On the Desert - Recent Events in Egypt/Chapter 5
CHAPTER V.
OUR BEDAWEEN COMPANIONS.
In the course of our marches, we had now come to the last day of the week, and set out this morning with buoyant spirits, inspired by the hope of a day of rest on the morrow. As if to make us prize it the more, Saturday was a day of unusual fatigue. Starting at seven o'clock, we walked for an hour, when the camels came up, and we mounted and rode four hours under a blazing sun. We found the heat as great in these wadies as on the open desert. They are so wide that except where the mountains rise in abrupt cliffs, it is not easy to get under their shadow; while the sun's rays are reflected from their sides, and poured into the valley below, which glows like a furnace. However, we bore it like martyrs. Indeed we should have been ashamed to complain, mounted as we were, while our poor Arabs trudged along by our side, their naked feet sinking in the burning sand. We looked down on them with pity; but they did not seem to be in need of pity, for they were chattering like monkeys, and laughing all the way, while we were as glum as our camels. This lightness of heart is the compensation which nature sometimes gives to weaker races, to enable them to bear the hardships of their lot. If these poor creatures could but see themselves as others see them, half naked and half starved, they would lie down on the desert and die; but a happy oblivion of their miserable condition makes them take life as cheerfully as the rest of us. The contrast of their mirth with our grim silence and dogged endurance, set me to thinking about these strange children of the desert. Ever since we left Suez, I had been making observations not only on the country, but on the people. While keeping one eye on the horizon, taking in the general features of the landscape, with the other I had been quietly observing our motley company. Except the dragoman and the cook, our only companions are Bedaween. They are our guides by day and our guards at night. What sort of men are these to whom we commit our safety? Certainly as guides we could desire no better. The Arab knows the desert as the Indian knows the forest. Indeed he is made for the desert as truly as the camel. His very physique fits him for long marches. His body is light and his step is springy, yet he has not even shoes on his feet. The sole protection to the foot when going over the fiery sands, or even Jagged rocks, is a pair of sandals so thin that I wondered how he could keep them on. Yet thus shod, or even with bare feet, he will spring up the rocks like a goat, or climb to the top of the highest mountain. It is true he goes in very light marching order. His limbs are naked, and he carries not an ounce of superfluous flesh on his bones. In all my acquaintance with the Bedaween, I never saw one who was fat like a negro. His only garments are a cotton shirt, and a sort of overall of coarse hair-cloth which serves the double purpose of a cloak by day and a coverlid by night.[1] Thus lightly clad, but with sinews of steel which are better than a girdle about his loins, he will march all day, and when the night overtakes him, wrap himself up like a bundle, and lie down and sleep under the open sky. These long marches are made with little food. The Arabs eat little, because they have little to eat; they are "lean and hungry-looking," because they are hungry. It is not once in a month they have a full stomach. Hence, if by the favor of Allah they get a "square meal," they eat till it is gone. Set before them a roasted sheep, and they will gorge themselves like anacondas, even though they must fast the next day. In this utter thoughtlessness of the future, they are like children. Indeed if one were to describe them in a single word, he could hardly do it better than by saying that they are grown-up children. They are children in intelligence. No matter how old an Arab may be, how many suns and moons have rolled over his head, he remains to the day of his death as truly a child as when he was born into the world. Not only does he not know how to read and write, but he does not know his own age; he cannot tell the day, or even the year, of his birth. I doubt if ore of cur Bedaween could tell his age within five, even if he could within ten, years. Indeed he has no idea of time any more than of distance. Ask him how far it is to such a wady or such a camping-ground? He will answer "A good way." Indeed he never measures distance by miles, but only by hours, and even of these his ideas are of the vaguest kind. Ask him how long since such a thing happened, and he will answer "A good while ago." As he has no clear memory of the present, so he has no forecast of the future. Like a child, he lives only in the present Like a child, he acts wholly upon impulse, upon the feeling of the moment. Like a child, his chief delight is in telling stories, and in listening to them. The tales of the Arabian Nights are simply a series of brilliant pictures of what may be witnessed still when a group gathers about a story-teller in the bazaars of Cairo or Damascus, or round any camp-fire on the desert.
