“Behold the townsman,” cried one of the Bedouins, “they have for the desert but a single word, while we have a legion.”

The desert, which in many eyes is a wilderness of desolation, has for the dweller beneath the tents another aspect. It is the desert which he loves, where he was born, under the brown tents of his tribe where he hopes to pass his life, and in the sands where he wishes to be buried. He loves each one of its many phases, from the sand burnt to powder by the white fire of the noonday sun, to the cool breeze of the dying day, that causes the smoke from the many fires to rise in blue-grey wreaths to the evening sky, which changes from violet to greyer blue, and then to the intense dark blue of the precious sapphire.

The Bedouin, to whatever tribe he may belong, sitting astride his camel, padding softly through the desert sands, sees before him the low black tents of a desert village, and knows that he may descend and find a welcome. The host will say to him, “Every stranger is an invited guest, and the guest while in the tent is the lord thereof.” He may sit before the large round bowl of mutton and eat his fill, and when the stars have come out, and seem so near that he may put up his hand and pluck them from their field of blue, he will be conducted to the guest-tent or to the tent of the headman, and, wrapping himself more tightly in his long cloak, he will lie down secure, knowing that his life is safe so long as he remains a guest of the tribe, having eaten of their salt and drank their water.

These Arabs of the desert are proud with a pride we do not understand. They are proud of their long lineage, of the purity of their blood, of their unbroken traditions. They are an impulsive, restless people, who, with their emotional temperament, give impetuosity to everything which they touch. They are the real adventurers of the world, and their nervous, high-strung, daring characteristics have become so absorbed into their very being as to have become permanent marks of their race. At the seat of all troubles, in countries where the Bedouins are strong, one finds them ready to do and dare anything that appeals to their imagination. At the rising of a Mahdi, it is the Arab of the desert who is his strongest support, who will die for him, who will sweep down like a holocaust upon the people who do not share with him his beliefs in the cause, for which he throws his life away with a bravado that makes men of a more sluggish blood gasp in astonishment. This cause must appeal to his emotions—those same riotous emotions which never produce, but always ruin. We are told that the Bedouin is the author of complete desolation, and that destruction follows in his pathway; that his effects are always sinister, and that this race brings ruin to any land where they have been permitted to have full sway. We know he is not a creature of habit, and that routine, a settled existence, a fixed round of duties, are things which he does not understand nor practise. He does not reason and is not practical, yet it is the Arab that has succeeded in sending the faith of El Islam around the world, and every movement of revival comes directly from the desert.

Few people travelling in Egypt or Algeria see the real dweller beneath the tents. There are Bedouins in the cities, and one soon learns to tell them, with their keen eyes, their eager faces, and majestic stride, from the more placid, self-satisfied Egyptian. But in the city he is not his true self, as life in the cities has a permanent and degrading effect on the character and physique of the race; the fire of the desert dies within him. It is in the shifting sands beneath the tents that he is at his best. There he carries out his tribal customs, and there he practises that wonderful virtue of hospitality that Mohammed, himself an Arab, laid upon his people. He said, “Whoever believes in God and the Resurrection must respect his guest; and the time of his being kind to him is one day and night; and the period of entertaining him is three days; and after that if he does it longer, it benefits him more, but it is not right for a guest to stay in the house of a host so long as to incommode him.” It is said that even a deadly enemy may come to the tent and demand water and salt, and it will be given him, and he will be allowed to rest for the night. In the morning he will be sent on his way, and his life is safe until he has passed the boundary of the tribe’s dominions, then his enemy is entitled to follow him and kill him if he can.

