CHAPTER XXXII—AMONG THE BEDOUINS.—TRAVELLING UNDER ESCORT, AND LIVING IN TENTS.
Sleeping under Tents—A Bedouin Encampment—A howl for “Backsheesh”—A Queer crowd—An illusion dispelled—An eccentric “rooster”—Our guard—A little bit of humbug—“Going for” the “Doubter”—A case of blackmail—On guard against Robbers—A protection from the Sheik—Thievery as a profession—Waters without life—A curious bath—A Flood of Gold—The “Doubter” in a rain storm—A dangerous Ford—A Nocturnal Mishap—An atrocious robbery—The “Doubter” once more in trouble—A Turkish escort—Falling among thieves—The Judge’s opinion on shrinkage—The “Doubter” in the role of a mummy.
WE slept in our tents pretty soundly, and when the dragoman roused us at six o’clock, we were not in a mood for getting up. We rose however, and took our breakfast without delay, and were off in good season. We went a short distance up the valley of the brook Kedron, and then crossed it, to turn away to the eastward.
Just as we left the valley, we passed a Bedouin encampment. It consisted of half a dozen black tents, the reverse of attractive, in appearance, and not more than four feet high. A couple of camels stood near the tents, a dozen or more dogs, of a wolfish look, came out and barked at us, and as many dirty and half naked children, saluted us with the cry “Hadji, backsheesh,” “Hadji, backsheesh,” “Pilgrims, present,” “Pilgrims, present.” All travellers in this country are considered pilgrims, and hence the appellation they gave us.
A single view of this encampment was enough to dispel any romantic notions we might have formed of the delights of a Bedouin life. There may be something very poetical in living with these dirty Arabs, but I beg to be excused. I had rather sleep in a comfortable bed, in a comfortable house, than in all the Bedouin tents in Syria. There is a great difference between romance and reality. You remember Moore’s lines:
“Will you come to the bower
I have shaded for you?
Your bed shall be roses