As soon as the enemy had fairly departed, I took Hassenein with me, and advanced carefully towards the copse of palm trees, where I found the mangled body of poor Suleiman quite dead, but with the agony of the death-pang still visible on his sunburnt and swarthy features.  It was a terrible sight, thus to behold the leader and confidential companion of our wild route, lying as the clods of the valley, and saturated with his own life-blood.  And how, in a Christian’s heart, was the sense of the sad reality heightened, by knowing that the poor sufferer was a follower of the false prophet—­a Mahommedan—­ignorant of Him who was “delivered for our offences, and raised again for our justification.”  I have seen death in many forms; but I never beheld it with so dread an aspect as it here assumed.

I was more than half inclined to withhold the minute particulars of the dark tragedy, when arriving at this part of my narrative; but they now fasten themselves upon my mind, and I feel constrained to leave them on record.

Suleiman had received three balls through his body, and four sabre-gashes on his head, which was also nearly severed from the trunk; and his right arm, which had been evidently raised in an attempt at warding off a blow, was all but divided near the wrist.  We returned to the encampment, where our Arabs were sitting together, still terrified.  At length a few of them who volunteered their aid, went and washed the body—­wrapped it in an unfolded turban, and prepared it for immediate interment.  They hastily formed a resting-place, about a mile upwards, towards the hills which skirted the plain in which we were encamped, by raising four walls of large loose stones.  Having made all ready, they brought up the remains of their leader, laid across the back of his camel, and, with deep emotion, deposited them in their final abode, arching it over with large masses of stone, and quitting it with what appeared to me like deep expressions of vengeance against the tribe, on which lay the guilt of his murder.

I turned away from the tomb with a heavy heart....  Was my way to the Holy City of my God to be tracked with blood?

On making a careful inquiry into the particulars immediately connected with this sad catastrophe, I collected the following:—­It appeared, that while we were resting on the previous day at Wadey el Ayun, the Mezzeni came down in order to make a final effort at supporting, without bloodshed, their claim to conduct travellers through their territory to Akabah.  Sheikh Furriqh was of the number, as I have already stated.  When he was about to retire, after an unsuccessful attempt, an Arab of his tribe came and secretly informed him that his (Furriqh’s) nephew had been shot on the previous day by one of Suleiman’s tribe, in reference to the very question then pending.  On receiving this information, Furriqh at once broke off all negotiation, and quitted the encampment.  It is believed that Suleiman never knew the fact which