All tourists passing through Egypt look forward to a few days passed in the desert. The guide paints in glowing colours the wonders of the sands, the colours of the evening sky, the sounds of the hobbled camels as they wait for the morrow’s march, and the traveller from the West decides to see for once the life of which he had read and dreamed so many years. In every soul is a cry for romance, a desire to leave the prosaic everyday life which he knows too well, and explore the mysteries of the unknown, hoping that there by chance he will find food to feed his hungry imagination. A trip to the desert does this for many people. There the broker or the banker, with the wife he has looked upon for many years, sit in front of their hired tent, and watch the camel man, as with scolding voice he prepares the growling, surly camels for the night. When all is quiet but the distant barking of the dogs, they sit in front of the evening fire and watch the stars come out in the sky that seems a great inverted cup of blue above them. The camel drivers, dragomen, and guards sprawl in easy attitudes and chant mournful, weird songs that have come to them from the Persian mystics of olden time. These people from New York or London do not realize that they are not seeing the real desert nor the people of the desert. The setting is all staged most carefully by the wily dragoman, who imports his Bedouins from the neighbouring villages, who dresses tents until they would cause the man who calls them home to stare in blank amazement at their tawdry hangings. The only thing he cannot import is the wonderful dessert sands, the sky, the cooling breezes that always come when the sun has set. These are free for all, to the ragged camel driver as well as to the man who scatters so freely the English gold.

We had the pleasure of knowing the chief of a large tribe of Bedouins, and from his castle on the edge of the desert were permitted to make many visits to these picturesque people. Our first glimpse of the true man of the desert was obtained from the visitors in the guest-house, where any Bedouin could stop from one to three days as the guest of the chief, and every day about sundown strange white-robed men with guns strapped across their back rode up on horses and dismounted at the gate, craving the hospitality of the chief. There were always from ten to thirty guests within the rest-house, men looking like the Senouisses, who cause so much trouble for the unbelievers of foreign lands. We were told that many of them were going to join their brothers in Tripoli to fight against the hated unbeliever. They were not permitted by the Government to go openly, as Egypt was supposed to be neutral, so they took the long caravan journey of thirty days across the desert to aid in what they considered an unjust war against the true faith.

Within the harim of my hostess were rooms set aside for travelling Bedouin women, but they were seldom occupied, as the women of the tents are not wanderers like their husbands, unless the whole tribe moves. My hostess was a young, educated girl, to whom the confines of a Bedouin harim must have been very wearying. The laws concerning the women of the tribe were very strict, one being that a woman must stay within her apartment until the birth of her first child. My friend was not blessed with children, but had been compelled to conform to the usages of her husband’s family, in part at least, by remaining within her home for a year. Now she went about freely among the villages of the Bedouins near the castle, only taking the precaution of being veiled. These Bedouin women were quite another type from those seen in the cities. They had magnificent physiques, tall and supple, and carried themselves with a stately grace. They were dressed in long, straight, cotton gowns of blue or black, and a many-coloured sash was wrapped around the waist. The only foot covering was the anklets of silver that fell down over the instep; and they wore over their hair, which was braided in many braids, and in which was plaited small gold coins that clinked as they moved their heads, a veil of black with a coloured border, or of dark red with a yellow border. This veil adds to the dignity and beauty of a woman in a most charming manner. At the time of feasting or of gaiety the plain veil is changed for one sewed with bright-coloured beads or sequins.

From the lower lip to the neck, and lost in the covering of the dress, are three dark blue lines of tattooing. This is seen now only on the older women, and is being thrown on the altar of modernity by the daughters of the Bedouins who have peeped into the world and are trying to be like their more sophisticated Egyptian neighbours. The hair is straight and black, and with many has been given a tinge of red by washing it in henna. I saw no grey-haired women; because those who have been touched by the finger of time, kindly custom has allowed to dye their locks, and there were many flaming heads above wrinkled faces. While a guest with the Bedouins, they were quite determined to give me the touch of red that to them is so beautiful. They say it keeps the hair cool and prevents it from falling out, protecting it from the burning sun. I resisted, although I watched the process, which was most interesting. The henna powder is mixed with water until the consistency of a paste, and then the head is covered and left for the night, when in the morning it is washed, and if not applied too thickly there is just a glint in the dark locks. Henna is also applied to the nails of the fingers and toes, and with many it practically covers the fingers to the first joint, making the hands look most uncleanly to European eyes. The inside of the feet and the palms are not forgotten by the Bedouin or the Egyptian woman who has conserved the customs of her mother, but the henna-dyed hands are rarely seen now by the newer generation, who have relegated the henna-pot to the lumber-room along with the tattooing-ink. A great mass of jewellery was worn, not the diamonds and rubies found in the French shops of Cairo, but the true ornaments of a barbaric people. Great hoops of gold were in the ears, one from the top of the ear, another hanging from the lobe. The neck, even to the waistline, was covered with chains formed of balls of gold or of coins, and on the arms were bracelets. In writing coldly of the Bedouin woman, her tattooing, her henna-coloured hair, her kohl-blackened eyes, and her massive chains of gold and anklets of silver, it seems as if she were living in an age of barbarism, yet it is becoming to her rich colouring, and she is not overdressed. They all belong to the time and place, and are made for these women, who need strong settings for their savage beauty.

