To the left of the road North of the Fiumara, and leading to the mountains, stands Hamzah’s Mosque, which, like the Harim of Al-Madinah, is a Mausoleum as well as a fane.  It is a small strongly built square of hewn stone, with a dome covering the solitary hypostyle to the South, and the usual minaret.  The Westward wing is a Zawiyah or oratory,[FN#18] frequented by the celebrated Sufi and Saint, Mohammed al-Samman, the “Clarified Butter-Seller,” one of whose blood, the reader will remember, stood by my side in the person of Shaykh Hamid.  On the Eastern side of the building a half wing projects; and a small door opens to the South, upon a Mastabah or stone bench five or six feet high:  this completes the square of the edifice.  On the right of the road opposite Hamzah’s Mosque, is a large erection, now in ruins, containing a deep hole leading to a well, with huge platforms for the accommodation of travellers.  Beyond, towards the mountains, are the small edifices presently to be described.

Some Turkish women were sitting veiled upon the shady platform opposite the Martyrs’ Mosque.  At a little distance their husbands, and the servants holding horses and asses, lay upon the ground, and a large crowd of Badawin, boys, girls, and old women, had gathered around to beg, draw water, and sell dry dates.  They

[p.427]were awaiting the guardian, who had not yet acknowledged the summons.  After half an hour’s vain patience, we determined to proceed with the ceremonies.  Ascending by its steps the Mastabah subtending half the Eastern wall, Shaykh Hamid placed me so as to front the tomb.  There standing in the burning sun, we repeated the following prayer:  “Peace be upon Thee, O our Lord Hamzah!  O Paternal Uncle of Allah’s Apostle!  O Paternal Uncle of Allah’s Prophet!  Peace be upon Thee, O Paternal Uncle of Mustafa!  Peace be upon Thee, O Prince of the Martyrs!  O Prince of the Happy!  Peace be upon Thee, O Lion of Allah!  O Lion of His Prophet!” After which, we asked Hamzah and his companions to lend us their aid in obtaining for us and ours pardon, worldly prosperity and future happiness.  Scarcely had we finished, when, mounted on a high-trotting dromedary, appeared the emissary of Mohammed Kalifah, descendant of Al-Abbas, who keeps the key of the Mosque, and who receives the fees and donations of the devout.  It was to be opened for the Turkish pilgrims.  I waited to see the interior.  The Arab drew forth from his pouch, with abundant solemnity, a bunch of curiously made keys, and sharply directed me to stand away from and out of sight of the door.  When I obeyed, grumblingly, he began to rattle the locks, and to snap the padlocks, opening them slowly, shaking them, and making as much noise as possible.  The reason of the precaution-it sounded like poetry if not sense-is this.  It is believed that the souls of martyrs, leaving the habitations of their senseless clay, [FN#19] are fond of sitting together in spiritual