BLACKWOOD'S MAGAZINE. No. MCCLXXIII. NOVEMBER 1921. VOL. CCX. DESERT BLADES. ALL roads lead to .. I was being driven away from the seats of the mighty," where I had sat amused, amused others, and occasionally worked. The engine suddenly made a coughing noise, and the car stopped. A number of donkeys laden with carpets, an Arab carrying, Eastern fashion, a tray of mineral waters of every hue from dark blue to crimson, and my driver, wanted at the same moment the same bit of terra firma. Into the mêlée a Jew had wandered, also an Arab policeman, whose arms and legs now moved as if worked by string. Thanks to my driver, who for five minutes made use of many languages, including broken Hindustani, broken Arabic, and much Cockney, we were soon on our way again. The Arab, who had lost his pretty collection of mineral waters, was left to the Arab policeman, who had VOL. CCX.-NO. MCCLXXIII. I. produced a notebook and pencil, although it is probable that he could not write a word of any language. We made our way through the main street of the City of Two Rivers where East meets West; for here the Arab shopkeeper squats amongst his many wares, flies, and smells, under a naked oil light, while the electric light blazes on the unmetalled and dusty street; camels walk with a majestic tread alongside a Rolls-Royce; the latest fashions from Paris are passed by garments of the Adamic age; and the latest music-hall melody is blended with the old call to prayer cried from the minarets of the blue-domed mosque of Omar. We passed through the north gate of the city which divides the infusion of East and West from the stony desert. The gate before which armies had halted, and through which no Y one had been allowed to pass without giving account of himself and a bribe to the keeper, is now thrown open, and the weary and hungry pilgrim from the desert, the fanatic tribesman, and the avaricious Jew are able to pass unheeded even by the challenge of a sentry. Reaching the railway station, I plunged into a mass of excited Arabs, for a deputation from the great city was going to Basrah to greet the new King of Irak. As many of the deputation and their menials had not travelled in a train before, the experience found some of them suspicious, some more excited than others, but all pleased, for there was nothing to pay for the long journey. A shrill whistle from the engine drowned the babble of many voices, and as we steamed towards the barren plain, the City of Two Rivers appeared like a beautiful picture in a faded frame. We reached Diwaniyeh just after daybreak. Twelve months previously I had left this town with its ancient mud fort and hundreds of reed huts to go on a journey which proved to be most adventurous.1 The reed huts were no more, and the thick mud walls of the fort had been perforated by bursting shells, while the outer buildings of the fort had been crumbled by high explosives. Only the small mosque remained untouched-a monu ment of British chivalry, or, as it is sometimes expressed, the paradoxical inconsistency of the British race. Fanatical tribesmen may torture to death their unfortunate victims, may and often do make a human slaughter - house of their mosques, and yet if a bullet or shell hits a mosque we consider that we have committed a greater crime. It was after noon when the train pulled up at Rumaitha, and instructing the Indian station-master to detach my truck, I made my way to the political billet, which was the only building where the walls had been left standing. With a mixed feeling of curiosity and reverence I approached the building, for it was here that a gallant band of sepoys numbering less than two hundred rifles had kept our flag flying in spite of many onrushes made by thousands of ferocious fanatics, and the greater enemies of hunger, thirst, disease, and the blazing sun of the desert. No artist's work perpetuates the memory of that gallant stand, but the brave defenders are happy in the knowledge that our flag still flies unfurled over the building. My way inside was blocked by an Arab sentry, who informed me that the Poli tical Adviser, who, I understood, was an Arab, had left for Basrah, and the courtyard was occupied by his wives. 1 "An Adventure with Arabs "—' Maga,' August 1921. Feeling in need of refreshment, from a horde of fanatical tribes for it was extremely hot, I took the sentry's advice and discovered the abode of the interpreter, whom I found to be an Indian, and who was acting as an Assistant Political Adviser. I had to wait but a few moments for a cup of tea, but before I had finished the beverage several sheikhs had gathered around. A pardon had been recently extended to all (except a very limited number whose crimes would make even a savage shudder) who had taken part in the late rebellion. Each sheikh was introduced to me, and not one appeared to be in the slightest embarrassed, although all present had a few months before made every effort to destroy the British rule. Even the sheikh whose tribe had attempted and nearly accomplished my murder spoke with the greatest ease. Had I been unacquainted with the characteristics of these dwellers of the desert I would have deemed their attitude impertinence, whereas it was something to be admired, for, in spite of the colossal losses these sheikhs had suffered in men, cattle, and estate, they still maintained their stately and independent manners. Making as brief as possible the usual lengthy conversation which in Oriental language must be the preposition to the subject, I requested the loan of a horse, as my purpose was to visit Sheikh Hussan Agha, who had rescued me men. A grey Arab stallion, saddled with a cloth saddle of many colours, with pieces of tin attached by string to serve as stirrups, was quickly hurried before me by two shabanas (mounted Arab policemen), who were to accompany me on my long ride through the desert. After compliments, which were cut short by the fiery stallion's impatience to be gone, I galloped away, leaving the two shabanas to follow. I had to complete a journey