the barrel, where with us the breech would be. Hassan Turki had one of
those fine old Shishkhanah rifles formerly made at Damascus and Senaa: it
carried a two-ounce ball with perfect correctness, but was so badly
mounted in its block-butt, shaped like a Dutch cheese, that it always
required a rest.

On our return home we met a party of Eesa girls, who derided my colour and
doubted the fact of my being a Moslem. The Arabs declared me to be a
Shaykh of Shaykhs, and translated to the prettiest of the party an
impromptu proposal of marriage. She showed but little coyness, and stated
her price to be an Audulli or necklace [26], a couple of Tobes,--she asked
one too many--a few handfuls of beads, [27] and a small present for her
papa. She promised, naively enough, to call next day and inspect the
goods: the publicity of the town did not deter her, but the shamefacedness
of my two companions prevented our meeting again. Arrived at Zayla after a
sunny walk, the Arab escort loaded their guns, formed a line for me to
pass along, fired a salute, and entered to coffee and sweetmeats.

On the 24th of November I had an opportunity of seeing what a timid people
are these Somal of the towns, who, as has been well remarked, are, like
the settled Arabs, the worst specimens of their race. Three Eesa Bedouins
appeared before the southern gate, slaughtered a cow, buried its head, and
sent for permission to visit one of their number who had been imprisoned
by the Hajj for the murder of his son Masud. The place was at once thrown
into confusion, the gates were locked, and the walls manned with Arab
matchlock men: my three followers armed themselves, and I was summoned to
the fray. Some declared that the Bedouins were "doing" [28] the town;
others that they were the van of a giant host coming to ravish, sack, and
slay: it turned out that these Bedouins had preceded their comrades, who
were bringing in, as the price of blood [29], an Abyssinian slave, seven