A people who are thus but children, must be treated like children, not like full-grown men. It is useless to present to them formal propositions or arguments. I should no more think of reasoning with a Bedawee than of reasoning with a baby. Give him backsheesh, and that he can understand, but argument he cannot understand. Try to govern him by appealing to his conscience or his commonsense, and you will make a dismal failure. He has little power of reflection or of judgment, and a very imperfect germ of a moral nature. The ordinary standard by which he measures men or actions is by the amount of backsheesh they give. A good man is one who gives "plenty backsheesh"; he who refuses this is to be accursed. Our men seem to regard me with a friendly eye as "the father of backsheesh." They look up to the Howadji as a kind of Providence, who is to rain gifts upon them, causing the desert literally to blossom as the rose. The honor they put upon me would be embarrassing were it not that they are easily satisfied. The Arab is pleased with a trifle which tickles his appetite or touches his vanity — a bit of gay color to wrap round his head, or even a pinch of tobacco to fill his pipe. I hope my rigid friends at home will not accuse me of corrupting the simplicity and innocence of these children of the desert, when I confess that the dragoman, wishing to exalt me in their esteem, brought me every morning a pouch of tobacco, to be dispensed in the course of the day. I was not prodigal of such riches, but when a poor fellow looked up to me appealingly, pointing to his empty pipe, I gave him a pinch to fill it. Never did a little seed, sown on good ground, bring forth a richer crop of gratitude. If I had bestowed royal favors, their delight could not have been greater. They smiled at me all day long as they trudged by my side, and called down upon me all the blessings of the Prophet. Thus the Arab may be governed through his pleasures, his imagination, or his fear. If a leader among the Bedaween knows how to amuse them up to a certain point, all the while keeping a tight rein upon them, he will have no trouble. The greater the awe of his power, the greater the liberty with which they can be indulged. But they must never be allowed to forget that he is their master. If he will but please their fancy, and at the same time impress them with a sense of his own authority, and thus keep them in strict subjection, he will find them docile and obedient.
So far, then, I was pleased with my new companions — a pleasure which was all the greater because it was mingled with surprise. I had been accustomed to think of the Bedaween as born cut-throats, as by nature thieves and robbers, and who would not scruple at murder. But our experience has been of the most pleasant character. We have had them in our service for weeks, and more faithful servants, or those more harmless and inoffensive, I never saw. We cannot help becoming attached to creatures so simple, who seem to live in our favor, and who follow us like pet spaniels.
Whenever we dismounted to walk, I observed my cameleer looking wistfully at the vacant seat. He would not have presumed to vault into his master's saddle; but sometimes I gave him a smile and a nod, when he climbed up at the rear, and seating himself a few inches in front of what looked more like a piece of tarred rope than a respectable tail, with his naked and swarthy legs high in air, rode in triumph.
Among those attached to me as my retainers was a boy, who sometimes had the honor of leading my camel. He was a bright little Arab, and never looked up to me without a smile on his face. Perhaps he saw a smile in the face looking down upon him. I taught him one English word — "good" — and the manner in which he would repeat after me "Good, good, good," was the amusement of the whole party. How patiently he trudged along from day to day, always merry, without a care — a creature of the sun, living in its beams. Poor little Selim! where is he now? Watching the flock of black goats on the hillside? Does he ever think of the Howadji? The Howadji sends him his blessing. May he too have goats and camels, and a black tent, and the fairest daughter of the tribe for his little wife, and find many an occasion to chuckle within him, "Good, good, good!"
Of course there are Bedaween and Bedaween. I am far from thinking that all are quite so gentle as ours thus far have been. More than once we have met a savage-looking fellow, who seemed to be roaming about without any purpose, and who certainly looked like a brigand, with his cutlass at his side and his blunderbuss on his back. What style of address he might have used had he met one of us alone, I cannot say. Perhaps he would not have stood upon forms of politeness. But seeing us well attended and well defended, instead of demanding our money or our life, he asked only tobacco to fill his pipe, and went on his way perhaps a little disappointed, but not altogether sullen and threatening.
I ought to add, although it is anticipating, that this favorable opinion of the Bedaween was a good deal modified several weeks later, when we got among the robber tribes on the border of Palestine. But for the present we were among the gentle Tawarah, the Arabs of Sinai, of whom I here record my first impressions.
Such musings beguiled the weariness of the way. Towards noon we descried across the plain a projecting cliff, to which we directed our course, and dismounting, threw ourselves under its shade. The dragoman brought the saddles from the camels, and placed them as pillows for our heads. Thus stretched at length, we felt how grateful beyond all words was "the shadow of a great rock in a weary land." An hour's rest was followed by our midday meal, which was enlivened by the appearance of an unexpected guest. As we were taking our oranges and figs, there rode up on his camel an Arab of somewhat commanding appearance, whom our dragoman instantly recognized and announced as the Sheikh of all the Bedaween of Sinai. He wore no sign of his rank except a red silk tunic, and yet he is held in awe throughout the Peninsula, and has among these wild tribes an almost unlimited authority. Of course we could not be wanting in proper respect to such a guest. Not to be outdone by Oriental hospitality, we begged him to alight and partake of our repast — an invitation which he did not wait to have repeated. To tell the truth, he seemed to be blessed with a comfortable appetite, and made no objection to the quality of our fare. After he had feasted to his heart's content, and while he still sat on our outspread rugs, with his legs curled under him like a Grand Turk, and was smoking his pipe, it occurred to me, with true editorial instinct, that it would be a good opportunity to "interview" him, and I signified my desire to enter into a conversation, and was about to begin in the abrupt American way, when Dr. Post checked me, intimating that an Oriental must be approached with a more formal courtesy. He asked him, therefore, a few questions in regard to his family, expressing the liveliest interest that the long line of emirs from which he was descended, and from which he derived his authority, might never cease. At this the old man beamed upon us, recognizing the delicate compliment, and was in the best mood to impart the desired information. Thus encouraged, I began:
"How many Bedaween are there in the Peninsula of Sinai?"
