Southern Arabia | Page 9

hardly distinguishable
from the sand around, and consisting, like Eastern structures of this
nature, of nothing but one room over the gateway for his majesty, and a
vast courtyard 200 feet long, where his attendants erect their bamboo
huts and tents. Around the whole runs a wall with bastions at each
corner, very formidable to look upon. Passing this, the palm-groves,
which are exceedingly fine, are soon reached, and offer delicious shade
from the burning sun. Here amongst the trees were women working in
picturesque attire, red petticoats, orange-coloured drawers down to
their heels, and a dark blue covering over all this, which would
suddenly be pulled over the face at our approach, if they had not on
their masks, or buttras, which admit of a good stare.
The buttra is a kind of mask, more resembling a bridle than anything
else. In shape it is like two diamond-frames made of gold and coloured
braids, fastened together by two of their lower edges. This middle strip
comes down the nose and covers the mouth, and the sides come
between the ears and eyes. It affords very little concealment, but is very

becoming to most of its wearers, particularly if they happen to be
negresses. On their heads would be baskets with dates or citrons, and
now and again a particularly modest one would dart behind a palm-tree
until that dangerous animal man had gone by.
About half way to the scene of our labours we halted by the ruins of the
old Arab town, Beled-al-Kadim.
This ancient capital, dating from a period prior to the Portuguese
occupation, still presents some interesting ruins. The old mosque
(Madresseh-i-abu-Zeidan), with its two slender and elegant minarets, so
different from the horrible Wahabi constructions of to-day, forms a
conspicuous landmark for ships approaching the low-lying coasts of
these islands. Around the body of the mosque runs a fine inscription in
Kufic letters, and from the fact that the name of Ali is joined with that
of the Prophet in the profession of faith, we may argue that this mosque
was built during some Persian occupation, and was a Shiite mosque.
The architecture, too, is distinctly Persian, recalling to us in its details
the ruins of Rhey (the Rhages of Tobit) and of Sultanieh, which we saw
in the north of Persia, and has nothing Arabian about it.
Ruins of houses and buildings surround this mosque, and here in the
open space in the centre of the palm-groves the Bahreini assemble
every Thursday for a market; in fact the place is generally known now
as Suk-el-Khamis, or Thursday's Market.
On our journey out not a soul was near, but on our return we had an
opportunity of attending one of these gatherings.
Sheikh Esau has here a tiny mosque, just an open loggia, where he goes
every morning in summer-time to pray and take his coffee. Beneath it
he has a bath of fresh but not over-clean water, where he and his family
bathe. Often during the summer heats he spends the whole day here, or
else he goes to his glorious garden about a mile distant, near the coast,
where acacias, hibiscus, and almonds fight with one another for the
mastery, and form a delicious tangle.
Another mile on, closer to the sea, is the fine ruined fortress of the

Portuguese, Gibliah, as the natives call it now, just as they do one of
the fortresses at Maskat. It covers nearly two acres of ground, and is
built out of the remains of the old Persian town, for many Kufic
inscriptions are let into the wall, and the deep well in the centre is lined
with them. It is a regular bastioned fortification of the sixteenth century,
with moat, embrasures in the parapets, and casemented embrasures in
the re-entering angles of the bastions, and is one of the finest specimens
of Portuguese architecture in the Gulf, an evidence of the importance
which they attached to this island.
Amongst the rubbish in the fort we picked up numerous fragments of
fine Nankin and Celadon china, attesting to the ubiquity and commerce
of the former owners, and attesting, also, to the luxury of the men who
ruled here--a luxury as fatal almost as the Flanders wars to the
well-being of the Portuguese in the East.
Our road led us on through miles of palm-groves, watered by their little
artificial conduits, and producing the staple food of the island. Seid bin
Omar talked to us much about the date. 'Mohammed said,' he began,
'honour the date-tree, for she is your mother,' a true enough maxim in
parched Arabia, where nothing else will grow. When ripe the dates are
put into a round tank, called the madibash, where they are exposed to
the sun and air, and throw off excessive