CHAPTER II.

ADEN TO LAHEJ.

With the kind aid of friends at Aden, my preparations were easily made for my journey into the Yemen—far more easily, in fact, than I had been led to suppose would have been the case. Everywhere in the bazaar were rumours of the rebellion still raging in the interior—vague rumours, the truth of which it was almost impossible to gather; while, more dispiriting still, there was the fact that for several months no caravans had arrived from any distance in the interior, while those which came from Lahej and the surrounding country brought tidings, by no means reassuring, of the impassable state of the roads in the interior, and the constant depredations of the turbulent tribes, who were taking advantage of the serious political troubles to enrich themselves by robbery and plunder. Added to this, I was warned by several European merchants and traders that even in times of peace it was an almost impossible task to enter the Yemen from Aden. One and all advised my proceeding to Hodaidah, and from there attempting the road to Sanaa. In spite of this, I decided otherwise. My reasons were these. Hodaidah being the nearest port to the capital, and the principal sea-port of the Yemen, it would be only natural to find there great activity on the part of the Turkish officials,—an activity that would not only prevent my being allowed to pass along the well-watched road, but would also probably put the Turks upon the look-out in other quarters. It may seem strange to the reader that any great difficulties should be put in my way; but so serious had been the rebellion, and to such an extent had false reports been spread from Constantinople concerning it, that the officials were determined if possible not to allow the truth of what really had been and was taking place to leak out. There were at this time, with the exception of a few traders at Hodaidah, absolutely no Europeans in the Yemen; for one scarcely counts the Greek shopkeepers to be found in all the large towns as any but natives, to so great an extent do they assimilate themselves to the customs and manners of the country. I knew, then, that did I attempt to reach Sanaa from Hodaidah, and should I fail, as most probably would be the case, my chance of proceeding into the country from any other quarter would be practically at an end. It was for this reason that I decided to make Aden my starting-point; and should I be unfortunate in my journey thence, to fall back as a last hope upon Hodaidah. This, happily, I was not obliged to do; for my plans, as will be seen, were successful.

But there were several other matters to be thought over besides this. Granting that I could reach the capital of the Yemen from Aden, how could I best do so with tolerable safety? Here my experiences in Morocco stood me in good stead. My first idea had been to purchase my camels, but on second thoughts I decided not to do so. Not only would my camels tempt the tribes through whose lands I would have to pass to robbery, but even the native Arabs I might hire as guides to go with me might not prove indisposed to relieve me of two or three valuable beasts of burden. It would be safer far, I argued, to hire my beasts, as in that case it would be to the advantage of my men to see that not only I myself but also my baggage-animals would arrive at their destination in safety. How, then, to find the right men and animals without spreading the fact all over the bazaars that a mad Englishman wanted to go to Sanaa, in spite of dangers and the rebellion? I had recourse to Messrs Cowasjee, Dinshaw, & Co., a great house of Parsee merchants, and through them was put into communication with an Arab trader. This gentleman I called upon, and found exceedingly pleasant; and more than that, I found that he understood perfectly my North-African Arabic, and that his educated Yemen dialect was comprehensible to myself. I unfolded to him, over coffee, my plans, with which he seemed not a little amused. He told me in return to leave everything to him, and to appear again at his house the following afternoon. This I did, and after coffee and preliminary remarks he introduced to me a strange character, an Arab of the mountains of Yemen, a man of something under forty years of age, framed like an Apollo, lithe and beautiful. I must give a few words of description of this strange creature. Tall, lithe, and exquisitely built, his skin of dull copper hue showed off the perfect moulding of his limbs. Over his shoulders on either side hung loose black wavy curls, standing out like the wigs of the old Egyptians. Except for a loin-cloth of native indigo workmanship, and a small blue turban, almost lost in the spreading masses of raven hair that burst from beneath its folds, he was naked. Here and there his flesh had taken the dye from his blue raiment, giving it a strange blue tint. Tucked into his girdle was a dagger—_jambiya_—of exquisite Yemen silver-work; while round his left arm hung a long circular silver box containing some charm. In features he was extraordinarily handsome. The brow was high, the eyebrows arched, the eyes almond-shaped and brilliant, his nose aquiline and thin. Added to this a fine firm mouth, the upper lip closely shaven, while on the point of his chin he wore a small pointed beard about an inch in length. A strange contrast he was to my Arab host, an elderly highly respectable-looking merchant, with eyelids darkened with antimony—_kohl_ the Arabs call it—and his grey beard dyed a shade between saffron and salmon-pink. An enormous turban was balanced on his closely shaven head, and he was habited in robes of yellow and green.

