The others arrived an hour later, having missed the raiders when they changed their direction. We chaffed them for deserting us. They were disappointed that the raiders had not been Bani Kitab, for there was blood between them and the Rashid. They had counted on getting their camels and also the looted stock which would by tribal custom have belonged to them. Bin Kabina said regretfully, T thought I should get two camels’; but I teased him. ‘You would have got nothing. We should have killed them and divided the camels between us long before you turned up.’
We camped where we were, and Amair, bin Ghabaisha, and Salih went back with the camels to get our things, returning next morning.
We sat round the fire and talked, too cold for sleep. I asked bin al Kamam how Arabs divided camels taken in a raid, and he said, ‘We divide the spoil into the required number of shares; a good camel may be worth two or even three of the others. We then cast lots and each person chooses his share in the order in which he has drawn his lot. We divide the spoil equally between us, except that the leader of the raid or a big sheikh may sometimes be given an extra share. Among the Omani tribes a man may ask to keep whatever he himself captures and take no share in the division, but he will only do that if he has a fast camel.’
I asked about the division of captured rifles and he answered, The weapons of a man who has been killed belong to the man who has killed him. But the weapons of those who have surrendered are divided with the rest of the spoil. Only if a man has escaped from the rest of the raiders can the man who captures him claim his weapons and camel in addition to his share of the booty.’
We were now on the edge of Liwa.1 We rode westward through palm groves and small settlements similar to those I had seen in the spring at Dhaufir and Qutuf. I was glad that we were travelling slowly, for I had broken a rib wrestling with bin Tahi, and the stabbing pain in my side hurt most while I was riding. Salih and his son parted from us when we reached the edge of Dhafara, and bin Kabina went with them. He promised to rejoin me in Muwaiqih, but now he wished to collect some camels that he had left in Dhafara. The rest of us rode northward until we were nearly at the coast, and then turned back to Muwaiqih. We arrived there on 14 December.
We were hungry before we arrived at Zayid’s fort and were looking forward to eating meat that evening. We had not bothered to take a spare camel on this short journey, and, being anxious not to tire our riding camels, had taken little food with us. For the last two days we had been living on milk. There was plenty of this as the sands here were full of camels. Just before dinner four Bani Yas visitors were brought into our room to share the meal with us. As we sat down to feed, each leant forward and took a leg of meat off the dish before us and put it on the mat in front of him before starting to eat the rice. The rest of us were left to share the head and some other scraps. I was struck once more by how uncouth and selfish were these Bani Yas and Manasir who lived on the fringe of the desert, compared with the Bedu from the interior.
After dinner the room filled up with Zayid’s retainers, several of whom had falcons on their wrists. I have been told that in England it takes fifty days to train a wild falcon, but here the Arabs had them ready in a fortnight to three weeks. This is because they were never separated from them. A man who was training a falcon carried it about everywhere with him. He even fed with it sitting on his left wrist, and slept with it perched on its block beside his head. Always he was stroking it, speaking to it, hooding and unhooding it.
The room was packed with people, some disputing over the ownership of a camel, others recounting a raid or reciting poetry. The air was thick with smoke from the coffee hearth and from guttering lamps, and heavy with the pungent reek of locally grown tobacco. Yet a tiercel, blinking in the lamplight, sat undisturbed on the leather cuff which protected my neighbour’s left hand. I asked him how long he had had it, and he said, ‘A week. He is a fine bird. You will see, Zayid will prefer him to the other ones,’ and he stroked the bird’s head. All the birds in the room were peregrines, which the Arabs call shahin. I asked my neighbour if they used the hurr, or saker falcon, such as I had seen in the courtyard of the Amir’s house at Laila. He said, ‘Yes, if we can get them, but they are difficult to come by, and expensive. They are worth twice as much as a shahin, which you can get for a hundred rupees.’ I knew that this was about eight pounds. He went on, ‘In the Najd they prefer the hurr, since they have better eyesight than the shahin, and, as you know, the Najd is all open gravel plains. I myself would rather have a shahin. They are swifter, bolder, and more persevering.’ He held up his falcon for me to admire and called its name, ‘Dhib ! Dhib ! ’ which means ‘wolf.