"I have three thousand men-at-arms." This is the way in which a population is reckoned, by the number of their spears; of men capable of bearing arms. On the desert one never meets an Arab without a sword at his side or a gun slung on his back. The sword is commonly old and rusty, and the gun plugged up at the muzzle, showing that it is seldom fired off. But either sword or gun is the badge of a man-at-arms, who, in case of necessity, may be called by his sheikh into the field. I could not help thinking that such a rabble, armed only with flintlocks or matchlocks, could not be very formidable. Soldiers they could hardly be called. I never saw any of them training in companies, or showing signs of military discipline. A few hundred men, armed with breechloaders, could march anywhere from one end of the Peninsula to the other. But it would have been a want of tact to raise a question as to the skill or prowess of the Bedaween of Sinai: I only sought to know their numbers.
Leaving the field of war for that of love, I asked about their marriage customs — how the daughters of the desert were wooed and won. The old sheikh took his long pipe from his mouth, and while the smoke curled into the air, he made answer in substance thus:
"Among the Arabs a maiden has nothing whatever to say in regard to her marriage, being subject in all things to the authority of her parents. She does not even see the man whom they have chosen for her, or look upon his face until the affair is settled, when she is carried veiled to his tent, and then for the first time may uncover her face, and see before her her husband."
"And how are these arrangements made?"
"If a man of the tribe applies for the hand of a woman, he makes a bargain as if he were buying a sword or a gun. The father expects compensation, which varies according to the wealth of the bridegroom and the rank of the bride. The price is generally reckoned, not in money, but in camels, which constitute almost the only wealth of the desert. If the suitor be one of the maiden's own relatives or near friends, a single camel may be a sufficient compensation, where two camels would be expected from a stranger. The latter is a large price, for a man on the desert who owns six or eight camels is accounted rich. A poor fellow" (such as would be called in our Southern States one of the "low down whites") "might get a girl of his own inferior class for one or two Turkish pounds" (five or ten dollars).
"In fixing the value of a bride, I suppose chief regard is paid to beauty?"
"Not at all. Beauty scarcely enters into the account. The supreme consideration is the rank of her family. The Arabs are very proud of their family, and she who can boast of belonging to the first of her tribe is more prized than she who is only fair to look upon." This took me quite by surprise. I could not understand how the consideration of rank could have place among these barefooted children of the desert. They all seemed to me to stand on a common level of poverty. It was like an aristocracy among beggars. But Dr. Post assured me that it was so — that distinctions of rank are as marked among them as in the nobility of any country in Europe. He said the Arab families traced back their line through generations, and were very proud of their long descent — a pride which survived even in the lowest degree of worldly estate. He had had among his patients a descendant of the great Saladin, who fought with Richard Cœur de Lion; a man who was blind, and whom he restored to sight by removing a cataract from his eye, and who was yet too poor to buy himself a pair of spectacles; and yet neither his poverty nor his rags could make him forget the blood that flowed in his veins. No scion of a royal house could be more proud of his kingly birth. In other cases he had known emirs who were regular tramps. One such used to come around to beg, mounted on a brood mare worth a hundred and fifty pounds! He had a servant with him, whom he sent in to prefer his request for alms, and who pleaded the high rank of his master as a reason why he could not work. To judge from the tone of both master and servant, it was an honor conferred on the giver, that he might bestow his charity on one of such long and proud descent.
Fearing lest a marriage so concluded might not be always happy, our next question was "Suppose the woman who is thus married without her consent, does not like the husband that has been given her, how is she to get rid of him? Is there any mode of relief?"
The old man shook his head as he answered: "It is not an easy matter. When a woman is married, she is in the power of her husband. If he gets tired of her, he has but to tell her that she is divorced, and she goes back to her father's house. He does not even give her a writing of divorcement, as Moses commanded the Hebrews."
This seemed to place the advantage all on one side. But pressing the matter a little further, we found that among the Arabs, as everywhere else in the world, there is such a thing as a woman's revenge, and that if her lord is too much of a tyrant, she can at least make him sit uneasy on his throne. If she is intent on seeking relief from her condition, the only way, said the sheikh, is to make her husband's life so uncomfortable that he shall of his own motion give her a divorce and send her away.
