I found it impossible to cure my foot in Al-Hijaz, and every remedy seemed to make it worse.  This was as much the effect of the climate of Arabia, as of the hardships and privations of a pilgrimage.  After my return to Egypt in the autumn, the wound healed readily without medical treatment. [FN#18] Abu Bakr, Omar, and Osman. [FN#19] I have found both these forms of writing the word in books; Moresby, or rather Mr. Rassam, erroneously spells it “Ridwah.” [FN#20] In a future chapter, when describing a visit to Mt.  Ohod, near Al-Madinah, I shall enter into some details about these “Mountains of Paradise.” [FN21] The translator, however, erroneously informs us, in a footnote, that Radhwah is a mountain near Meccah.

[p.225]Chapter xii.

The halt at Yambu’.

The heat of the sun, the heavy dews, and the frequent washings of the waves, had so affected my foot, that on landing at Yambu’ I could scarcely place it upon the ground.  But traveller’s duty was to be done; so, leaning upon my “slave’s” shoulder, I started at once to see the town, whilst Shaykh Hamid and the others of our party proceeded to the custom-house.

Yanbu’a al-Bahr, Yambu’ or Fountain of the Sea,[FN#1] identified, by Abyssinian Bruce, with the Iambia village of Ptolemy, is a place of considerable importance, and shares with others the title of “Gate of the Holy City.”  It is the third quarter of the caravan road[FN#2] from Cairo to Meccah; and here, as well as at Al-Badr, pilgrims frequently leave behind them, in hired warehouses, goods too heavy to be transported in haste, or too valuable to risk in dangerous times.  Yambu’ being the port of Al-Madinah,

[p.226] as Jeddah is of Meccah, is supported by a considerable transport trade and extensive imports from the harbours on the Western coasts of the Red Sea; it supplies its chief town with grain, dates, and henna.  Here the Sultan’s dominion is supposed to begin, whilst the authority of the Pasha of Egypt ceases; there is no Nizam, or Regular Army, however, in the town,[FN#3] and the governor is a Sharif or Arab chief.  I met him in the great bazar; he is a fine young man of light complexion and the usual high profile, handsomely dressed, with a Cashmere turband, armed to the extent of sword and dagger, and followed by two large, fierce-looking Negro slaves leaning upon enormous Nabbuts.

The town itself is in no wise remarkable.  Built on the edge of a sunburnt plain that extends between the mountains and the sea, it fronts the northern extremity of a narrow winding creek.  Viewed from the harbour, it is a long line of buildings, whose painful whiteness is set off by a sky-like cobalt and a sea-like indigo; behind it lies the flat, here of a bistre-brown, there of a lively tawny; whilst the background is formed by dismal Radhwah,

“Barren and bare, unsightly, unadorned.”

Outside the walls are a few little domes and tombs, which by no means merit attention.  Inside, the streets are wide; and each habitation is placed at an unsociable distance from its neighbour, except near the port and the bazars, where ground is valuable.  The houses are roughly built of limestone and coralline, and their walls full of fossils crumble like almond cake; they have huge