Series 03: John Brady Nash letters, January 1914-December 1915 - Page 244
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[Page 244]
cavale a la trace de ses pieds légers sur le sable. Il chemina ainsi pendant un mois, et atteignit enfin le douar de l'Arabe voleur. Celui-ci, persuadé qu'il avait mis entre sa victime et lui un trop grand espace pour avoir désormais rein [rien] à redouter, avait attaché la noble bête a l'ombre d'un palmier qui s' élevait au milieu du douar, et lui même il faisait sa sieste après avoir accompli ses ablutions à la fontaine voisine. L'Arabe volé le surprit au milieu de son sommeil et le tua. Puis il alla a sa jument et lui dit:– Puisqu'un autre homme qui moi s'est élancé sur ta croupe, les pieds fouleront plus le sable du désert."
[Translation: The Arabs of the desert tell the story of an incomparable mare (cavale), which no horse could beat in a race. Her master would not have traded her for all the Kingdom of Maroe if that had been suggested to him. One night a thief entered the tent, cut the beautiful animal free, sprang on her back and fled with her. The Arab awoke to the sound of her galloping away. He realized that running after the kidnapper would be futile, because the noble beast was faster than the wind of the desert; but nevertheless he went on the road, following his mare by the traces of her lightweight feet on the sand. He travelled thus for a month, and finally reached the village (douar) of the Arab thief. He, persuaded that he had put too large a distance between him and his victim to have anything to fear from now on, had tied up the noble beast in the shade of a palm tree which stood in the middle of the village, and he himself was having a siesta after having completed his ablutions in the nearby fountain. He stole up on the Arab while he was sleeping and killed him. Then he went to his mare and said:– Because another man than I was seated on your back, your feet trod more heavily on the sand of the desert. "]
Just the same sort of thing that was served up in our books about the Arab & his horse. All twaddle! You should just see him here? The bit jerking in his mouth, his back being constantly struck with the whip, his jaded look, his everything that bespeaks misery, with few exceptions of course. Seen at his best, going to the Gezeirah race course, he is a small, shapely, aristocratic looking pony, fit for a lady a girl or a youth to ride. On the course he is not asked to do much, because the length over which he gallops varies from two to seven furlongs. In Sydney the shortest race is rarely less than 7 furlongs, (8 furlongs to one mile, not quite once round the course at Randwick), and then for two year old horses. "Plus rapide", than the wind of the desert. The blow must be slow if it could not outstrip any horse seen here. Only the special ones are properly cleaned or correctly harnessed. The Arab of the desert about Mena on his charger is a sorry sight, of huddled up clothing, a la a Dominican Sister, sitting like a sac on the horses