I looked for the expected bend of the river,
but far as I could see it kept a straight southerly course; I still
left my guide unquestioned.
The Jordan is not a perfectly accurate boundary betwixt roofs and
tents, for soon after passing the bridge I came upon a cluster of
huts. Some time afterwards the guide, upon being closely
questioned by my servants, confessed that the village which we had
left behind was the last that we should see, but he declared that
he knew a spot at which we should find an encampment of friendly
Bedouins, who would receive me with all hospitality. I had long
determined not to leave the East without seeing something of the
wandering tribes, but I had looked forward to this as a pleasure to
be found in the desert between El Arish and Egypt; I had no idea
that the Bedouins on the east of Jordan were accessible. My
delight was so great at the near prospect of bread and salt in the
tent of an Arab warrior, that I wilfully allowed my guide to go on
and mislead me. I saw that he was taking me out of the straight
route towards Jerusalem, and was drawing me into the midst of the
Bedouins; but the idea of his betraying me seemed (I know not why)
so utterly absurd, that I could not entertain it for a moment.
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