I asked him how he had got the falcon, and he said, ‘Zayid sent me with a message to Shakhbut and on my way to Abu Dhabi I saw a shahin on the salt-flats. Next day I went back there with a friend. We took a tame pigeon with us. I had tied a length of string to its leg and fastened the other end to a stone. Then we sat and waited and at last when we saw the shahin I threw the pigeon into the air and hurried away. As soon as it had taken the pigeon we returned and drove it from its kill. We quickly dug a shallow pit down-wind of the dead pigeon and about as far away as that wall opposite us. I got into this hole and my friend covered me over with some salt-bushes and then walked off. When the shahin came back to the pigeon I slowly pulled it towards me with the string. Do you understand? Good. When it was within reach I caught it by the leg.’
I asked him why it did not see his hand, and he said, ‘It is easy. A shahin always faces up-wind, and anyway it was busy tearing at the pigeon.’
A little later Zayid came in, everyone rose, and after we had settled down again and Zayid had been served with coffee, one of the Bani Yas said, ‘Zayid, I saw two hubara near bu Samr this morning,’ and someone else said, ‘I saw three last week.’ Hubara are MacQueen’s bustard, a bird the size of a hen turkey; they arrive in Arabia from Persia, Iraq, and Syria at the beginning of the winter and most of them leave in the spring, although a few breed there. Zayid had told me that his men had found three nests the year before. Now he asked about falcons, and someone said, ‘Hiza is sending up two more which they caught last week. They should arrive tomorrow.’ Falcons are caught at this time of the year on the coast while they are on passage, and Zayid needed a few more before he went hawking. He said, ‘Good – we will get away in four days’ time if God wills,’ and then, turning to me, ‘You must come with me.’ I willingly agreed, having always wanted to go hawking.
In the morning Zayid was busy checking saddle-bags, ropes, and water-skins, giving orders about the food to be bought in the local market, and the camels to be fetched from the pasturages, and inspecting his falcons. He said that one of them looked off-colour and was to be given a purge of sugar, while another was thin and was to be fed on an egg mixed with milk. He watched a falcon being trained to the lure. It had only been taken ten days ago, but everyone agreed that it would be ready to go with us. Later, three Arabs arrived with the two birds which Hiza had sent. One of them still had its eyes sealed. A piece of cotton had been threaded through its lower lids and tied at the top of its head, drawing them up so that the bird could not see. As it had begun to feed, Zayid told the men who carried it to remove the thread. The other, a tiercel, had a broken night feather which Zayid now mended with a splint made from two slivers of gazelle horn. He then branded both birds on the bill with his mark.
Four days later, Zayid said, ‘We will get away this evening. I expect we shall be away for about a month. We will hunt in the Sands to the south-west of here where there is plenty of grazing and lots of wells. The Bedu say that there are bustard there.’
Later that afternoon we rode away from the fort, past the palm-trees. Zayid had sent the baggage camels on ahead with orders to camp on the edge of the Sands, and now we trotted across the gravel plain, accompanied by twenty-five of Zayid’s Bedu retainers, some of whom carried falcons on their wrists. They sang a tagrud, a marching song to which Bedu trot their camels. They were in hi
gh spirits, for they had been looking forward to the beginning of the hawking season as people in Scotland once looked forward to the Twelfth.
We reached camp as the sun was setting. The dunes were already dark against a flaming sky where cirrus clouds floated like burning vapour. The slaves had collected bushes and piled them into wind-breaks behind which large fires were blazing. We soon gathered round them to warm ourselves, for the evening air was chill. We sipped coffee, while the rhythmic ringing of the brass coffee-mortar invited everyone to draw near. A Bedu family had already joined us, and soon their camels drifted across the darkening sand towards us, followed by ragged long-haired boys. A couple of goats had been slaughtered and cut up, and large cauldrons of rice were simmering on the fires. A little later the herdsboys came into the firelight. One of them was carrying a bowl of milk, capped with foam, which he handed to Zayid before sitting down in our circle to wait for dinner. They told us that they had found the fresh tracks of five bustard round the well, and tracks, two days old, of others in the Sands near by. Zayid turned to me and said, ‘God willing we will eat bustard tomorrow.’
