Leading the Blind

by Alan Sillitoe

  For a description of Khartoum we have to wait for Wallis Budge’s handbook, which appeared after the Mahdi revolt had been put down in 1895. The expedition of Kitchener’s troops up the Nile, their transport and supplies, had been organized by none other than Thomas Cook & Son, which firm had the necessary experience (and fleet of boats) for moving large numbers of people.

  At the Battle of Omdurman, which preceded the liberation of nearby Khartoum, ‘the Dervish loss was 11,000 killed, 16,000 wounded, and 4000 were made prisoner’. The Dervish army was ‘mown down’, Budge goes on, ‘by the awful rifle fire of the British and Egyptian troops, and the shell-fire from the gun-boats.’ He tells us later that ‘of the wounded Dervishes from 6000 to 7000 were treated in the hospital which was improvised in Omdurman. Visitors to the battlefield may even this day find weapons and small objects belonging to those who were killed there.’

  An architectural description of the Mahdi’s Tomb concludes with: ‘The dome was badly injured in the bombardment of Omdurman on September 2nd., and since the building was the symbol of successful rebellion, up to a certain point, and fanaticism, and had become a goal for pilgrimages, and the home of fraudulent miracles, it was destroyed by charges of guncotton by the British. For the same reasons the Mahdi’s body was burnt in the furnace of one of the steamers, and the ashes thrown into the river.’ In case anyone should imagine that to have been the normal practice of the British towards their enemies he adds that it was done ‘on the advice of Muhammadan officers and notables; the Mahdi’s head is said to have been buried at Wadi Haifa’.

  All this would seem to be justified by the fact that: ‘In Khartoum itself business is increasing, and under the just and equitable government which the country now enjoys will continue to do so.’ Dervish rule of the Sudan, it is pointed out, reduced the population from eight million to two million in ten years, a fate much like that endured by Pol Pot’s Cambodia in the present century.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THE HOLY LAND

  Murray strikes exactly the right tone in the preface to his two-volume 1868 guide: ‘The Bible is the best Hand-book for Palestine; the present work is only intended to be a companion to it.’

  Even so, he loses no time in passing judgement on the people the traveller can’t avoid meeting: ‘Their dress, their manners and customs, and their language, are all primitive. No European nation, with the exception perhaps of the Spaniards, bears the least resemblance to them. Like Spain, too, the best specimens of humanity are found among the lower classes. The farther we go from government offices, the more successful shall we be in our search after honesty, industry, and patriarchal hospitality. The Arabs are illiterate, and ignorant of all Frank inventions; but there is a native dignity in their address and deportment, which will both please and astonish those who have seen the awkward vulgarity of the lower classes in some more favoured lands. Whether we enter the tent of the Bedawy or the cottage of the fellah, we are received and welcomed with an ease and courtesy that would not disgrace a palace. One is apt to imagine, on hearing the long series of enquiries after the health, happiness, and prosperity of the visitor who drops in, and the evasive replies given, that there is some hidden grief which politeness would fain conceal, but which the heartfelt sympathy of the host constrains him to search into. It is disappointing to discover, as every one will in time discover, that this is all form. Still there is something pleasing in these inquiries, compliments, and good wishes, empty though they may be.’

  The further we get from Europe, i.e. civilization, the more romantic is travelling shown to be, though Murray is too astute to allow such feelings to become overwhelming. ‘An Arab when eating, whether in the house or by the wayside, however poor and scanty his fare, never neglects to invite the visitor, or passing wayfarer, to join him. And this is not always an empty compliment; indeed there are few Arabs who will not feel honoured by the traveller’s tasting their humble fare. The invitation, however, is generally declined by a courteous phrase.’