"Then," said Dr. Post, "if the wife does not like her husband, and wants to get rid of him, she must torment his life out of him and make him so miserable that he will be glad to let her go." This hit the nail so squarely on the head that the old sheikh's eyes fairly snapped, and he chuckled as he answered "Yes, yes, that's it exactly — that's the way to do it." We thought we had heard of such things elsewhere than among the Bedaween — of many a young bride sacrificed for position or for money; for whom there was no help, except as she "tormented her husband's life out of him," till at last divorce or death brought her release.
To do the Arabs justice, it should be added that when the husband has put his wife away, he cannot claim her again. She may go to her family, or she may seek another protector in the tribe. If he accepts her and defends her, then the husband must give her a divorce.
I was curious to know about the form of Government, of which the sheikh could speak by authority. It is patriarchal, just as it has been from the earliest times, and passes from sire to son through many generations. Our friend who was sitting before us could trace his line for hundreds of years. His power had come down from former generations, and from him would pass to his descendants after him.
But how about the administration of justice in a country where there is no law, at least no written code, no lawyers or gentlemen of the jury, and even no prison or place of execution? Yet there must be some kind of rude justice, or society could not exist. The sheikh explained that in offences against property, one who steals from another must restore not only the amount, but many-fold. If the thief runs away, the man whom he has robbed need not trouble himself, for he has only to levy on his nearest relations. Anybody belonging to the family will do. He may seize the property of a brother or cousin, who in turn must look after his rascally kinsman. This is better than all the laws in the world against stealing, at least all laws which could be administered against Arabs on the desert, for it enlists the family feeling, which is stronger than the sense of right and wrong, or even the fear of individual punishment. A man who commits a theft brings retribution on his whole household, who must suffer if he escapes, while in any case his act covers them with disgrace.
As to offences against the person, there is one rigid and inexorable law — a law older than Roman law, for Moses found it on the desert more than three thousand years ago; it is the lex talionis — blood for blood, life for life. We questioned the sheikh very closely in regard to the blood feud, of which we had heard so much. He answered, without any reserve, that by the immemorial laws of the Arabs, if one of the tribe killed another, the brother of the murdered man could take the law into his own hands, and kill the murderer. Not only was he at liberty to do so, but he must do it — it was a point of honor, the neglect of which would be a disgrace. If the murderer ran away, then the slayer need not go in pursuit of him. There is no "law's delay" on the desert to prevent his taking his revenge. If he cannot find the murderer, he may kill the murderer's brother, or his cousin. I believe the license of revenge does no farther go than to this degree of relationship; but within this range of consanguinity the avenger may exact life for life. To this extent indeed he must go. Some life he must take. The blood of his brother cries from the ground, and must not go unavenged. But if he kills the brother or cousin, he cannot then come and kill the murderer, for the law of revenge is satisfied. One life has paid for the other life.
This seems a terrible law — that of blood for blood; and yet it is perhaps the best law for the desert, for the restraint it imposes on the passions of the people. The Arab knows that the shedding of blood will bring on a family feud, that will not end till the hands of his victim's brother are imbrued in his own blood; that from the instant he sheds blood, there is a mark upon his forehead like that on the forehead of Cain, giving license to whoever meets him to kill him — a retribution hovering round him from which he cannot escape. Though he mount the swiftest dromedary, and flee across the desert, though he hide in the mountains, the avenger of blood is on his track, and sooner or later he must pay the penalty of his deed. The knowledge of this is the most powerful preventive of crime.
This ended our conversation, and the sheikh rose to depart. We shook hands, and assured him of the pleasure it had been to meet him, to which he responded with true Oriental courtesy, and then mounted his camel and rode away, with a dignity that became the lord of the desert.
Nor did we linger long behind. We had enough to think of as we mounted our camels and rode on. Toward the close of the afternoon we entered a valley girt round by awful summits, where by the camel-path stood a huge boulder of red granite, which the Arabs say is the very one struck by Moses out of which the water flowed. The setting sun was tinging the giant heights and precipices of Mount Serbal as we passed through the Vale of Rephidim, in which the Israelites fought with the Amalekites. Soon we perceived by the palm trees that we were entering the oasis of Feiran, the great oasis of the wilderness of Sinai.
- ↑ Customs do not change on the desert in thousands of years. The Israelites were as poorly clad as our Arabs, their one garment sufficing for both day and night. Hence the significance as well as humanity of the law of Moses (Exodus xxii. 26, 27): "Tf thou at all take thy neighbor's raiment to pledge, thou shalt deliver it unto him by that the sun goeth down: For that is his covering only {that is, his only covering]; it is his raiment for his skin: wherein shall he sleep?"