Whipping
them in
7. XI. 17
I rode back down the ranks and told them to press forward faster.
The Indians, riding wooden, like horsemen, did their best, as did
most of our number; but the ground was so bad that the greatest
efforts were not very fruitful, and as hours went on first one and then
nother rider dropped behind. Thereupon I chose the rear position,
with Ali ibn el Hussein who was riding a rare old racing camel. She
may have been fourteen years old, but never flagged nor jogged the
whole night. With her head low she shuffled along in the quick,
hang-kneed Nejd pace which was so easy for the rider. Our speed and
camel-sticks made life miserable for the last men and camels.
Soon after nine o’clock we left the plough. The going should have improved : but it began to drizzle, and the rich surface of the land grew slippery. A Sirhani camel fell. Its rider had it up in a moment and trotted forward. One of the Beni Sakhr came down. He also was unhurt, and remounted hastily. Then we found one of Ali’s servants standing by his halted camel. Ali hissed him on, and when the fellow mumbled an excuse cut him savagely across the head with his cane. The terrified camel plunged forward, and the slave, snatching at the hinder girth, was able to swing himself into the saddle, Ali pursued him with a rain of blows. Mustafa, my man, an inexperienced rider, fell off twice. Awad, his rank-man, each time caught his halter, and had helped him up before we overtook them.
The rain stopped, and we went faster. Down-hill, now. Suddenly Miffeh, rising in his saddle, slashed at the air overhead. A sharp metallic contact from the night showed we were under the telegraph line to Mezerib. Then the grey horizon before us went more distant. We seemed to be riding on the camber of an arc of land, with a growing darkness at each side and in front. There came to our ears afaint sighing, like wind among trees very far away, but continuous and slowly increasing. This must be from the great waterfall below Tell el Shehab, and we pressed forward confidently.
A few minutes later Mifleh pulled up his camel and beat her neck very gently till she sank silently on her knees. He threw himself off, while we reined up beside him on this grassy platform by a tumbled cairn. Before us from a lip of blackness rose very loudly the rushing of the river which had been long dinning our ears. It was the edge of the Yarmuk gorge, and the bridge lay just under us to the right.