  The politeness of an Arab shopkeeper can be embarrassing: ‘… when the price is asked, he replied, “Whatever you please, my lord.” When pressed for a more definite answer, he says, “Take it without money.” Our feelings of romance, however, are somewhat damped when we find the price ultimately demanded is four or five times the value of the article. An Arab always tells you that his house is yours, his property is yours, he himself is your slave; that he loves you with all his heart, would defend you with his life, etc., etc. This all sounds very pretty, but it will be just as well not to rely too much on it. Nothing, however, is lost by politeness; and so one may seem to believe all that is said. It has been sometimes the practice of travellers to rule their Arab servants and muleteers by bullying and browbeating; but this is a great mistake. I need not say that such conduct is beneath the dignity of an English gentleman. Unvarying courtesy, accompanied with as unvarying firmness, will gain the desired object far more effectually. This is especially the case with the Bedawin, who can often be persuaded by a kind word when they could not be driven by a rod of iron. At the same time, any approach to undue familiarity will be attributed by the Arab to weakness of character, perhaps in some cases to fear, of which he will not be slow to take advantage.’

  With regard to Arabs in general, they ‘are and have been for centuries “lords of the soil,” and they constitute the great majority of the community. They are proud, fanatical, and illiterate. They are taught by the faith they hold to look with contempt on all other classes, and to treat them not merely as inferiors but as slaves. They are generally noble in bearing, polite in address, and profuse in hospitality; but they are regardless of truth, dishonest in their dealings, and immoral in their conduct. In large towns the greater proportion of the upper classes are both physically and mentally feeble, owing to the effects of polygamy, early marriages, and degrading vices; but the peasantry are robust and vigorous, and much might be hoped for from them if they were brought under the influence of liberal institutions, and if they had examples around them of the industry and enterprise of Western Europe.’

  With regard to the Jews of Palestine the handbook tells us that they are ‘in one sense the most interesting people of the land. 18 centuries ago they were driven from the home of their fathers, and yet they cling to its “holy places” still. They moisten the stones of Jerusalem with their tears; “her very dust to them is dear,” and their most earnest wish is that the dust of their bodies should mingle with it. The tombs that whiten the side of Olivet tell a tale of mournful bereavement and undying affection unparalleled in the world’s history.’

  Totally different from these, he tells us, are the Jews of Damascus and Aleppo, who must be considered as much natives as any of the inhabitants of Syria. ‘They are Arabs in language, habits, and occupations, in so far at least as religion will permit. Some of them are men of great wealth and corresponding influence. For generations they have been the bankers of the local authorities, and have often fearfully realized the strange fluctuations of Eastern life – now ruling a province, now gracing a pillory – at one time the all-powerful favourites, at another the disgraced and mutilated outcasts.’

  The Turks, who are few in number, and foreigners in race and language, are ‘hated by every sect and class, wanting in physical power, destitute of moral principle, and yet they are the despots of the land. They obtain their power by bribery, and they exercise it for extortion and repression.’

  Murray sums up with one final – as he thought – nail in the coffin of the Ottoman Empire that the observant Englishman must be sure to notice: ‘There is not a man in the country, whether Turk or Arab, Mohammedan or Christian, who would give a para to save the empire from ruin; that is, if he be not in government pay, in which case of course his salary and the empire would go together. The patriotism of the Syrian is confined to his own house; anything beyond it does not concern him – selfishness reigns supreme. The consequence is, that there is not a road in the whole country except
the one recently made by a French company; the streets of the great cities and villages are in winter all but impassable, and in summer reeking with the stench of dead dogs and cats and other abominations. Dogs are the only scavengers; anything which is too corrupt or filthy for them to eat, rots where it lies. One would imagine, in traversing Syria, that the whole country had recently been shaken to its centre by an earthquake, there are so many broken bridges, ruinous mosques, and roofless caravanserais. It is emphatically a land of ruins, and ruins are increasing in number every year.’

  As for the best seasons for visiting Syria and Palestine, in a country without railways or coaches, and with only one road, ‘progress must necessarily be slow, and the summer’s sun and winter’s rain are alike to be avoided’. The traveller is reminded that ‘there are no inns along the great thoroughfares, with cheerful chamber, well-aired bed, and tempting cuisine to make one forget the fatigues of a day’s ride, or to afford a pleasant asylum from drenching rain and muddy road’.

