[p.260] coffee which he prepares with his own hands.  In Sultan Mahmud’s time he received from Constantinople a gorgeous purse, which he was told to open, as it contained something for his private inspection.  Suspecting treachery, he gave it for this purpose to a slave, bidding him carry it to some distance; the bearer was shot by a pistol cunningly fixed, like Rob Roy’s, in the folds of the bag.  Whether this far-known story be “true or only well found,” it is certain that Shaykh Sa’ad now fears the Turks, even “when they bring gifts.”  The Sultan sends, or is supposed to send him, presents of fine horses, robes of honour, and a large quantity of grain.  But the Shaykh, trusting to his hills rather than to steeds, sells them; he gives away the dresses to his slaves, and he distributes the grain amongst his clansmen.  Of his character, men, as usual, tell two tales:  some praise his charity, and call him the friend of the poor, as certainly as he is a foe to the rich.  Others, on the contrary, describe him as cruel, cold-blooded, and notably, even among Arabs, revengeful and avaricious.  The truth probably lies between these two extremes, but I observed that those of my companions who spoke most highly of the robber chief when at a distance seemed to be in the sudori freddi whilst under the shadow of his hills.

Al-Hamra is the third station from Al-Madinah in the Darb Sultani, the “Sultan’s” or “High Road,” the Westerly line leading to Meccah along the sea-coast.  When the robbers permit, the pilgrims prefer this route on account of its superior climate, the facility of procuring water and supplies, the vicinity of the sea, and the circumstance of its passing through “Badr,” the scene of the Prophet’s principal military exploits (A.H. 2).  After mid-day, on the 21st July, when we had made up our minds that Fate had determined we should halt at Al-Hamra, a caravan arrived from Meccah; and the new travellers had interest to procure an escort, and permission

[p.261] to proceed without delay towards Al-Madinah.  The good news filled us with joy.  A little after four P.M. we urged our panting camels over the fiery sands to join the Meccans, who were standing ready for the march, on the other side of the torrent bed.  An hour afterwards we started in an Easterly direction.

My companions having found friends and relations in the Meccan caravan,-the boy Mohammed’s elder brother, about whom more anon, was of the number,-were full of news and excitement.  At sunset they prayed with unction:  even Sa’ad and Hamid had not the face to sit their camels during the halt, when all around were washing, sanding themselves,[FN#31] and busy with their devotions.  We then ate our suppers, remounted, and started once more.  Shortly after night set in, we came to a sudden halt.  A dozen different reports rose to account for this circumstance, which was occasioned by a band of Badawin, who had manned a gorge, and sent forward a “parliamentary,”