Coffee being brought for our half-nude guest, we began to talk matters over, with the result that for an absurdly small sum my new-found friend undertook to deliver me safely in Sanaa. At all my questions about the road he laughed. Somehow he had such an air of sincerity about him that I trusted him from the very first, nor was I wrong. “You have nothing to do or say,” he said, smiling; “only bring your baggage here the day you want to start, and I will see to the rest.” In half an hour it was all arranged. Three camels were to take me and my servants, and, after a certain distance, when, in fact, we entered the highlands, they would be changed for mules. As to guides and men, I had nothing to do with them. There would be always enough animals to carry my scanty baggage, my servants Abdurrahman and Saïd, and myself. “When will you be ready?” asked the Arab, rising to leave. “To-morrow,” I replied, expecting to be met with excuses for so hurried a departure. But no; and half an hour later I was rattling back to Steamer Point in the wheeziest old ghary that ever existed, with a fat pony galloping ahead and an excited Somali jehu on the box.

It did not take long to make my preparations, and these over, I turned into bed in a fever of delight at the idea of getting away. At dawn I was up. I knew it was hopeless to attempt an early start, so, having seen all my baggage put in order—it consisted of only a sack of clothing and a mattress and blanket, a couple of saucepans, a kettle, and a few stores mixed up with the clothes—I turned in again.

About nine I dressed; and as there were no signs of anything or anybody, I sat down impatiently to wait until something should happen. At length Abdurrahman, my faithful Moor, who had come with me from Morocco especially to make this journey, appeared. His only fault is that, when he is particularly wanted, he is sure to have found some place as difficult to discover as the North Pole in which to oversleep himself. He was followed an hour or so later by Saïd, clad in new raiment, gay as the sunshine, and not the least ashamed of himself for being so terribly unpunctual. However, one could not be angry with this butterfly, who, from his mass of wavy black hair to the soles of his leather sandals, was a picture of dandyism. Often and often in the marches before me Saïd’s bright cheery manner and ingenuous narration of his conquests amongst the female sex kept us, tired and weary as we were, in shouts of laughter. He was as good as mortal man could be when once we had torn him away from the fascinations of Aden, his earthly paradise.

At length, collecting the men and the baggage into a couple of gharies, we set out for Aden proper, the old fat Greek who kept the hotel waving his hand to me, and wishing me all good-fortune as we drove away.

At the other end, of course, all the worry commenced again. However, there was nothing to do but to bear it patiently. First, no signs of men or camels. At length, after much searching, we captured the beautiful Arab of the previous afternoon; and, never letting him out of our sight, we at length ran our camels to earth in a back-yard. Leaving Abdurrahman to watch the luggage and the camels, Saïd and I sauntered out to do our last shopping. The heat was terrific, but even my impatience did not ruffle Saïd’s equanimity. He seemed to have a smile and a few words to say to every one he met, and, added to this, he insisted on bargaining for a considerable period of time over every item of our purchasing; and if at length he could not beat the shopman sufficiently low down, he would saunter off to another shop, and commence the whole business over again. It was exasperating!