  Tent-life is the only solution, which is ‘very romantic; it reads well in a poetical traveller’s journal, and there are few who have tried it but will look back to it as to a sunny spot. But it requires fine weather; it is no pleasant task to pitch your tent and spread your bed in mud: there is little romance in canvas when the rain is pouring through it.’

  For those who are old, or a traveller in ill health, a long journey on horseback may prove too much, therefore the easiest mode of conveyance is ‘a light arm-chair, without legs (which are apt to get entangled among rocks), securely fastened on two long poles, like a sedan-chair. Two easy-paced mules attached to this machine carry the occupant with considerable comfort.’

  Murray perhaps has toilet paper in mind when he says that, among the provisions: ‘There are a few things I recommend the more fastidious, and especially ladies, to take with them for their own use; and I advise them also not to trust such precious commodities to the exclusive care of servants, whether English or Arab.’

  A tour in the region was, in those days, still rare enough for the following comments: ‘Every traveller should have his note-book to record incidents and describe scenes to which memory will look back with pleasure in after years. Descriptions written on the spot will “photograph” scenes and events on the mind. As to the propriety of publishing I say nothing. Every one must exercise his own good taste and wisdom in that respect. But a “journal” has a real and absorbing interest, apart from all thought of Albermarle Street or Paternoster Row.’

  There was, of course, the matter of security, for the roads in Syria weren’t always safe from bandits, and Murray recommends that a small revolver may be carried, which ‘should be worn in a leather belt so as to be visible, especially when the traveller sees fit to indulge in solitary rides or walks. The robbers of Syria are generally amateurs, who take up the profession when opportunity offers. They will seldom venture on a party of Franks if there be any show of arms among them; but a few peasants, when they meet a timid traveller, will first beg, then demand, and finally take a bakshish. By cool self-possession and a determined manner one can generally overawe them. There should be no blustering or hurry in such cases, for noise seems to rouse an Arab’s “pluck”; but the traveller should be careful to show all whom it may concern, by the ease and dignity of his bearing, that, while he may enjoy a joke, it would scarcely be safe to carry it too far.’

  For visiting remote districts an escort was necessary, ‘composed of members of that tribe to which the country we propose to visit belongs. Even friendly tribes have no right to conduct strangers through the territories of others. It not unfrequently happens that adventurous chiefs will undertake such a task, and, for the sake of the pay, run the risk of a sound drubbing, if not worse. When an attack is made under such circumstances, and especially if it be by the Bedawin of the desert, no attempt at resistance should be made. Leave the matter wholly to your escort, and act as if you had no interest in it whatever. It may be well to explain to the enemy that you had no intention of breaking the laws of desert life; that you had engaged a sheikh to escort you under the impression he was the proper person; that he had become guarantee for your safety; and now it was his affair, not yours, if he had trespassed on the territory of others. A calm and conciliatory bearing, aided in the end by a small present, will in nine cases out of ten clear away all difficulties.’

  Such delicate negotiations with desert tribes will be conducted through an interpreter, since it is ‘useless to burden a Handbook with a collection of words and phrases’. There is, however, no better propagandist for the trip to the Holy Land than Murray:

  A spring tour in Syria is to the invalid an admirable sequel to a winter in Egypt. The soft and balmy air of the desert, with its cool nights and bracing mornings, gradually prepares him for a return to more northern climes. The noble scenery of the Sinai peninsula, with its holy associations, occasions sufficient excitement to release the physical frame from the depressing influence of melancholy. Then follow the rough rides over Syrian mountains; the constant variety of scene; the engrossing interest of place – all rose-tinted by a dash of danger and romance. Others besides the invalid might reap lasting benefit from such a ramble. The city merchant who has been cramped up for years within the dingy confines of a counting-house, and who has grown dyspeptic and gouty on London fog and turtle-soup; the ‘West-end’ politician, whose physical man has been dried up by late ‘Houses,’ later assemblies, and the harassing cares of party; – these, if they wish again to know what life and liberty are, should try a tour in Syria. After the murky magnificence of the London house, or the solemn splendour of the country mansion or baronial hall, Syria would be a new world. The pure air from morning till night and from night till morning; the constant exercise; the excitement of novel scenes and novel circumstances; the relief of thought; and the relaxation of overstrained mental powers – all tend to make a new physical man, while they contribute in no small degree to give a healthy tone to the intellect.

