Midnight saw us again on the way, and, in the course of our ride over the gravelly ground that rose ever higher the nearer we approached the mountains, we overtook a big caravan that was preceded by a couple of heralds, who bore aloft the green banner of the Faith, whereon was inscribed the Muhammadan watchword. “There is no God but God, and Muhammad is His Messenger.” Then came the cavalcade of pilgrims, the rear being brought up by a string of camels, and other beasts of burden, heavily laden with tents and water-skins, or mashks, with kitchen utensils and provisions. Like ourselves, these men were latecomers, but being overburdened they were soon left far in the rear by us, indeed they could not hope to reach Mecca before noon on the following day, whereas we were bent on sighting the Holy City ere the rising of the sun. At the last resting-house, I struck up acquaintance with a Persian pilgrim, seated on a coarse mat; he declared the Arabs to be cowards, while I defied him to justify this charge. “What!” he cried, “anything will frighten them; they are so superstitious. For instance, if a rabbit spring up at their feet and run away from them they will pursue it until it is lost to sight. But if the rabbit comes towards them, they will lose heart, turn on their heels and scuttle as fast as they can lay their legs to the ground, the timid creature in hot pursuit at their heels. However, I will admit that they hold fast together, that they are staunch and true to one another, that they will sacrifice their lives to protect their comrades against the strangers at their gates.” He then began to scratch himself vigorously, giving voice the while to an impromptu verse. Said he; “From sunset to early dawn there’s a merry-making in the kingdom of my body. The mosquitoes are the flutists, the fleas the dancers, and I’m the harpist”--that is, the scratcher, the same word being used in Persian. I left the quaint fellow playing the accompaniment to the dance of the frolicsome fleas and humming mosquitoes, and rode on my way, singing. The ground rose higher and higher. On passing Mount Shíní the road takes a north-easterly direction, and leads to the tomb of Sheykh Mahmud, a priest who is held in special veneration by the Arabs, though the dilapidated state of his grave would scarcely confirm this attitude towards him. And then, at last, on pursuing the way a little further, the minarets of the City of God rise, with the sun, before the pilgrim’s eyes. “Oh, would that I, having beheld its domes, might fall and die,” is now the true Muslim’s devoutest wish. CHAPTER III WITHIN THE HAREM--SOME REMARKS ON THE ORTHODOX SECTS OF ISLÁM