At last everything was completed, said Saïd, and we turned back once more in the direction of our camel-yard. Abdurrahman, wearied with waiting, had gone off to a _café_ to have a cup of coffee with the camel-men! I sent Saïd to find them. In about an hour Abdurrahman and the men returned, not having seen Saïd, who presently came smiling in, gay as a singing-bird, with the excuse that he had forgotten to say good-bye to one of his lady-loves, whose beauty he began to sing in flowery praises until I peremptorily silenced him.

Then they loaded the camels. I sat by and watched, wondering what we could have forgotten. Saïd presently was struck with a bright idea, and before I could seize him had fled to buy a jar of ghee, or rancid butter, for our cooking on the road. Pursuit was hopeless, but at last I could wait no longer. Fortune favoured me, and I found him. He had, so far, forgotten all about the ghee, and was testing the smoking capabilities of a quantity of hubble-bubble pipes, one of which I purchased, and which I found to be a veritable passport on my journey. Then off he went to buy the ghee, the pipe under his arm; but I accompanied him, and brought him safely back again.

With a sigh of delight I watched the camels laden with my baggage saunter off with slouching gait out of the yard and along the yellow dusty road, followed by the men. Half an hour later we drove out through the Main Pass gate of Aden, down the steep winding hill, and along the isthmus, to join our baggage-animals at the village of Sheikh Othman, on the mainland.

It was almost sunset, and grand and beautiful the jagged outline of Aden looked as we left it behind. The bay, placid as glass, reflected the great rock, and the ships that lay so peacefully upon its motionless waters. The sky, a mass of primrose yellow, still trembled with the heat of the afternoon sun. Far away beyond the crowded masts of the native craft, Little Aden, rival of its sister rock, rose a pale mauve against the sky. Then the sun set, and our cab came to a standstill with a jerk that threatened to break it to atoms; while our Somali driver, good Moslem that he was, alighted to pray. The air was fresh and cool, and we descended for a few seconds to stretch our limbs. One could not help thinking of the strange mixture of the past and the present. This grand lithe figure rising and falling in prayer, now upright with outstretched hands, now prostrate with his forehead on the ground, seemed like some memory of the long dead glories of Islam, whereas he was in reality only a cab-driver.

On again, on over the level plain where many an army has met and fought over the possession of the barren rock we were leaving behind us, until in the fading of the after-glow we drew up in the quiet square of Sheikh Othman.

I was intensely happy. A feeling of exhilaration at the journey before me ran through my being—and we were really started! I could not let the Somali driver go back, so I paid him for his stabling for the night, and dragged him off to the little _café_ where my camels and men were resting; and here we, Arabs and Moor, Somali and Englishman, calling “Bismillah”[35] together, sat down to our humble repast of fowl and coffee.

But I could not sit still. I longed for the rising of the moon to start again, and under the guidance of my great Arab friend, set out to wander through the half-deserted streets. From time to time one could catch a glimpse into the _cafés_ of which Sheikh Othman principally consists, filled with dusky Arabs and laughing women, many dancing in the circles of their admirers, for the little town is given over to pleasure. And as an echo to the music, one heard the soft gurgle of the hubble-bubble pipes, the grey fumes of which filled the air of the houses with hazy indistinctness. On we walked between the high walls of gardens, out on to the desert, to where, in its little grove of palm-trees, stands the tomb of the patron saint, Sheikh Othman, with its domes and its mosque and strange tower of sun-dried bricks. This tomb it is that gives the name to the little town.

The moon was rising, so we hurried back to the _café_, and after a final smoke and a cup of the steaming coffee, we loaded our camels, and bidding farewell to our Somali guest, prepared to start. Then I found that my Yemen Apollo was not coming with us. I was sorry at this, but it could not be helped: as long as the men who were to accompany me were _his_ men, I had nought to fear. So I bade him adieu, and mounting my camel, was lifted into the air, and set out. Abdurrahman and Saïd followed my example, and, accompanied by three strange dusky men, we wended our way through the quiet squares and streets out into the desert beyond.

