As one reads, all seems to pass before him again in unparalleled grandeur. In the midst of a scene like this, how completely one is cast back upon the Lord Himself.
Once we could distinguish no interval between flash and crash, and one of our company experienced a strange thrill passing through his body. Mercifully we were preserved from serious injury. Sitting there among the mountains, the worthy theatre of that awful display, the poor Beduw near us crouching in abject fear beside their trembling flocks, one could realise the comfort of the reflection with which the poet concludes his song:
The Lord sitteth as King for ever.
The Lord will give strength unto His people;
The Lord will bless His people with peace.
CHAPTER X
Morning on the mountains—Arab time—Tents and encampments—The Women and their work—Arab wealth—Scenes at the wells—Dogs—Arabian hospitality—Desert pests—Strange code of honour—The blood feud—Judgment of the elders—Arab and horse—The Arabs and religion—The Oriental mind—Arab visit to Damascus.
The storm continued all night, abating slightly towards midnight, but increasing in violence as the fajr, or first glint of morning, stole into the sky. A brilliant flash, followed instantly by a terrific crash, marked the climax just as day broke. The dust, which had blown thick around us on our approach, was transformed into soft, clinging mud. The tents were so wet that packing was out of the question. The hoofs of the animals sank deep into the yielding soil. Travel under these conditions would be both slow and painful. We were fain to wait and see what the sun would do for us. He soon rose in all his strength, and in two hours worked wonders. As tents and roads grew dry, we became more cheerful. The Arabs gathered in little groups, submitting their ills to the doctor’s skill, giving what information they could about our way, the country, and themselves. Jerash, we learned, was only two or three hours distant. Not that the Arabs knew anything of our method of measuring time. One said, “What do we know about ‘hours’? But see: If the sun is there when you leave here, it will be there when you reach Jerash”—pointing the two quarters of the sky as he spoke.
The sun is the great time-keeper in the desert. By his pace all journeys are measured. The three great points from which the Arabs reckon are sunrise, noon, and sunset—Shurûk esh-shems, Zahr, and Mughrab. When travelling, they like to be off before sunrise; and no one is willingly abroad after sunset. They strive to reach some friendly roof before the last beams of departing day have fled. It is contrary to the etiquette of the Khâla (“empty waste”) for a guest to throw himself upon his host after sunset. The evening meal, the chief meal of the day, is eaten then. To arrive after it is prepared, or finished, is to put the host to all the trouble of fresh preparation. This no Arab would do if he could possibly avoid it. If the guest is of any consideration, the host would grieve most of all that he was deprived of the privilege of making a proper feast. Therefore, by common consent it is said, “The guest who arrives after sunset goes supperless to sleep.” There is, however, another reason for shunning the shadows of early night. Then especially the robber pests of the wilds ply their dark craft, with the long hours till morning in which to flee. With such a start before his crime is discovered, and knowing as he does the intricacies of the desert, the robber or murderer is almost sure to escape.
The Arab “houses,” as they call them, are made of goats’-hair, spun and woven by the women into long strips, about fifteen inches wide. The weft is stretched on a frame; the woof is worked in by the women’s fingers, and drawn up tightly with what looks like a huge, short-toothed, wooden comb. Dark brown and white are the colours mostly employed. These strips are sewn together with hair thread, into pieces of sufficient breadth. Two poles are set up at each end of the space to be covered. Over these the roof-cloth is stretched by means of cords fastened to the ends, and attached to pins firmly fixed in the ground. As many poles as are needed to support the roof are introduced in the body of the “house,” and over these, by side cords, tied as at the ends, to pegs in the ground, the cloth is drawn taut. Often sufficient cloth is made for only one end and one side of the “house.” This is fastened under the eaves, and is moved round with the sun, so as to afford shade all day. This haircloth, once thoroughly wet, draws so tightly together as to be perfectly waterproof. Many think its rain-resisting qualities are improved by the smoke of greenwood fires. It is the business of the women (el-harîm) to put up the “house”; and among them it is reckoned a high accomplishment to be able, with a single blow of the wooden mallet, to drive the tent peg home. Jael the Kenite brought a practised hand to drive the tent peg through the brow of the sleeping Sisera.