More than thirty years have elapsed since, on asummer evening, the tents of an Arab encampmentmight have been seen dotting the plainwhich forms the western boundary of the Egyptianprovince of Bahyrah, a district bordering on thegreat Libyan desert, and extending northward asfar as the shore of the Mediterranean.
The western portion of this province has beenfor many years, and probably still is, the camping-groundof the powerful and warlike tribe of the“Sons of Ali”; a branch of which tribe, acknowledgingas its chief Sheik Sâleh el-Ghazy, occupiedthe encampment above referred to.[1]
2The evening was calm and still, and lovely aschildhood’s sleep: no sound of rolling wheel, ordistant anvil, or busy mill, or of the thousandother accessories of human labour, intruded harshlyon the ear. Within the encampment there wasindeed the “watch-dog’s honest bark,” the voicesof women and children, mingled with the deepertones of the evening prayer uttered by many arobed figure worshipping towards the east, butbeyond it nought was to be heard save the tinklingof the bells of the home-coming flocks, and thesoft western breeze whispering among the branchesof the graceful palms its joy at having passed theregions of dreary sand. It seemed as if Natureherself were about to slumber, and were invitingman to share her rest.
In front of his tent sat Sheik Sâleh, on aTurkish carpet, smoking his pipe in apparent forgetfulnessthat his left arm was bandaged andsupported by a sling.
At a little distance from him were his twofavourite mares, each with a foal at her side, andfarther off two or three score of goats, tetheredin line to a kels,[2] surrendering their milky stockto the expert fingers of two of the inmates ofthe Sheik’s harem; beyond these, several hundred3sheep were taking their last nibble at the shortherbs freshened by the evening dew; while in thedistance might be seen a string of camels wendingtheir slow and ungainly way homeward from theedge of the desert: the foremost ridden by anurchin not twelve years old, carolling at th