The Tîrehites had now quite retreated, but our little town was still full of excitement. The assembled volunteers and armed peasantry were galloping about, singing and shouting, and now and then firing their guns. They seemed quite disappointed at not finding any especial use for them. The place was so well guarded that there was no longer any fear of an attack.
Just before sunset I strolled out with my brother through the quadrangle or castle-court, which was occupied by the artillery. We went out at the east gate, and through the Moslem cemetery to the fruit-gardens and the palm-grove. We were returning homeward on the sands when the loud and angry shouting of some herdsmen attracted our notice. A large number of cattle, some of which were said to be stolen property, were being led toward the town, and they were the subjects of the dispute. A crowd soon assembled, the noise increased, and an angry contest ensued, till words were followed by blows. I was led out of the way, and stationed on an embankment, thrown up years ago by Ibrahîm Pasha's soldiers. The disturbance was, naturally, misconstrued by the gallant volunteers and defenders of Hâifa. A troop of mounted peasantry issued from the gates, their long spears uplifted, the dust flying under the feet of their galloping horses, while their long striped cloaks and shawl head-dresses—kefias— streamed like flags or banners. The cattle and goats filed in all directions, and in their fright they did not seem to see where they were going, but blundered into thickets, against rocks and tombs, and into the sea. I was very nearly thrown down by some of them. More than a hundred men came out before they discovered that it was only a false alarm, and then, regretfully, they retraced their steps. Saleh, who was with us, told me to consider it as a little "fantasia," got up for my especial entertainment.
After our evening meal my brother was called away. I puzzled over my Arabic lesson for some time, and then went out on the terrace, where two of the men-servants