similar to the one I had accomplished a year ago, in which I nearly forfeited my life. I was pleased to think that this trip offered no such excitement, although I had been warned that a nomad and savage tribe was raiding the territory through which we were about to pass. The track of my previous journey was impassable owing to water which had been canalised from the river, and I therefore allowed the shabanas to take the lead. Avoiding the flooded patches where hopeful semi- nomads were trying to grow rice and inviting disappointment-for in a few weeks the river would halve its supply, and the wetted patch would turn into clay and then into sand, and the labour of many hands would be wafted into the desert-we did not attempt to check the energy of the horses. We passed the shelled remains of the mud fort from Much to the surprise of the shabanas, who were muttering a prayer to Allah, I rode towards the tents, not in order to seek adventure, but to take a snapshot. Except for an extremely evil - looking individual, whose arm was crudely bandaged, the tents appeared to be deserted, but I was too accustomed to the desert to think that the wounded Arab was alone. With a careful eye I examined the surroundings, and counted no less than sixty forms, which lay invisible except to the practised eye. Had I been courting excitement I would have advanced to these forms, but my mission lay in another direction, so I galloped back to the shabanas, who had deemed it wise to stay in the which I remembered I had conquered, and were preparreceived a storm of bullets. ing to wipe out the stain, An Arab girl, a minder of the and soon these sons of dogs flock, screamed and ran as we would be meat for the jackal. approached a number of camel- Thus Allah had willed. Of hair tents. A dog howled and the cause for this raid I had ran in front of an old man, no knowledge, but I had seen who approached us and re- something of the spirit of respectfully asked our needs, venge which fills the Arab. while several faces full of excited curiosity peered from under the tents. Returning the salaams, and refusing the offered refreshment of sour goat's milk, I dismounted and took a primitive and quick bath in the marshes; and having cooled my mount by rubbing him down with wet reeds, for I knew that no more water would be obtainable until we had reached our destination, I mounted and pressed onward into the barren desert. We were able to follow the old camel track which I knew so well, and I therefore took the lead. After covering a few miles I was surprised by a call from the shabanas, who begged me to take another direction. I soon discovered that a number of small tents to be seen in the distance was the cause of these entreaties. I was told that these tents were the temporary abode of the desert raiders who had very recently killed five hundred of the Ajib tribe, through whose territory we were passing, a section of which tribe was governed by Sheikh Hussan Agha. The raiders were resting from their gory pursuits; but the men of the Ajib had never been rear. We had still another six miles to cover, so I declined to listen to further tales of the raid. I knew that I should learn full details from Sheikh Hussan Agha, whose exaggerations would be limited. I was relieved when we reached the main Euphrates, which was the end of the journey, for riding a frenzied Arab stallion is as uncomfortable as it is exciting. As soon as I had dismounted, men were to be seen rowing a weapons for Allah to witness bellum across the river towards us. No signal had been given by me, nor had I previously intimated my intended visit, yet here was abundant proof that I was expected. This mysterious transmission of news is one of the many secrets which are guarded by the desert. their oath; when messengers of war were galloping from tribe to tribe, telling wonderful tales of the retreat of the infidels and the abundance of easily-gained loot; when the Sent Ones of the mighty Prophet were scattering holy promises to the warriors: this sheikh, deserted by all but his immediate followers, stood firm in his belief in the wisdom of British rule. Nor could the persuasion of bribes and the threats of the Sent Ones, or the scornful contempt and the warlike activities of the neighbouring tribes against his house, shake the belief of Sheikh Hussan Agha. When he had violated all the laws of the Keeping my eyes on the mud fort, the residence of Sheikh Hussan Agha, I observed the arrival of several horsemen, who dismounted and passed into the fort. I afterwards learnt that these horsemen, who were the elders of the tribe, had been informed of my coming. Several had travelled far, and must have received the myste- great Prophet by sheltering rious warning at least two hours before. I recognised one of the men with the bellum as the man who acted as paddle-man when I had been smuggled through the hostile tribes. Entering the courtyard, the elders, who had formed themselves into line, bade me enter the guest-house, a small mud building of one room, the floor of which was covered with rich carpets. I was disappointed to find that Hussan Agha was not present, for I was anxious to meet him again. Mystery surrounded this sheikh, and many had wondered at his actions during the late rebellion. When half a million fanatics had ranged themselves in holy war against the foreign infidel, raising their voices and an unbeliever, they, having failed by other means to enlist his services, sent a messenger of death to him; and yet Sheikh Hussan Agha survived. After paying many compliments, the elders informed me that the Sheikh had left at dawn for Samawah, an ancient town some thirty miles away, but a messenger had already departed to inform him of my presence. I had a message of greeting written in Arabic for Sheikh Hussan Agha. The scribe of the tribe was immediately summoned, and the message was read aloud. A mounted messenger was then called and made to repeat the message, and when the gathering were satisfied of the messenger's accuracy, they ordered |