Twice had the village and fort of Sheikh Othman been destroyed by British troops before, in order to extend our frontier in that direction. The place, and a little of the surrounding country, including Bir Ahmed, were purchased by the British Government from Sultan Ali of Lahej. So diplomatically are affairs to-day managed in Aden, that not only does Sheikh Othman enjoy immunity from plunder and robbery, but the whole caravan-roads passing over the wide strip of country in the Abdali, Aloui, and Dhala country are in a condition of complete tranquillity, and almost absolutely safe for native caravans.

Out into the desert, with slow patient gait, passed our camels. What a wonderful night it was! I had seen the desert before in other lands, but never to compare to this. In Egypt the nights are cold; here a soft balmy breeze bore on its wings the scent of the mimosa bushes, which dotted the sandy surface. A heavy dew was falling, and seemed to awake every drop of fragrance of the little yellow fluffy buds. Above us a sapphire sky, brilliant with stars and moonlight. Around us miles upon miles of sandy plain, shimmering silver. Beyond the humming of the insects there was not a sound except the thud-thud of our camels’ soft feet upon the softer sand. So still, so tranquil it all seemed, that one scarcely dared to breathe. One felt that one was passing through some strange dreamland, whose earth was silver sprinkled with sapphires, whose heavens were sapphires dotted with diamonds.

Those who have not known the nights of the desert can never realise them. It passes the pen of man to describe. It is like the periods in fever when the fever leaves one, for it is these nights that nature has given us in compensation for the burning, scorching days. It was but the first of my night-marches—there were many more to come; yet I never tired of them. The rhythmic gait of the camel, the gliding along under the myriads of stars, never wearied me. One could not weary of anything so surpassingly beautiful.

At a spot, irrecognisable in the desert, our men shouted to the camels to lie down, and we dismounted. Saïd spread my carpet, while the Bedouins collected the dry mimosa twigs, and by the light of the little fire they lit I could see my camels regaling themselves with evident relish on the dry bushes, the thorns of which were an inch or two in length. Then commenced the drinking of coffee, and the gurgle of the hubble-bubble, until, calling to the grunting animals again, we loaded our camels and set out.

[Illustration: PALACE OF THE SULTAN OF LAHEJ.]

As early dawn began to tint the eastern sky we entered the oasis in which Howta, the capital of the Sultan of Lahej, is situated. The aspect of the country completely changed. In place of the pale yellow sand, dotted with stunted bushes, there were wide fields of durra, or millet, growing in all the luxury of a damp tropical soil. The fields are divided from one another by hedges of rank vegetation, and little channels, here above the level of the surrounding land, here running in and out amongst the durra stalks, supplied unlimited water to the crops. From amidst the tangled mass of dazzling green rise palm-trees, many of them hung with trailing creepers.

Here and there grazed the pretty humped cattle of Southern Arabia, tended by nude boys and girls, who shyly watched the Christian passing by on the back of his camel. And then the town—the great mud-built city of Howta, full of wild-looking Arabs, and dogs, and fever, the palace of the Sultan dominating the whole, and having the appearance that at any moment it might slide down, and crush the houses and huts and hovels around it.

Under the guidance of my Bedouins we put up at a small native _café_, preferring to be at our ease rather than to have to enjoy the hospitality of the Sultan, to whom, thanks to Colonel Stace, the Political Resident at Aden, I bore letters of recommendation. We easily made an arrangement to reserve the entire accommodation of the _café_ to our personal use, and spreading the carpet and mattress, I settled in for an hour’s rest. The place in which we had taken up our quarters consisted of a yard enclosed in a high hedge of impenetrable thorns, forming a zareba. At one end was a large mud-brick room, thatched with rough matting, as was also a verandah in front of it. Besides this, the guest-chamber, there were one or two poor huts of mats in which quite a number of families seemed to exist. What with goats, and dogs, and fowls, and children, and fleas, the place was lively. A funny group we must have made, my men and I; but I had discarded my hat for a _tarboosh_, or fez cap, as less likely to attract attention in travelling. It is curious the part the hat plays between Moslems and Christians. Apparently to them it is the outward and visible sign of the infidel, for as soon as one has changed it for their own more simple head-gear their fanaticism diminishes to an incredible extent. Of all European clothing, the hat forms the greatest barrier to confidential intercourse between Arab and Christian, and one of the names in common use in North Africa for Europeans is “the fathers of hats.”

