The streets of Jeddah are narrow and tortuous, and the
way from the gate to the house of Omar Nassif, his agent, where he was
accustomed to alight, was thronged with pious folk, who struggled for
the privilege of kissing his feet and the hem of his Arab cloak. He had
nearly reached the place when an old beggar from the crowd pushed his
way forward asking loudly for alms in the name of God. It was an appeal
not to be denied, and as the Sherif turned to those near him to order a
contribution from the bag kept for such distributions, the old man rose
upon him, and drawing a ragged knife (so it was described to me) struck
him in the belly. At first, even those who saw the deed hardly knew what
had happened, for El Husseyn did not fall or dismount, and without
speaking rode on to the house. There he was lifted from his mare and
carried to an upper chamber, and in the course of some hours he expired.
Those nearest him, meanwhile, had seized and cudgelled the old man, and
some of the escort had taken him to the guard-house. When it became
known what had happened, a great cry arose in Jeddah, and old and young,
and women and children, and citizens and strangers wept together. I have
heard the scene described as one beyond description moving, and the
women shrieked and wailed the whole night long.
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