The women of the desert are much more free to come and go than are the women of the cities, and it is only when they come in close proximity to an Egyptian village that the Bedouin expects his wife to be secluded. They do not mix with members of the other sex as do the women of the West, because that is contrary to the instincts of all Eastern women, but naturally they cannot be confined so strictly within the tents as can the women who live in houses. In each tent is a division or curtain, behind which the women retire when men approach, but they may be seen sitting in front of their doorways, and passing to and fro in the villages without veiling their faces. They pass their spare time when not occupied in the household duties in weaving gaily coloured blankets, striped red and yellow and black. These constitute the woman’s fortune. My friend took me to one tent in which there were forty of these blankets piled around the edge of the tent, and she said, “Five or six of these in the possession of a woman and she is considered rich in this world’s goods. This woman is a multi-millionaire.” She was an old woman who seemed to be the leader of her village. It was she who met us and conducted us to the guest-tent, which was at least twenty by thirty feet in circumference, and which was hung with these beautiful hand-woven blankets. The sands were covered with rugs on which we sat, and on which the large round tray was placed for the meal which the kindly hospitable women insisted that we should eat with them. There are no tables, beds, nor chairs. The Bedouin says that we can never understand the desert until we get close to her, rest our feet on her sands, and our head on her bosom—

One thinks of a tent in the desert under the pitiless sun as a most uncomfortable place of retreat, but I found it quite the opposite, as the strong wind, that seems to be always trying to temper the actions of its enemy, blew over the desert and entered the open flaps, and crept under the turned-up edges of the tent, fanning into flame the fire of sweet-smelling woods that had been kindled in the tiny brass jar. Water was hanging in porous bottles and in sheepskins in the draught, and when mixed with the perfumed syrups was cool and refreshing. Coffee with a touch of ambergris in the cup was served, and melons were given us in great cool slices. These latter are a favourite fruit of the desert people, I presume because of the vast amount of water of which they are composed, and water is the luxury of all luxuries to those who dwell among the sands. An old Arabian poet said: “There are seven things when collected together in a drinking-room, it is not reasonable to stay away. A melon, honey, roast meat, a young girl, wax lights, a singer, and wine.” Twice during our visit was perfume sprinkled over us, and the brass brazier was often replenished with sandalwood, a small packet of the latter being given us as we were leaving. The Arabs, in fact all Eastern people, love perfumes, and they use them in far greater quantity and of stronger essence than we consider delicate. Musk and a heavy perfume distilled from jasmine and roses seems to be a favourite. Mohammed himself loved perfumes, and speaks of them in his promises to the faithful who shall fall in battle: “And the wounds of him who shall fall in battle shall on the day of judgment be resplendent with vermilion and odorous as musk.” We visited the smaller tents, and in some it was impossible to stand erect even at the ridge pole. In one was a young baby wrapped in white cloth and twined with yards and yards of camel’s-hair rope, only his tiny head and feet protruding to show that there was a real baby in the bundle. He was bound practically the same as are the babies of our North American Indian. I took him in my arms, and he stared at me with great black eyes, and then he laughed and cooed, much to the delight of the young father, who stood proudly by. The mother was quite a young girl, not more than fifteen years old, I should judge, and in her shyness she retired into the security of the tent, resisting all my friendly overtures to have her picture taken with the baby in her arms. Children abounded; there will be no race extinction of the Bedouins so long as they remain in their deserts. Their little brown bodies snuggled up to us, and their black eyes twinkled saucily as they shyly held out their hands for the gifts which evidently my friend always brought with her. They were a much better type of children than are those in Egyptian villages—strong, pretty bodies, and without the unhealthy eyes that are seen so much on the young in Egypt.

In every tent was hung a gun, as robbers are frequent visitors, and each dweller in the tent must protect his own. He keeps a fierce and noisy dog that sees a stranger far across the sands, and one is followed far beyond village confines by these canine police.

