Once when the cars were badly
bogged I went to a near-by Arab village to get help. I told the head man
that I wanted bundles of brush to throw in front of the cars in order to
make some sort of a foundation to pass them over. He at once started
turning out his people to aid us, but after he had got a number of loads
under way he caught sight of one of his wives, who, instead of coming to
our assistance, was washing some clothes in a copper caldron by the fire.
There followed a scene which demonstrated that even an Arab is by no means
always lord of his own household. The wife refused to budge; the Arab
railed and stormed, but she went calmly on with her washing, paying no
more attention to his fury than if he were a fractious, unreasonable
child. At length, driven to a white heat of rage, the head man upset the
caldron into the fire with his foot. The woman, without a word, got up and
stalked into a near-by hut, from which she refused to emerge. There was
nothing for her discomfited adversary to do but go on with his rounds.
By manoeuvring and digging and towing we managed to make seven miles after
fourteen hours' work that first day. Night found us close beside an Arab
village, from which I got a great bowl of buffalo milk to put into the
men's coffee. Early in the morning we were off again. The going was so
much better that we were able to make Baghdad at ten o'clock in the
evening.
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