As Damascus began to be very hot about this time we moved to our summer
quarters at Bludan, about twenty-seven miles across country from
Damascus in the Anti-Lebanon. It was a most beautiful spot, right up
in the mountains, and comparatively cool. We threaded the alleys of
Bludan, ascended steep places, and soon found ourselves beyond the
village, opposite a door which opened into a garden cultivated in ridges
up the mountain. In the middle stood a large barn-like limestone
hall, with a covered Dutch verandah, from which there was a splendid
view. This was our summer-house; it had been built by a former consul.
Everybody who came to see us said, "Well, it is glorious; but the thing
is to get here." It was a veritable eagle's nest.

We soon settled down and made ourselves comfortable. The large room was
in the middle of the house, looking on to the verandah, which overhung
the glorious view. We surrounded it with low divans, and the walls
became an armoury of weapons. The rooms on either side of this large
room were turned into a study for Richard, a sleeping-room, and a study
and dressing-room for me. We had stabling for eight horses. There
were no windows in the house, only wooden shutters to close at night.
The utter solitude and the wildness of the life made it very soothing
and restful.

One of my earliest experiences there was a deputation from the shaykhs
and chiefs of the villages round, who brought me a present of a sheep,
a most acceptable present. Often when alone at Bludan provisions
ran short. I remember once sending my servants to forage for food,
and they returned with an oath, saying there was nothing but "Arab's
head and onions." I don't know about the Arab's head, but there was
no doubt about the onions. I often used to dine off a big raw onion