We were astir early next morning. Someone fetched the camels and couched them beside the fires, round which we huddled in our cloaks, for it was still bitterly cold. Zayid called out to ask if I would care to ride Ghazala and I eagerly accepted. Bin al Kamam said to me as he tightened the girth and adjusted the saddle-bags and sheepskin, ‘You have never ridden a camel like this,’ but I told him that I had ridden her on my way to Sharja in the spring. Then as the sun rose we picked up our rifles and camel-sticks and prepared to mount. The falconers lifted the eight peregrines from the blocks on which they had been perched, looking wet and bedraggled from the drenching dew, and called to the three salukis. We stood behind our mounts. Zayid looked round to see that I was ready, and then placed his knee in the saddle. Instantly his camel rose, lifting him into the saddle, and we were off across the sands. We expected to find the bustard on the flats between the dunes rather than in the dunes themselves. We walked our camels while we scanned the ground for their tracks. I had expected that we would be quiet, but I might have known from experience that no Bedu can ever keep silent. Everyone carried on a noisy conversation and anyone who got left behind and trotted to catch up broke automatically into song. Suddenly an Arab on the left of the line signalled to us that he had found fresh tracks, and as we turned our camels towards him a bustard rose about four hundred yards away, the white bands on its wings showing up clearly against the red sand. A falconer unhooded his bird and raised it in the air; then it was off flying a few feet above the ground; the bustard was climbing now but the peregrine was fast overhauling it; now they were faint specks not easily picked up again once they had been lost sight of; then someone shouted, ‘It’s down ! ’ and we were racing across the sands.
As we slithered down the dune-faces and climbed out of the hollows and then galloped across the flats, I realized what an exceptional camel I was riding. I was fully occupied staying in the saddle, but the falconers who rode beside me carried their falcons on their wrists, held by the jesses.
We came upon the peregrine in a hollow, plucking at the lifeless bustard. One of the men slipped off his camel, slit open the bustard’s head and gave its brains to the falcon. He then heaped sand over the corpse to hide it, and lifted the puzzled-looking falcon back on to his wrist. We had all dismounted. Zayid pointed to some oily splashes on the ground and said, ‘Do you see that muck? The hubara squirts it at its attacker. If it gets into the shahin’s eyes it blinds it temporarily. Anyway, if it gets on to its feathers it makes a filthy mess of them, and you cannot use the bird again that day.’ I asked how many bustard a peregrine could take in a day, and he said, ‘A good bird might take eight or nine, but they will take seven on wing to every four they take on the ground. Do you see where they have fought?’ and he pointed to a trail of feathers for twenty-five yards across the sand. ‘You can see what a battle they have had. Sometimes a hubara manages to stun a shahin with a blow of its wings.’
We went on again, and flushed a bustard from a hollow in the sands. It landed as soon as the peregrine overtook it. The peregrine stooped at it twice, and then landing beside it jumped at it, trying to seize it with its talons. The bustard spread out its tail and struck at the falcon with its wings. The salukis, which, whenever they saw a falcon loosed, raced along behind it, now arrived and helped the falcon to kill it. The falcon then drove the dogs off, and when we arrived they were lying down beside the dead bustard at which the falcon ripped and tore.
We killed two more bustard and several hares before Zayid stopped for lunch. I have been told that, wild peregrines will not take hares or rabbits, yet Arabs find it easier to enter a newly-trained peregrine to hares than to bustard. Generally one of the salukis caught the hare, but during the next three weeks I frequently saw a peregrine bind to a hare which the dogs were coursing.
While we were baking bread and roasting two of the bustards by burying them in their feathers in the hot ashes, a raven circled round croaking. Zayid said, ‘Let’s see if a shahin will kill it. I had one last year which killed a raven,’ but the peregrine which he loosed only made a few ineffective stoops, easily countered by the raven turning on its back. We went on again as soon as we had fed, and a little later put up a bustard within fifty yards of us, but the peregrine which Zayid had unhooded refused to fly. Zayid looked up and, pointing to four eagles high above us, said, ‘It is afraid of them.’ Shortly afterwards we put up another bustard and this time the peregrine took off. Almost immediately it dashed back to Zayid and thumped against his chest as an eagle swooped down at it with a loud swishing noise, rather like a shell going through the air. I was surprised that the eagle had gone for the peregrine and ignored the bustard. Stroking the frightened bird, Zayid said, That was a near thing – it was lucky it did not get her. Well, we shall have to go on – it is no use hanging about here with those eagles overhead.’
