I lay that night on the banks of the river, and at a little
distance from me the Arabs kindled a fire, round which they sat in
a circle. They were made most savagely happy by the tobacco with
which I supplied them, and they soon determined that the whole
night should be one smoking festival. The poor fellows had only a
cracked bowl, without any tube at all, but this morsel of a pipe
they handed round from one to the other, allowing to each a fixed
number of whiffs. In that way they passed the whole night.
The next morning old Shereef was brought across. It was a strange
sight to see this solemn old Mussulman, with his shaven head and
his sacred beard, sprawling and puffing upon the surface of the
water. When at last he reached the bank the people told him that
by his baptism in Jordan he had surely become a mere Christian.
Poor Shereef!--the holy man! the descendant of the Prophet!--he was
sadly hurt by the taunt, and the more so as he seemed to feel that
there was some foundation for it, and that he really might have
absorbed some Christian errors.
When all was ready for departure I wrote the teskeri in French and
delivered it to Sheik Ali Djoubran, together with the promised
baksheish; he was exceedingly grateful, and I parted in a very
friendly way from this ragged tribe.
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