We had not been very long ensconced in our new quarters when a gaudy creature came to call. Apparently, from the number of weapons he bore, he was a sort of armorial clothes-peg. In fact, his whole costume consisted more of swords and daggers than it did of clothing, while a long spear added to the general effect. His wavy hair hung on either side of his face in flowing curls, and his arms were encircled above the elbow with silver chains, bearing charms and boxes containing mystic writings. He shook hands as though he had known me all his life, and sat down with a crash of his weapons that reminded one of the fall of a coal-scuttle. Coffee was soon prepared, and the hubble-bubble, murmuring away in a corner in the possession of Saïd, who had already changed his clothes and brushed out his curly locks, was handed from mouth to mouth. After a while my guest announced that he had been sent by his lord and master, the Sultan, to wish me welcome, and invited me to proceed at once to the palace.

Before, however, I tell of my interview with Sultan Ali Mhasen, some little account of Lahej and its rulers is necessary.

The tribe of Abdali, the inhabitants of Lahej, share with the Subaiha, Foudtheli, and Houshabi, the possession of the south-west coast of Arabia, from the Straits of Bab el-Mandeb, the gate of tears, to nearly one hundred miles east of Aden, and reaching inland an average distance of, roughly, some fifty miles. Of these, the Subaiha are the most warlike, being of a more distinctly wandering nature than the others; while, on the contrary, the Abdali tribe to whom Aden once belonged, whose capital is to-day Howta, are the richest and most peaceful, their habitations being fixed abodes, except in the case of such as are shepherds, and are thus necessitated to change their pasturage. As I have already said, the town of Howta lies in a great oasis, supplied with water from rivers flowing from the highlands farther inland. This oasis is richly cultivated, the principal products being durra—_jowaree_ the natives call it—cotton, and sesamum, and more especially vegetables and fodder for the Aden market. Besides palms, there are several other varieties, one a luxuriant shade-giving tree, called by the natives _b’dam_, of which a fine specimen can be seen close to the precincts of the Sultan’s palace. The soil produces no less than three crops in the year, the climate being almost equable.

The town of Howta is situated some twenty-seven miles north-west of Aden, and extends over a large area. There is no possibility of obtaining any certain estimate of the number of its population, which probably reaches as many as ten or fifteen thousand, what with Arabs, Jews, a few natives of India, and a considerable number of Somalis. The extreme heat and dampness of the climate render the place too feverish to allow of Europeans residing there with any safety, and even a sojourn of a few days is generally sufficient to bring on an attack of malaria. The water, too, is very bad, and officers going to shoot there from Aden are warned to carefully avoid it.

