What remained for me but to prove, by trial, that what might be perilous to other travelers was safe to me? The "experimentum crucis" was a visit to Al-Hijaz, at once the most difficult and the most dangerous point by which a European can enter Arabia. I had intended, had the period of leave originally applied for been granted, to land at Maskat - a favorable starting place - and there to apply myself, slowly and surely, to the task of spanning the deserts. But now I was to hurry, in the midst of summer, after a four years' sojourn in Europe, during which many things Oriental had faded away from my memory, and - after passing through the ordeal of Egypt, a country where the police is curious as in Rome or Milan - to begin with the Moslem's Holy Land, the jealously guarded and exclusive Harim. However, being liberally supplied with the means for travel by the Royal Geographical Society; thoroughly tired of "progress" and of "civilization"; curious to see with my eyes and what others are content to "hear with ears," namely, Moslem inner life in a really Mohammedan country; and longing, if truth be told, to set foot on that mysterious spot which no vacation tourist has yet described, measured, sketched and photographed, I resolved to resume my old character of a Persian wanderer, a "Darwaysh," and to make the attempt.

At first I began to lay on load with main morte, really fearing to kill some one with such a weapon; but it soon became evident that the Maghrabis' heads and shoulders could bear and did require the utmost exertion of strength. Presently a though struck me. A large earthen jar full of drinking water, - in its heavy frame of wood the weight might have been 100 lbs., - stood upon the edge of the poop, and the thick of the fray took place beneath. Seeing an opportunity, I crept up to the jar, and, without attracting attention, rolled it down by a smart push with the shoulder upon the swarm of assailants. The fall caused a shriller shriek to rise above the ordinary din, for heads, limbs, and bodies were sorely bruised by the weight, scratched by the broken potsherds, and wetted by the sudden discharge. A fear that something worse might be coming made the Maghrabis slink off towards the end of the vessel. After a few minutes, we, sitting in grave silence, received a deputation of individuals in whity-brown Burnus, spotted and striped with what Mephistopheles calls a "curious juice." They solicited peace, which we granted upon the condition that they would pledge themselves to keep it. Our heads, shoulders, and hands were penitentially kissed, and presently the fellows returned to bind up their hurts in dirty rags. We owed this victory entirely to our own exertions, and the meek Omar was by far the fiercest of the party. Our Rais, as we afterwards learned, was an old fool who could do nothing but call for the Fatihah, claim Bakhshish at every place where we moored for the night, and spend his leisure hours in the "Caccia del Mediterraneo." Our crew consisted of half a dozen Egyptian lads, who, not being able to defend themselves, were periodically chastised by the Maghrabis, especially when any attempt was made to cook, to fetch water, or to prepare a pipe.

We travelled that night up the Fiumara in an Easterly direction, and at early dawn (July 24th) found ourselves in an ill-famed gorge called Shuab al-Hajj*

-Footnotes-
*Shuab properly means a path through mountains, or a water-course between hills. It is generally used in Arabia for a "Valley" and sometimes instead of Nakb, or the Turkish Bughaz, a "Pass".