faith for their daily meal. The Bedouin, though a robber, had respect for the commands of his religion; and with that respect he boasted a due share of hospitable feeling towards all who were of his own faith; he accordingly told them they were welcome to his home, and the best meal he could provide for them, which offers they very gladly accepted, and followed him to the tent.
'The Arab desired his wife to take water to his guests and wash their feet after the fatigue of their day's march, and told her in secret to divert their attention whilst he went out in search of plunder, that the hospitality of an Arab might be shown to the strangers. Then mounting his fleet-camel, he was quickly out of sight. Many a weary circuit the Arab made, his ill stars prevailed; not a Kauflaah nor a traveller could he meet, whence a supply might be extracted, to be the means of providing for his guests; his home was penniless, and with the Bedouins, none give credit. His bad success dispirited him, and he returned to the back of his tent, to consult what was best to be done in this emergency. The only thing he possessed in the world fit for food was the animal on which he rode, from day to day, to levy contributions upon the passing traveller.
'His only immediate resource was to kill his favourite camel. His honour was at stake; the sacrifice would be great; he was attached to the beast; the loss would be irreparable, he thought:—yet every weighty argument on one side to preserve the camel's life, was as quickly overturned in the reflection of his Arabian honour;—his visitors must be fed, and this was the only way he could contrive the meal. With trembling hands and half-averted eyes, the camel's blood was shed; with one plunge his favourite ceased to breathe. For some minutes, the Arab could not look on his poor faithful servant; but pride drove pity from her haunt, and the animal was quickly skinned and dressed in savoury dishes, with his wife's assistance. At length, the food prepared, the Arab and his wife placed the most choice portions before their guests, and whilst they dined attended them with respectful assiduity; selecting for each the most delicate pieces, to induce the travellers to eat, and evince the cordial welcome tendered by the host.[11]
'The travellers having dined; the Arab and his wife took their turn at the feast with appetites most keen,—forgetful even, for the time, whence the savoury dishes were procured; and if an intruding thought of his favourite camel shot across the mind of the Arab, it was quickly chased in the reflection that his prided honour was secured by the sacrifice, and that reflection was to him a sufficient compensation.
'The pilgrims, refreshed by food, were not inclined to depart, and as they were urged to stay by their friendly host, they slept comfortably in the Arab's tent, on coarse mats, the only bed known to the wandering Bedouins. The morning found them preparing to pursue their march; but the Arab pressed their continuance another day, to share with him in the abundance his camel afforded for the whole of the party. The travellers were not unwilling to delay their departure, for they had journeyed many days without much ease, and with very little food; their host's conversation also was amusing, and this second day of hospitality by the Arab was an addition to the comfort and convenience of the weary pilgrims.
'The following morning, as was fixed, the travellers rose to take leave of their benevolent host and his attentive wife; each as he embraced the Arab, had some grateful word to add, for the good they had received at his hands. The last of the pilgrims, having embraced the Arab, was walking from the tent, when the dog belonging to the host seized the man by his garment and held him fast. "What is this?" inquired the Arab, "surely you must have deceived me; my dog is wise as he is trusty,—he never yet lied to his master. This labaadhar of yours he has taken a fancy to it seems; but you shall have my coat of better-looking stuff for your old chintz garment. We will exchange labaadhars,[12] my friend," said the Arab, throwing his own towards the hesitating traveller. His fellow-pilgrims, hearing altercation, advanced, and with surprise listened to the parley going on between the host and guest.—"I have a veneration for my chintz, old as it is," said the pilgrim; "it has been my companion for many years, brother; indeed I cannot part with it." The dog held fast the garment, and the Arab, finding persuasion was but loss of words, cast a frown of deep meaning on the travellers, and addressed them:—"Ye came to me beggars, hungry and fatigued; I believed ye were poor, and I sheltered ye these two days, and fed ye with my best; nay, more, I even killed my useful camel, that your hunger might be appeased. Had I known there was money with any of ye, my poor beast's life might yet have been spared; but it is too late to repent the sacrifice I made to serve you," Then, looking steadfastly at the chintz-robed traveller, he added, in a tone of sharp authority, "Come, change garments!—here, no one disputes my commands!"