Although the present state of the territory of the Sultan of Lahej is one of tolerable peace and security, throughout all the history of Southern Arabia one finds it appearing and reappearing as the scene of battles and plots and assassinations. After the terrible massacre of its inhabitants by Ali ibn Mehdi in the twelfth century, it was several times taken and retaken, and the atrocious acts of cruelty of one, at least, of its conquerors, are recorded by historians. Omitting the many consequent attacks and wars which took place within its territory, we find it for five months of the year 1753 held by the rebel Abd er-Rabi, during which period Aden existed in a state of blockade. However, it was before this period that the present reigning family had obtained possession of the throne, their founder and first Sultan, ruling over Aden as well as the surrounding country, being Foudthel ibn Ali ibn Foudthel ibn Sáleh ibn Salem el-Abdali, who in A.D. 1728 threw off his allegiance to the Imam of Sanaa, and declared himself an independent ruler. Again, in 1771 Lahej was besieged, this time by the Azaiba tribe, who succeeded, however, in holding it only for the period of two days. Notwithstanding, in a history otherwise consisting almost entirely of massacres, wars, and murders, we have here and there a glimpse of a happier state of affairs, such as the sumptuous entertaining by the then Sultan of Aden and Lahej of the British troops after the evacuation of Perim in 1799. Mr Salt, in his work entitled ‘A Voyage to Abyssinia,’ and published in London in 1814, gives a most charming account of the then Sultan Ahmed, and Abou Bekr, his representative in Aden. Wellsted also refers to this Sultan as a remarkable instance of an Arab chief whose great desire seemed to be to further trade and receive foreign Mahammedan merchants as residents into his country. His friendship toward the British is attested in many works and accounts of his estimable policy and sagacity. He died in 1827.

I have already described elsewhere the shipwreck of the Deria Dowlat in 1836, which ended in the taking of Aden in 1839 by the British troops. In 1849 a treaty was engaged upon between the Sultan of Lahej and the British Government (as to trade, &c.), and with several ratifications and alterations the treaty still exists. The Sultan receives a monthly stipend from the British, or rather the Indian, Government, for protecting the trade-routes which pass through his country, and also certain other payments in return for the ceding of Sheikh Othman and other spots nearer Aden. In all, the Sultan draws a very considerable sum from the Aden treasury _per mensem_.

Having said all that is necessary, perhaps, in a work which has as little pretensions to being a history as this has, on the general history of Lahej, I will resume the narrative of my story at the spot where, under the guidance of the gorgeous and muchly-armed soldier, I was escorted to the palace.

This building is a huge block of houses, built entirely of sun-dried mud-bricks, but plastered and decorated to such an extent as to give it the appearance of being of much greater solidity than a large hole here and there in the wall points out to be really the case. The principal building is covered with domes and cupolas, with the effect of a conglomeration of a cheap Italian villa and a stucco Constantinople mosque. However, from a distance the place has a very imposing look, and so large is it that on clear days it is visible from Aden. It is not until one approaches it closely that one discovers the incompetency with which it is built; for pretentious as it is, there are places where quite large portions of the mud-brick walls have come away, and at one spot one obtained an excellent view of the interior of a room on the first floor through one of these enormous gaps.

Passing through a large courtyard, we entered by a small door, and after ascending a rough staircase, and wandering along intricate passages, found ourselves in the presence of Ali Mhasen el-Abdali, Sultan of Lahej. The room in which the Sultan was seated was a large square chamber. A heavy beam of carved teak-wood ran down the centre of the ceiling, supported on pillars of the same material. The floor was richly carpeted in oriental rugs, and silk divans were arranged along the walls. Light was admitted by large windows, over the lower portion of which was trellis-work. At one corner of the room sat a group of men, some five or six in all; while on a table close by were three handsome silver hubble-bubble pipes from Hyderabad, tended and kept alight by a half-nude Arab in a blue loin-cloth.

