After the pass of the Two Rugged Hills, the road widened, and old Ali, who, during the bumping, had been in a silent convulsion of terror, recovered speech and spirits. This change he evidenced by beginning to be troublesome once more. Again I resolved to be his equal. Exclaiming, “My eyes are yellow with hunger!” I seized a pot full of savoury meat which the old man had previously stored for supper, and, without further preamble, began to eat it greedily, at the same time ready to shout with laughter at the mumbling and grumbling sounds that proceeded from the darkness of the litter. We were at least three hours on the road before reaching [p.201] Muzdalifah, and being fatigued, we resolved to pass the night there.[FN#8] The Mosque was brilliantly illuminated, but my hungry companions[FN#9] apparently thought more of supper and of sleep than of devotion.[FN#10] Whilst the tent was being raised, the Indians prepared our food, boiled our coffee, filled our pipes, and spread our rugs. Before sleeping each man collected for himself seven “Jamrah”—bits of granite the size of a small bean.[FN#11] Then, weary with emotion and exertion, all lay down except the boy Mohammed, who preceded us to find encamping ground at Muna. Old Ali, in lending his mule, made the most stringent arrangements with the youth about the exact place and the exact hour of meeting—an act of simplicity at which I could not but smile. The night was by no means peaceful or silent. Lines of camels passed us every ten minutes, and the shouting of travellers continued till near dawn. Pilgrims ought to have nighted at the Mosque, but, as in Burckhardt’s time, so in mine, baggage was considered to be in danger thereabouts, and consequently most of the devotees spent the sermon-hours in brooding over their boxes.