NEAR JERICHO.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LII, Issue 221, 23 October 1909, Page 3

NEAR JERICHO.

A THRII-MNli 1(11)15 DESCRIBED BY ROBERT UICHEXS. In April of this year I was travelling in Svria and the Holy Land, and drov', one (lav from Jericho to the Dead Sea. 'tin the'desolate shore, by a wattled lint, we found a wild-looking Arab, who entered into conversation with my coachman, also an Arab reckless of countenance, bold ill bearing. 1 noticed file former waving his hand (towards the Wilderness of Judea, \ through which we were soon to pass on our way to the Jordan, anil the latter turning' and straining his eyes as if in anxious search for something far oIT in (he great solitude, arid, waterless, and ■ apparentlv empty'both of human and animal life. I noticed this, but I paid little attention to it, mi often had I seen Arabs gesticulating and heard llieir voices loudly raised in the discussion of trifles. '" - '

IW'iitly the Syrian friend who was with me, and 1, got into the carriage, nml told the coachman to drive on across Ihe waste, .lust before we started moving the Arab of the hut pointed, ns if in warning, towards our way, and cried out some words to which 'our coachman replied with many violent gestures. Then the three spirited horses answered to a shake of Ihe whip—we were oft*. ■ Solitude took us. reminding me of the desert. Very far we could see across the fiat on which no moving thing appeared. We went on and on. Under ti'e s|ell of the strange and almost terrible scenery. I gazed about me, not exchanging a word with my companion, until at last I perceived a black speck. It drew my eyes. It grew larger. 1 saw it moving. Presently I could see what it was--a

solitary camel wandering towards the Dead Sea. "There's a camel," I said to my frien.l.

As I spoke the coachman looked sharply round at me, then turned on tile box, stared, and suddenly brought the thong of his whip down with cruel force on tile horses. They broke into a plungim; gallop. iThc carriage rocked. My friend looked at the camel, now plainly visible. It had changed its direction abruptly, and was coming after us.

"What on earth is the matter?" 1 asked as the coachman again lashed lis horses.

My friend spoke to the man in Arabic. There was a rapid exchange of words. Then my friend, with a changed face, looked out over the wilderness. "What is it?" I exclaimed.

"Well," ho replied with some hesitation, "that camel over there is mad; we. must get on." "Mad!" "Yes. The Arab at the Dead Sea warned Abdul about it. Tt broke "away from a caravan three days ago. They sent five horsemen from Jericho to try and- get hold of it, but it was too dan gerous. They had to Ixilt." I gazed. The camel was nearer. "It's following us up," said the Syrian. "Let's hope it is tired out and won't come up with us." "If it does?" I said. lie looked very grave. "Have you got a revolver?" he ask :il. T shook inv head. "Nor I. We omjht to be armed:* Abdul lashed the horses once more. "f don't (liink it's gaining much. If we gel to the. Jordan we shall be ail right. There are trees. It will lose us. Kven if it doesn't we can easily get away from it there." He shouted to Abdul. That was a strange sort of race, i might work it up into a thrilling ep;•""'l''. » lif I death contest, but I hate "traveller!.' tales." The fact is this - gradually we drew away from tile grotes(|iie maniac who was* trying to ove--luuil us. Evidently the beast was weary and our horses 'were splendid .ones - about (he best to be found in Jerusalem. As we saw the fur oil' green cloud v. trees that marked the pilgrims' bathingplace in the Jordan, the camel began to Jnok smaller; we were leaving him behind. Bushes appeared, the land slight-' ly descended. The immense wilderness was partially hbhlen. Not many minutes after we were among the trees. Abdul heaved a sigh and loosened his reins. The limbs of my friend relaxed, and I fell a strong sensation of relief. That evening as,we sat under an oleander tree in the garden of Jericho he. told me some stories of tile ferocity, of the'dreadful persistence of camels when they are mad. Once, he said, his uncle was out riling on a swift Arab horse when he encountered one of those brutes unmuzzled. It tried (o attack him. He put spurs to his horse. It followed. For ove» throe hours it pursued him, till his horse was nearly finished, and he knew escanc was impossible. Fortunately he had a gun slung over his shoulder. He wheeled round, faced the camel when it was nearly up to him, fired, and disabled it.

"And supposing the camel in the wilderness of Judea had come up with us?" I said. "Xow, what could we Inue done t"

He laughed. "I confess I was afraid." lie answered, "and I have seldom felt fear. Well I should have pulled the hood of thi- v'li-l-oria. up and done the best f could with my stick." r echoed his laugh. A vision rose before my mind's eye of a combat, horrible and comic as a scene in a nightmare—the wilderness of Judea, two men in a victoria with tile hood and apron up, and a camel in a condition of activa mania, attempting to deal with them, shall I say, resolutely. As for Abdul, my imagination beheld him on the horizon going for all he was worth to that place whither so many are sent mentally—in moments of acute exasperation, But, though I laughed under the oleander tree, f was really not sorry that the combat had never come off. Anil 1 felt an almost yearning affection for Jericho.—Pearson's Weekly. *