DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.4996#0114
94 SUDDEN DEPARTURE 10 PETRA.
and encamped for the night, about three hours distance from
the convent. The morning came, and while the camels -were
loading, I proceeded on foot a little way in advance; it was near
the fork of the roads leading to Akaba and Cairo, and it now
became necessary to decide finally, whether or not to' renounce
Petra, the chief object of my pilgrimage. I had already, in fact,
reasoned the matter for many an anxious hour at the convent, and
felt perfectly satisfied that it would be most highly imprudent in my
state of health, and with Ibrahim also sick, to attempt it; yet now,
at the last moment, I could not give it up ;—I should most probably
never have another opportunity ;—and at last, like so many others
who are very wise and very prudent, till their hidden penchant sud-
denly blazes forth, followed the strongest motive at the decisive
instant, and like them too, no sooner had I resolved on having my
wish coute qui couic, than I began to find reasons in abundance
springing up to encourage me, while difficulties vanished like the
morning mist. I hastened back and astonished Komeh, by an-
nouncing my sudden resolution to proceed with him alone ; and not
waiting to anrae the matter, told Ibrahim he must return with
one of the camels, a bag of provisions, a water-skin, and the spare
tent; scrawled a hasty note to my friends the Lieders, gave him
some dollars ; and in ten minutes he was on his way to Cairo. It
was well we did not attempt to take him on—already very unwell,
at Suez he broke down utterly, and after remaining there some time,
presented himself on my return to Cairo, wasted to a skeleton, and
hardly to be recognised. I was now thrown entirely on Komeh ; and
his fidelity and courage, with his invincible good-humour, and
tact in managing the Arabs, highly valued as they had hitherto
been, proved, during the remainder of the journey, beyond all price.
In leaving Mount Sinai for Akaba, the solitude of the Desert
seems to deepen, and the prospect of possibly breaking down among
its remote defiles becomes more dreary and hopeless. One has no
longer the hospitable convent in perspective, but a country increasing
in wildness, and more and more insecure and remote from all chance
of assistance. It is, in addition, the most uninteresting part of the
and encamped for the night, about three hours distance from
the convent. The morning came, and while the camels -were
loading, I proceeded on foot a little way in advance; it was near
the fork of the roads leading to Akaba and Cairo, and it now
became necessary to decide finally, whether or not to' renounce
Petra, the chief object of my pilgrimage. I had already, in fact,
reasoned the matter for many an anxious hour at the convent, and
felt perfectly satisfied that it would be most highly imprudent in my
state of health, and with Ibrahim also sick, to attempt it; yet now,
at the last moment, I could not give it up ;—I should most probably
never have another opportunity ;—and at last, like so many others
who are very wise and very prudent, till their hidden penchant sud-
denly blazes forth, followed the strongest motive at the decisive
instant, and like them too, no sooner had I resolved on having my
wish coute qui couic, than I began to find reasons in abundance
springing up to encourage me, while difficulties vanished like the
morning mist. I hastened back and astonished Komeh, by an-
nouncing my sudden resolution to proceed with him alone ; and not
waiting to anrae the matter, told Ibrahim he must return with
one of the camels, a bag of provisions, a water-skin, and the spare
tent; scrawled a hasty note to my friends the Lieders, gave him
some dollars ; and in ten minutes he was on his way to Cairo. It
was well we did not attempt to take him on—already very unwell,
at Suez he broke down utterly, and after remaining there some time,
presented himself on my return to Cairo, wasted to a skeleton, and
hardly to be recognised. I was now thrown entirely on Komeh ; and
his fidelity and courage, with his invincible good-humour, and
tact in managing the Arabs, highly valued as they had hitherto
been, proved, during the remainder of the journey, beyond all price.
In leaving Mount Sinai for Akaba, the solitude of the Desert
seems to deepen, and the prospect of possibly breaking down among
its remote defiles becomes more dreary and hopeless. One has no
longer the hospitable convent in perspective, but a country increasing
in wildness, and more and more insecure and remote from all chance
of assistance. It is, in addition, the most uninteresting part of the