As I entered and kicked off my slippers—for having so far resorted to oriental ways as to adopt the _tarboosh_, or fez, I held also to their custom of not walking on their carpets in boots—one of the group rose to meet me. He was a stout elderly man, with a kindly pleasing expression, dark in colour; and although not strictly handsome, he possessed a manner, common to most Orientals of position, that could not fail to charm. Grasping me by the hand, he led me to the divan, where I seated myself beside him, and, salutations over, proffered me the amber mouthpiece of his pipe and a bunch of _kat_, a shrub to which the Yemenis are much addicted. This plant is known to us as the _Catha edulis_. It resembles rather a young arbutus in the form and shape of its leaves. The leaves are eaten green, growing on the stalk, and are said to cause a delightful state of wakefulness. The taste is bitter and by no means pleasant, though one easily accustoms one’s self to eating it. An amusing remark was made by my Moorish servant in the presence of the Sultan which tickled the old gentleman exceedingly. He held out to Abdurrahman a bunch of _kat_, which he politely refused. When asked by the Sultan why, he naively replied, “That is what the goats eat in my country,” thinking it to be the common arbutus of Morocco. In Yemen it is considered a necessary luxury; and as it only grows in certain parts of the country, where it is carefully cultivated, and has to be transported often a long distance, it fetches a high price. That we ate with the Sultan of Lahej had been brought some forty miles or more that very morning, for it must be eaten fresh.

[Illustration: MY RECEPTION BY THE SULTAN OF LAHEJ.]

Sitting next to the Sultan was a Shereef, a descendant of the Prophet in other words, a tall handsome young man, clean shaven, and richly dressed. A gold dagger of great antiquity that he wore in his belt, and which he kindly showed to me, was as perfect a thing of its kind as it has ever been my lot to set eyes upon. The Sultan himself was robed in a long loose outer garment of dull olive-green, displaying a _kuftan_ beneath of yellow-and-white striped silk, fastened at the waist by a coloured sash. On his head he wore a large yellow silk turban, surrounded by a twisted cord of black camel’s hair and gold thread.

The hubble-bubble was a sore trial. I was gradually, under the guidance of Saïd, learning to inhale it; but to have constantly to fill my lungs with the strong smoke was by no means a pleasant task to a novice like myself. The inhaling, even through water, of the tobacco used in these pipes is by no means a thing one can easily accustom one’s self to, and for a long time a whiff too many will bring on giddiness. However, so attentive was the Sultan in handing me the amber mouthpiece that I stuck bravely to the task, although by the time I left I felt a sensation of incipient _mal de mer_ in a rocking-chair or the car of a balloon. As much of the smoke seems to go to the brain as does into the lungs. What with the pipe and the _kat_, and the declining of Arabic irregular verbs in a dialect I scarcely knew, I was not sorry when, after an hour or so of conversation and agony, I was allowed to leave. Nevertheless, I had enjoyed my visit to the Sultan Ali, whom I found to be a pleasant-spoken kindly old gentleman, extremely fond of showing off various treasures he possesses, amongst which is a unique sword of Bagdad work, said to be eight hundred years old. Through the blade is bored a hole, which the Sultan explained to me was the mark that it had taken over a hundred lives. From the condition of the steel it might have been made yesterday, and would be quite capable of taking a hundred more. During my visit I had been watched with great interest by two of the Sultan’s children, a little boy and girl, who, contrary to Arab customs, were present all the time. They were pretty dark-skinned little things—the boy nude except for his loin-cloth of striped silk, the girl dressed in a mauve garment embroidered in gold.

Leaving to go, the soldiers who had brought me into the Sultan’s presence again escorted me to my _café_, on the way to which we visited the palace stables. There were a great many horses in the ill-paved yards which serve as the royal stabling. Mats and thatch, and in places rough brick roofs, keep off the heat of the sun from the horses, some of which were very fine. One white mare from Nejed was especially lovely, though from the nature and heat of the country she looked terribly out of condition. The pedigrees of the Nejed horses are most carefully kept by their breeders, and all over Arabia they are estimated as the very finest to be procured.

The Sultan of Lahej has his own coinage, a small copper piece of minute value, bearing the inscription “Ali Mhasen el Abdali,” and on the reverse “Struck in Howta,” which, by the way, is anything but true, as they are made in Bombay, by contract.

Returning through the courtyards of the great mud palace, I left the royal precincts, and, seeking once more the quiet shade of the _café_, spent the heat of the day in sleep, waiting for the cool of the afternoon before sauntering forth to see the sights of the town of Howta.