[p.221] cove; and palm trees in the blue distance gladdened our eyes, which pined for the sight of something green.  The Rais, as usual, would have terrified us with a description of the Hutaym tribe that holds these parts, and I knew from Welsted and Moresby that it is a debased race.  But forty-eight hours of cramps on board ship would make a man think lightly of a much more imminent danger.

Wading to shore we cut our feet with the sharp rocks.  I remember to have felt the acute pain of something running into my toe:  but after looking at the place and extracting what appeared to be a bit of thorn,[FN#17] I dismissed the subject, little guessing the trouble it was to give me.  Having scaled the rocky side of the cove, we found some half-naked Arabs lying in the shade; they were unarmed, and had nothing about them except their villainous countenances wherewith to terrify the most timid.  These men still live in limestone caves, like the Thamud tribe of tradition; also they are Ichthyophagi, existing without any other subsistence but what the sea affords.  They were unable to provide us with dates, flesh, or milk, but they sold us a kind of fish called in India “Bui”:  broiled upon the embers, it proved delicious.

After we had eaten and drunk and smoked, we began to make merry; and the Persians, who, fearing to come on shore, had kept to their conveyance, appeared proper butts for the wit of some of our party:  one of us stood up and pronounced the orthodox call to prayer, after which the rest joined in a polemical hymn, exalting the virtues

[p.222] and dignity of the first three Caliphs.[FN#18] Then, as general on such occasions, the matter was made personal by informing the Persians in a kind of rhyme sung by the Meccan gamins, that they were the “slippers of Ali and the dogs of Omar.”  But as they were too frightened to reply, my companions gathered up their cooking utensils, and returned to the “Golden Wire,” melancholy, like disappointed candidates for the honours of Donnybrook.

Our next day was silent and weary, for we were all surly, and heartily sick of being on board ship.  We should have made Yambu’ in the evening but for the laziness of the Rais.  Having duly beaten him, we anchored on the open coast, insufficiently protected by a reef, and almost in sight of our destination.  In the distance rose Jabal Radhwah or Radhwa,[FN#19] one of the “Mountains of Paradise[FN#20]” in which honoured Arabia abounds.  It is celebrated by poetry as well as by piety.

“Did Radhwah strive to support my woes,
Radhwah itself would be crushed by the weight,”

says Antar.[FN#21] It supplies Al-Madinah with hones.  I heard much of its valleys and fruits and bubbling springs, but afterwards I learned to rank these tales with the superstitious legends which are attached to it.  Gazing at its bare and ghastly heights, one of our party, whose wit was soured by the want of fresh bread, surlily remarked that such a heap of ugliness deserved ejection from heaven,-an irreverence too public to escape general denunciation.  We waded on shore, cooked there, and