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]
- ↑ 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?"