Late in the afternoon we saw eight bustard flying up a valley between the sands. We watched them alight, and rode slowly and, for once, in silence towards the spot, after having tied up the dogs. One of the falcons was unhooded and evidently saw the bustard on the ground, but when loosed failed to find them, although it flew backwards and forwards low over the ground. It was then brought back to the lure. Two bustard rose together a couple of hundred yards ahead of us as we moved forward. Another falcon was loosed, overhauled one of them, drove it to the ground, and killed it. We remained where we were while its owner went over and collected it. The remaining bustard lay very close, but one by one we tracked them down and flushed them. The salukis were untied as we flushed the last bustard. Each time it landed, the dogs arrived and it took to the air again, until at last it seemed determined to out-fly the peregrine. Round they flew in a great circle, the falcon swooping and the bustard dodging it. The bustard seemed to be flying quite slowly with unhurried beats of its great wings, yet the peregrine was evidently flying its fastest. As they passed directly over our heads the peregrine made one last swoop, missed, shot up into the air. and then swung down to us.
We rode singing into camp long after dark, tired and bitterly cold, but well content with our opening day. As we sat round the fires and went over the kills again and later as I lay awake under the blazing stars and listened to the restless moaning of the camel herds, I was glad that we were hawking in the traditional way and not from cars as they do nowadays in the Najd.
We returned to Muwaiqih a month later. Bin Kabina had arrived from Dhafara and was waiting for me, but neither bin Ghabaisha nor Amair was anxious to travel any farther. They wished instead to remain at Buraimi and continue raiding camels from the Bani Kitab. I therefore engaged two Awamir instead. Mahalhal, a young man with an indolent manner, had a pleasant, open face, lightly marked by smallpox. Al Jabari was older. He was lean and tall, and his hair, reaching well below his shoulders, and his beard gave him a rather Biblical appearance. Sometime or other he had lost a fro
nt tooth.
We tried to keep our objective secret, but everybody was busy prying and speculating about where I was going and what was the purpose of my journey. Plenty of people intrigued to thwart me; some because they hated me as a Christian, others because I refused to take them with me, and not a few because they were blood-enemies of my companions. Rashid, son of the Sheikh of Dibai, hating all the Al bu Falah and bitterly jealous of Zayid’s repute among the tribes, saw an opportunity of humiliating his rival by hurting his guest. Suspecting that I intended to visit Oman he sent messengers to the Al bu Shams, the Dura, and even to the Imam, warning them that I intended to travel in their lands and attributing many motives to my journey, all evil. In consequence the Sheikh of the Al bu Shams, to the south of Buraimi, sent Zayid a message forbidding me to enter any of the Ghafari territory; we also heard that the Dura were determined to prevent my passage. Bakhit al Dahaimi, whom I had met in Abu Dhabi in the spring, claimed the right to be of our party, but I had always disliked him and refused. He vowed angrily that none of his tribe should go with me, and when my companions ignored his noisy threats he became vindictive and promised to settle with us in the Sands. We pretended indifference and told everyone that we were returning to the Hadhramaut across the central Sands. Several people said to me, however, ‘In that case why have you not bought sand camels? All the camels you have bought are mountain camels. Clearly you are going to Oman.’ Zayid secretly sent off one of his retainers, a Mahra called Hamaid, to find Salim bin Habarat, a sheikh of the powerful Junuba tribe, and to persuade him to meet us in the Sands on the edge of the Dura country at Qasaiwara well. He said: ‘Salim should be able to take you through the Dura and get you to Izz, for both the Junuba and the Dura are Ghafaris. I will give you a letter to Yasir who lives at Izz. He is the most important of the Junuba; he stayed with me here last year. I did him well then, and I think he will probably help you. You may be able to get into Oman, but God knows how you will get out again.’
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