NEAR JERICHO.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXVII, Issue 2652, 6 November 1909, Page 4 (Supplement)

NEAR JERICHO.

A THRILLING RIDE DESCRIBED BY ROBERT HICHENS. • A l )ril this y 6ar I "’as travelling m Syria and the Holy Land, and drove one d<Ty from Jericho to the Dead Sea. On the desolate shore, by a wattled hut, we found a wild-looking Arab, who entered into conversation with my I coachman, also an Arab reckless of / countenance, bold in hearing. I I noticed the former waving his hand / towards tho Wilderness of Judea, I through which we were soon to pass ( on our way to the Jordan, and the latter turning and straining his eyes as J if in anxious searqh for something far j off in the great solitude, arid, waterless, and apparently empty both of human and animal life. I noticed this, but I paid little attention to it, so often had I heard their voices loudly raised in the discussion of trifles. Presently the Syrian friend who was vith nio and I, -got into the carriage, and told the coachman to drive on across the waste. Just before we started moving the Arab of the hut pointed, as if in warning, towards our way, and cried out some; words/to which our coachman replied with violent gestures. Then the three spirited horses answeredto a shake of the whip—uve were off. Solitude took us, reminding me of the desert.' Very far we could .see 'toss the flat on which no moving thing appeared.. We went on and on. Under the spell of the strange and almost terrible scenery, I gazed . about me, not exchanging a word with my companion, uintil at last I perceived a black speck. . It draw my eyes. It grew larger. I saw it moving. Presently I could see what ; it was—a solitary camel wandering towards the Dead Seai "There’s a camel,” I said to my friend. As I spoke the coachman looked .sharply .round at me, then turned on the box, stared, and suddenly brought the throng .of his whip down with crilel force on the horses. They broke into a plunging gallop.. The carriage roc7<•jed. My friend looked at - the camel, now plainly visible. It had changed* its direction abruptly, and was coming

after us.- - "What on earth is the matter?” I asked as-the coachman again lashed his horses. ... . .... ... My friend spoke to the man in Arabic. There was a rapid exchange of words. Then my friend, with a cliang- ■ ed face, looked out over the wilderness. "What is it?” I exclaimed. y "Well,” 'he replied with some hesitation, "that camel over there is mad; we must get on.” "Mad!” "Yes. \ The Arab at the Dead Sea; warned Abdul about it. It broke away from a caravan three, days ago. They sent five horsemen from, Jericho to try and get hold o-f it, but ik.was too dangerous. They had to holt.” / I gazed. The camel was nearer. "It’s following us up,” said the Syrian. "Let’s hope it is tired out and won’t'come up with us.” "If it does?” I said. /. He looked very grave. v "Have you got a revolver? he asked. I shook my hea-d. "Nor I. We ought.to be armed.

Abdul lashed the horses once more. ■ “I don’t think it’s gaining much. Jf we get to the Jordan -we’ shall lie all right. There are trees. It will lose us. Even if it doesn’t we can easily •get away from it there.” He shouted to Abdul. That was a strange sort of race. I might work • it -up into a thrilling episode, a life and death contest, but I hate “travellers’ tales.” The fact is this —gradually we drew away from the grotesque maniac who was trying to overhaul us. Evidently the beast was weary and our horses were splendid ones—about the best to be found in Jerusalem. As we' saw the far-off green cloud of trees that marked the pilgrims bathing-place in the Jordan, the camel began to look smaller; we were leaving him behind. Bushes appeared, the land slightly descended. The immense wilderness was partially hidden. Not many minutes after we were among the 'trees. ' Abdul heaved a sigh and loosened his reins. The limbs of my friend relaxed, and I felt a strong sensation of relief. That evening hs we sat under an oleander tree in the garden of Jericho he told me some stories of the ferocity, of the dreadful persistence of camels when they were mad. Once, he said, his uncle was out riding on a -swift Arab horse when lie encountered one of these brutes unmuzzled. It tried to attack him. He put spurs to liis horse. It followed. •'For over three hours it pursued him, till his horse was nearly finished, and lie knew escape was impossible. . Fortunately ho had a gun shmg over his shoulder. He wheeled round, faced the camel when it was nearly up •£bp him, fired, and disabled it. •<;' “And supposing the camel in the wilderness of Judea had come up with us ” I said. “Now, what could we have done?”

He laughed “I- confess I was afraid,” ho answered' “and I have seldom felt fear. Well, I should have pulled the liood of the victoria up and done the best I could with my stick.” I echoed his laugh. A vision rose before my mind’s eye of a combat, horrible and comic as a scene in a nightmare—the wilderness of Judea, two

men in a victoria with the hood and apron up, and a camel in a condition of active mania, attempting to deal with them, shall I say, resolutely. As for Abdul, my imagination beheld him on the horizon going for all he was worth to that place whither so many are ,sent mentally—in moments of acute exasperation.

But, though I laughed under the oleander tree, I was really not sorry that the combat had never come off. And I felt an almost yearning affection for Jericho.—" Pearson’s Weekly.”