carrying quarterstaves on their shoulders, might be seen hurrying
along, frantic at the chance of missing the fray. The townspeople
cursed them privily, expressing a hope that the whole race of vermin
might consume itself. And the pilgrims were in no small trepidation,
fearing the desertion of their camel-men, and knowing what a blaze is
kindled in this inflammable land by an ounce of gunpowder. I afterwards
heard that the Badawin fought till night, and separated after losing on
both sides ten men.

This quarrel put an end to any lingering possibility of my prosecuting
my journey to Maskat,[FN#3] as originally intended. I had on the way
from Yambu’ to Al-Madinah privily made a friendship with one Mujrim of
the Benu-Harb. The “Sinful,” as his name, ancient and classical amongst the
Arabs, means, understood that I had some motive of secret interest to
undertake the perilous journey. He could not promise at first to guide
me, as his beat lay between Yambu’, Al-Madinah, Mec[c]ah, and Jeddah. But
he offered to make all inquiries about the route, and to

[p.30] bring me the result at noonday, a time when the household was
asleep. He had almost consented at last to travel with me about the end
of August, in which case I should have slipped out of Hamid’s house and
started like a Badawi towards the Indian Ocean. But when the war
commenced, Mujrim, who doubtless wished to stand by his brethren the
Hawazim, began to show signs of recusancy in putting off the day of
departure to the end of September. At last, when pressed, he frankly
told me that no traveller—nay, not a Badawi—could leave the city in that
direction, even as far as historic Khaybar,[FN#4] which information I
afterwards ascertained to be correct. It was impossible to start alone,
and when in despair I had recourse to Shaykh Hamid, he seemed to think
me mad for wishing to wend Northwards when all the world was hurrying