recruit his health on the Nilgiri Hills. As a matter of fact the two years were cut down to six months, during which he found time to visit Goa and form his first acquaintance with the language of Camoens. Soon afterwards his health broke down. His work in the sandy deserts of Sind had brought on ophthalmia, combined with other ailments, against which a bitter sense of disappointed ambition prevented him from struggling. Nursed by a faithful Sindian servant he sailed for England, again round the Cape, in May 1849, bringing with him a large collection of oriental manuscripts and curios, and the materials for no less than four books about India.
Burton’s first publications were three papers in the ‘Journal’ of the Bombay branch of the Asiatic Society: ‘A Grammar of the Jataki or Belochki Dialect,’ ‘A Grammar of the Multani Language,’ and ‘Critical Remarks on Dr. Dorn’s Chrestomathy of Pushtu, or the Afghan Dialect’ (all 1849). Though falling short of the modern standard, these are remarkable productions for a young man without any philological training. On his return to England he brought out in one year (1851) ‘Sind, or the Unhappy Valley’ (2 vols.); ‘Sind, and the Races that inhabit the Valley of the Indus,’ which are still valued as books of reference; and ‘Goa and the Blue Mountains,’ a marvellous record of a six months’ trip. He also published ‘Falconry in the Valley of the Indus’ (1852) and ‘A Complete System of Bayonet Exercise’ (1853), which failed to win the approval of the military authorities. His leave was spent in the company of his relatives, to whom he was devotedly attached, partly in England and partly on the continent. At Malvern he was one of the earliest to try the hydropathic system of treatment. At Boulogne he gained the brevet de pointe in the fencing school, which gave him the qualification of maître d’armes, as he afterwards styled himself on the title-page of the ‘Book of the Sword.’ At Boulogne, also, he first saw his future wife, then a girl of nineteen.
During nearly four years at home Burton did not allow his orientalism to rust, and continued to cherish his dream of a pilgrimage to Meccah. At one time he formed the larger project of traversing the peninsula of Arabia from sea to sea, and obtained the support of the Royal Geographical Society for this enterprise. But the directors of the East India Company refused the three years’ leave required. All they would grant was an additional furlough of twelve months, ‘that he might pursue his Arabic studies in lands where the language is best learned.’ From the moment of leaving London (in April 1853) Burton adopted a disguise: first as a Persian Mirza, then as a Dervish, and finally as a Pathan, or Indian-born Afghan, educated at Rangoon as a hakim or doctor. The name that he took was Al-Haj ( = the pilgrim) Abdullah, as he used ever afterwards to sign himself in Arabic characters. From Southampton he went to Egypt, this being his first visit to that country which he afterwards knew so well. The actual pilgrimage began with a journey on camel-back from Cairo to Suez. Then followed twelve days in a pilgrim ship on the Red Sea from Suez to Yambu, the port of El-Medinah. So far the only risk was from detection by his companions. Now came the dangers of the inland road, infested by Bedawin robbers. The journey from Yambu to El-Medinah, thence to Meccah, and finally to the sea again at Jeddah, occupied altogether from 17 July to 23 Sept., including some days spent in rest, and many more in devotional exercises. From Jeddah Burton returned to Egypt in a British steamer, intending to start afresh for the interior of Arabia via Muwaylah. But this second project was frustrated by ill-health, which kept him in Egypt until his period of furlough was exhausted. The manuscript of his ‘Personal Narrative of a Pilgrimage to El-Medinah and Meccah’ (1855, 3 vols.) was sent home from India, and seen through the press by a friend in England. It is deservedly the most popular of Burton’s books, having passed through four editions. As a story of bold adventure, and as lifting a veil from the unknown, its interest will never fade. But it cannot be called easy reading. The author, as his manner was, has crowded into it too much, and presumes on the ignorance of his readers. It has been doubted whether Burton’s disguise was never penetrated during the pilgrimage, even by his two servants. He himself always denied the widespread story that he had to kill a man who detected him performing an operation of nature in a non-oriental fashion.
Burton now returned to India for a brief period of regimental duty. The middle of 1854, however, found him back again in the Red Sea, with leave from the Bombay government to explore Somaliland. His ambition was to penetrate through the mountains to the upper waters of the Nile. On this occasion he had four comrades, John Hanning Speke [q. v.] and Herne of the Indian army, and Strovan of the Indian navy. Before starting with them. Burton set out alone on a pioneer trip to Harar, the inland capital
