[p.150] jogged on we were passed by the cavalcade of no less a personage than the Sharif of Meccah. Abd al-Muttalib bin Ghalib is a dark, beardless old man with African features derived from his mother. He was plainly dressed in white garments and a white muslin turband,[FN#28] which made him look jet black; he rode an ambling mule, and the only emblem of his dignity was the large green satin umbrella born[e] by an attendant on foot.[FN#29] Scattered around him were about forty matchlock men, mostly slaves. At long intervals, after their father, came his four sons, Riza Bey, Abdullah, Ali, and Ahmad, the latter still a child. The three elder brothers rode splendid dromedaries at speed; they were young men of light complexion, with the true Meccan cast of features, showily dressed in bright coloured silks, and armed, to denote their rank, with sword and gold-hilted dagger.[FN#30] [p.151]We halted as evening approached, and strained our eyes, but all in vain, to catch sight of Meccah, which lies in a winding valley. By Shaykh Abdullah’s direction I recited, after the usual devotions, the following prayer. The reader is for[e]warned that it is difficult to preserve the flowers of Oriental rhetoric in a European tongue. [p.152]O Allah! verily this is Thy Safeguard (Amn) and Thy (Harim)! Into it whoso entereth becometh safe (Amin). So deny (Harrim) my Flesh and Blood, my Bones and Skin, to Hell-fire. O Allah! save me from Thy Wrath on the Day when Thy Servants shall be raised from the Dead. I conjure Thee by this that Thou art Allah, besides whom is none (Thou only), the Merciful, the Compassionate. And have Mercy upon our Lord Mohammed, and upon the Progeny of our Lord Mohammed, and upon his Followers, One and All!” This was concluded with the “Talbiyat,” and with an especial prayer for myself. We again mounted, and night completed our disappointment. About one A.M. I was aroused by general excitement. “Meccah! Meccah!” cried some voices; “The Sanctuary! O the Sanctuary!” exclaimed others; and all burst into loud “Labbayk,” not unfrequently broken by sobs. I looked out from my litter, and saw by the light of the Southern stars the dim outlines of a large city, a shade darker than the surrounding plain. We were passing over the last ridge by a cutting called the Saniyat Kuda’a, the winding-place of the cut.[FN#31] The “winding path” is flanked on both sides by watch-towers, which command the Darb al-Ma’ala or road leading from the North into Meccah. Thence we passed into the Ma’abidah (Northern suburb), where the Sharif’s Palace is built.[FN#32] After this, on the left hand, came