THE WATERLESS WASTE 361

after my first visit and had endured without a break until
now, when my second coming had been heralded by abundant
rains. So again there was hope for the future to console the
folk for the miseries of the past. The scattered palm-groves
of 1918 were nowhere to be seen—the palms had perished and
been cut down. Most of the score or more of wells had become
derelict for the well-cattle had died ofi from starvation, and
the impoverished cultivators had not been able to replace
them. The scattered huts and granges of the tenant-
workers had fallen into ruins. There was nothing but desola-
tion, with occasional fields of standing corn where a few wells
had been kept in commission by the richer owners. So we
came to a bulge in the valley flanked on the north by the
grim remains of Qasr Tari, and there we found wells at work
for the irrigation of ripening crops—wheat and barley.
Four men and a woman were straining at the ropes to lift
the great water-skins to the level of the creaking wooden
rollers, over which the water poured to the tank that fed the
ducts.

A slave rose from the shade of a spreading tamarisk by
one of the wells to greet us in the name of SulaiyiTs mayor.
Welcome to you, he exclaimed, and welcome again! God
give ye life and strength ! But an hour since your messengers
arrived among us, and I have come out at the bidding of the
Amir, Farhan, to be at your service. His name was Majid,
a man of cheerful countenance and pleasing words, and of
fine stature withal. We dismounted to be greeted in turn with
the kiss of peace. The camels were unloaded and driven to
the well, where willing hands had soon filled the trough for
their drinking. And then there was making and drinking of
coffee and tea. The journey was over and the waterless
desert had been crossed, probably for the first time in human
history—375 miles or more between water and water. Yet
the camels drank but sparingly. They were too thirsty,