  The usual land route into the country for British and American travellers was said by Murray to be from Cairo to Suez and across the Sinai peninsula. In 1858 the three principal stations on the road to Suez provided the following high cholesterol fare: ‘Breakfast, consisting of tea or coffee, bread and butter, a plate of eggs or a chicken; dinner, consisting of rice, a chicken or pigeon, potatoes, English cheese, and fruit; supper, consisting of tea, bread and butter, a plate of eggs or a chicken. N.B. The use of a bed, as well as wines and all other extras, must be paid for separately according to tariff.’

  Suez was the last civilized outpost, and to reach Jerusalem meant a journey of some four hundred miles over mostly uninhabited ashy-looking waste, only the occasional oasis, monastery or ruin to vary the scenery, which was desolate and spectacular in turn. The first notable stopping place was the Monastery of St Catherine at the foot of Mount Sinai, but to get there from Suez ‘it will be necessary to engage some of the Tor Arabs, who will supply camels, and act as guides through their desert’. Before starting it was necessary to make sure that every camel had its full and proper load, ‘if not, the Arabs will put a few things on each, and go away pretending they are loaded, their object being to get as many engaged as possible’.

  Another trick practised by the Arabs was pointed out: ‘It sometimes happens that a traveller is stopped on the road by what is said to be a party of hostile Arabs, and obliged to pay a sum of money, as he supposes, to save his life, or to secure the continuation of his journey in safety.’ It is obvious, however, that: ‘If no resistance is made on the part of those who conduct the traveller, the attacking party are either some of their own, or of a friendly tribe who are allowed to spoil him by the very persons he pays to protect him; for an Arab would rather die than suffer such an affront from a hostile tribe in his own desert. If then his Arabs do not fight on the occasion, he may be sure it is a trick to extort money … he should, therefore, use no arms against the supposed enemies, but afterwards punish his fa
ithless guides by deducting the sum taken from their pay; and it is as well, before starting, to make them enter into an agreement that they are able as well as willing to protect him.’

  Hints of danger were not exaggerated. Richard Burton, in The Land of Midian, 1879, had, with reason, a poor opinion of the Bedouin law of honour: ‘They will eat bread and salt with the traveller whom they intend to murder.’ Cook’s guidebook Palestine and Syria, 1911, tells us that near the beginning of their journey Professor Palmer, Lieutenant Charrington and Captain Gill were killed by Arabs on 11 August 1882.

  Two groups of the same tribe would sometimes argue over who was to escort the traveller, ‘and after he had gone some distance on his journey, he and his goods are taken by the opposition candidates, and transferred to their camels. The war is merely one of words, which the inexperienced in the language cannot understand; but he fully comprehends the annoyance of being nearly pulled to pieces by the rivals, and his things are sometimes thrown on the ground, to the utter destruction of everything fragile.’

  In spite of these possible perfidies, the author concludes: ‘An extra supply of coffee and tobacco, to give the Arabs occasionally, will be found useful.’

  By the time of the first English edition of Baedeker’s Palestine and Syria, 1876, the dragoman system had come into operation, and many of the above difficulties were taken care of by him. All the same: ‘It is customary for the traveller to enter into a written contract with the dragoman, and to get it signed by him and attested at the consulate’, otherwise ‘it is often a matter of great difficulty to induce them to make the slightest deviation from the usual routes, which in all probability have been followed by the caravans for many centuries.’