Polygamy is practised by the Bedouin more than it is by his city brothers. I visited in the tent of a woman who was the second wife of her husband, the other wife living in a tent adjoining. She had two children, and the first wife one, and from what I heard there was not the most pleasant relationship between them. Divorce is also one of the evils, and these primitive men take advantage of it to an alarming degree. Nearly every one I met had been divorced some time or other. It was such a common occurrence that it produced no feeling of shame in the woman who had been divorced.

The Bedouins are so proud of their lineage that they wish to keep the tribal blood pure, and it leads to intermarriage. Cousins are frequently married, and often a whole tribe is related in some manner. I was told that the Bedouin settled an argument with a scolding or recalcitrant wife by giving her a good chastising with a stick. While in Cairo I met a most charming Bedouin who had left the sands for the gaieties of the city. He was quite the polished gentleman to be found in any city, and I was surprised when told that he had divorced his Bedouin wife because she was not as progressive as his cosmopolitanism now required, and my gossipy friend informed me, “They used to quarrel dreadfully and he would beat her most frightfully.” I saw the lady in question, who had returned to the tribe and remarried, and I rather admired the hardihood of the somewhat effeminate man who would dare to try to beat this great stalwart Bedouin woman, who looked as if she would take an active part in any chastening that might be passing around her tent.

There is no such word as “privacy” in the Bedouin vocabulary; their private life must be an open book to all the tribe. Their one great blessing is the wonderfully clear, dry air, which gives them health and vigour and makes them immune to many of the diseases that afflict their Egyptian neighbour. But if they leave the desert and go to live within the cities, they fall easy victims to the great white plague, tuberculosis.

The Bedouins are followers of Mohammed, but they put their faith in holy tombs and charms and sacred groves. They are not so strict in regard to prayers as are the people who live within call of the muezzin, and the religion of the women seems to be more superstition than worship of a God. They placate a God who may do them harm, and they have innumerable charms and amulets for the guarding of their children. In the desert whirlwinds they see sweeping across their sands are “ginns” and evil monsters; and at night, when a star shoots across the dark blue sky, they believe it is a dart thrown by God at an evil genie, and they whisper, “May God transfix the enemy of the faith.” Around the naked children’s neck is hung a small box containing some quotation from the Koran that will guard them from the evil eye, that curse most dreaded by all mothers of an Eastern land. For every evil that man is heir to, the Koran is the cure. A few words from its precious pages are bound upon the arm of the camel driver, who feels that with this as guardian he will not be lost upon the trackless sands. When ill, the wife will call the astrologer, who writes a few words upon a piece of paper, and soaking it in water, gives it to the wailing child, and the mother is assured that all will soon be well, because has he not drunk of the very fount of wisdom, the words that came from God?

The old custom of a life for a life prevails in the desert, and feuds are handed down from father to son. If a father or brother is killed, it is the duty of the son or brother to take the life of the enemy of his house. In the olden time there was blood money which could be paid, although it was considered a cowardly thing to accept it. A man’s life was worth a hundred camels, a woman’s only fifty, but the man of honour asked the life. The chief of the tribe has the power to decide in all cases between his people, and the English Government does not materially interfere in the life of the Bedouin.

In regard to the custom of taking a life for a life, there is a story told of how in the early days the missions made a convert from Mohammedanism, the only convert made among these tribes. In a blood feud a man stabbed his enemy, but not fatally, and fleeing to the tent of a friend he lingered there many days. This tent was one visited by the missionary of the Christian faith, and while lying on his bed of pain the wounded man heard of a faith that said, “Love your enemies,” and before his death he sent word to his tribe that they must forget his death and not try to avenge it. He even sent word that he forgave his enemy. This was so astonishing that neither could the man who killed him nor his tribe believe the fact, and secretly the enemy decided to find for himself what had caused the unheard of message to be brought to his tent. He learned of the new religion that said, “Revenge is Mine, saith the Lord,” and he became the only Bedouin convert to the Christian faith.

Living in this home on the edge of the desert we saw the real life of the tent people. We watched them as, weary and tired looking, they returned from their long journeys. We saw the trains of laden camels as they started for the distant cities. We saw the shepherd boys drive in the flocks of sheep or goats, looking as they did in olden Bible times.