sable above and livid red below, which hung
over our heads like a sheet, and divided the cliffs into two equal
parts. Here the fire flashed fiercely from a tall thorn, that crackled
and shot up showers of sparks into the air; there it died away in lurid
gleams, which lit up a truly Stygian scene. As usual, however, the
picturesque had its inconveniences. There was no path. Rocks,
stone-banks, and trees obstructed our passage. The camels, now blind in
darkness, then dazzled by a flood of light, stumbled frequently; in some
places slipping down a steep descent, in others sliding over a sheet of
mud. There were furious quarrels and fierce language between camel-men
and their hirers, and threats to fellow-travelers; in fact, we were
united in discord. I passed that night crying "Hai! Hai!" switching the
camel, and fruitlessly endeavoring to fustigate Masud's nephew, who
resolutely slept upon the water-bags. During the hours of darkness we
made four or five halts, when we boiled coffee and smoked pipes, but man
and beasts were beginning to suffer from a deadly fatigue.

Dawn found us still traveling down the fiumara, which here is about one
hundred yards broad. The granite hills on both sides were less
precipitous, and the borders of the torrent-bed became natural quays of
stiff clay, which showed a water-mark of from twelve to fifteen feet in
height. In many parts the bed was muddy, and the moist places, as usual,
caused accidents. I happened to be looking back at Shaykh Abdullah, who
was then riding in old Ali bin Ya Sin's fine shugduf; suddenly the
camel's four legs disappeared from under him, his right side flattening
the ground, and the two riders were pitched severally out of the smashed
vehicle. Abdullah started up furious, and abused the Bedouins, who were
absent, with great zest. "Feed these Arabs," he exclaimed, quoting a
Turkish proverb, "and they will fire at Heaven!" But I observed that,
when Shaykh Masud came up, the citizen was only gruff.

We then turned northward, and sighted El Mazik, more generally known as
Wady Laymun, the Valley of Limes. On the right bank of the fiumara stood
the Meccan Sherif's state pavilion, green and gold: it was surrounded by
his attendants, and prepared to receive the Pacha of the caravan. We
advanced half a mile, and encamped temporarily in a hill-girt bulge of
the fiumara bed. At 8 A.M. we had traveled about twenty-four miles from
El Zaribah, and the direction of our present sta