The St. Mary banner. (Franklin, Parish of St. Mary, La.) 1889-1931, 1914-10-10

on the edge of the great Ara.
bian desert, southwest from
Bagdad.. Like Mecca, too. these famous
towns are seldom seen by men from
the Christian world outside. To these
isolated holy places thousands OF pious
pilgrims of the Shia sect journey each
year, flocking through Bagdad from
Russia, Persia and India. BY donkey,
camel and Tigris river boats they
come, a motley Mohammedan horde,
bringing with them the sailed and
dried bodies of hundreds Of their dead,
for burial within the shadow of the
walls of the sacred cities. Many die
themselves on the long journey, or,
robbed of their all, are left behind to
beg dates and bread in the crowded
streets Of these fanatical towns.
Crooks prey on the pilgrims who flock
to these shrines of Islam, too, just as
crafty city thugs in our own land lie
In wait for the countryman who comes
to see the sights, writes Frederick
Simpich in Los Angeles Times.
Joins the "Haj."
Lured by tales Of mystic Shia rites,
of strange sights and adventures, l
was led to join the hal" or pilgrim
caravan. and go myself to Kerbela.
From Bagdad to Kerbela richer pill
grims travel by "arabana;" relays CT
mules drag these numbering vehicles
through in IA hours, whereas the SLOW
moving mule and camel caravans take
three days to do the march. For
taste of stage-coaching in Arabia, de-
cided to go by arabana for the first lap
of my journey. Two o'clock one clear
starlit morning found me walking
across the rambling bridge Of boats
which spans the Tigris at Bagdad.
ready for the early start from the west
bank. Soon the crude. noisy arabana
was In motion, the Arab driver cursing
the religion of his four mules, and
plying his long whip Of rhinoceros
hide as we whirled through the still.
empty streets. Through the outlying
cemetery we rolled past the queer
conical tomb Of Zobeidah. past the
white tents Of sleeping Turkish troops.
through a gap In the ruined wall, and
out on the limitless desert. The mules
galloped evenly on, the arabana wheels
hummed, and we seemed to float in
sea of haze that lay over the desert.
bathed in starlight. Thus till dawn,
when we reached the first relay post,
q mud-walled stronghold called Khan
Mamoudieh."
At the khan we got fresh mules, had
early breakfast of tea, dates and Arab
bread, and were soon under way. driv-
ing southwest to strike the Euphrates
at Mussayeb. All along the desert
route we passed groups Of pilgrims.
the bells OF their lead mules tinkling
musically-their long-legged camels
cropping through the halflight of
early day. Women rode in "mahafl,"
boxes slung one on each side Of
mule. Camel litters carried pilgrims
Of the better class, and hundreds
walked, driving a tiny donkey loaded
with their bedding and personal ef-
fects.
Near noon the fringe Of date palms
the brink of the Euphrates
lifted from the desert horizon, and in
an hour we rode into Mussayeb. This
busy Arab town makes its living from |
passing pilgrims. While grunting |
''hammels" (porters) bore my baggage
over the rough bridge Of boats, |
walked through the narrow. dirty |
streets Of the village. Lusty-lunged |
boys sold Arab sweetmeats. yelled |
women in sombe7 black trudged past
with urns Of water from the river.
1eftly balancing the stone vessels on
.heir heads. Donkeys struggled |