He is not a man, yet he is not an animal

February 11th, 1917

Diary of Captain T.E. Lawrence

I got into a major row with my subordinate. The men are fearful of Stanley the Saysquack; we cannot have a loose ape-man running amok through camp, so I ordered Browntrout to keep him on collar and leash at all times. Browntrout replied that Stanley is not a slave or a beast and would not submit to such ill-usage. I replied that Stanley was wild and unpredictable; he was seen lunging at my servant Daud. Browntrout stated that Daud had first taken a fire-heated stick and poked Stanley in the rump with it. He further pointed out that I beat my servants (only on one occasion) and he never needs to hit Stanley to get him to comply because Stanley is not only his batman, but a family member. I scoffed at the opulence and profligacy of their camp — full-length mirror, books, tea service, tins of meat — and not a single book on Arabian culture, not the Koran, Rumi, not a simple Arabic dictionary, not even One Thousand and One Nights in Arabia! Nothing!

I accused him of being a poor guest in this land, of acting English, of failing to adapt. He said I pretended to be an Arab, but looked perfectly English. I said that I was finished arguing and I was issuing a direct order. Leash and collar Stanley now. Browntrout stood with his hands in the pockets of his khaki drill, his face stoic, and said nothing. I drew myself up to my full 5’3” height and reached up to place the collar on Stanley myself, but I could not reach his neck, even on tiptoes. Stanley just stared down at me with disdain and said “ENG-LISH,” and then, “UMPH” disgustedly. “Put it on!” I told the brute. He did nothing. I hit him on the knee with it. “Put it on, NOW.” He did not budge. I turned to Browntrout and told him I could have him shot for disobeying my order. He replied that I could, but I wouldn’t. With that, I slapped him across the face. After this, he said, “You say Stanley is a brute, but you are the only savage here…sir.” I came within an inch of him and icily stared as close to his face as I could with my piercing blue eyes, but Browntrout was a head taller than me, so I was a bit overmatched in this contest. Finally, I turned, decided to say nothing more and walked away. Stanley remained unleashed. I let it be known to all the camp that Browntrout would be personally held liable for any of Stanley’s actions.

February 14th, 1917

Diary of Lieutenant Horace S. Browntrout

Even before the row with Lawrence we were mostly set apart, I have become persona non grata in camp. No one speaks to us or tells us what is happening or where or where camp is breaking up or moving. None except, Lawrence’s servants Farraj and Daud, the other outcasts. Twice Stanley and I have awoken to find ourselves completely alone in the desert, only to discover that the caravan was miles ahead of us. I do not know what we have done to give such offence except that Stanley is feared by many and Lawrence fans the flames of their hatred with his own. Farraj said that the Howeitat think him a kind of “djinn,” an evil spirit. I have ascertained from Farraj that our purpose here is to blow up Turkish railroads and bridges and generally sow discord and create a ruckus.

I told Stanley that we should try to fit in a bit and, following Lawrence’s lead, dress as the Arabs do. We asked around, but no one had any spare clothing for us, so I tried to make our own out of a spare set of monogrammed, silk sheets I brought with as part of my “rough it” kit. I tied small lengths of rope around our heads to hold the garments in place, and then we sallied forth and sauntered into the main camp. Farraj and Daud assured us that we looked like perfect desert nomads! The camp reacted with a mixture of terror and laughter. Some men fired shots in the air or threw stones to scare us off. Others doubled over laughter — the latter was the reaction of our superior officer, whom we had yet to see smile. We quickly beat a retreat back to our camp amid the shouts and curses of the group. Farraj and Daud laughed harder than anyone.

Excerpt from Many Tales of Auda by Auda Abu Tayi

Browntrout rode on the back of the Beastman when they came to us. They both looked a strange sight to us. Browntrout was dressed in the clothing of a British officer, like Aurens, including a repulsive hat. The Beastman wore the upper-half of the British-style clothes, and nothing at all below the belt. They trailed three asses behind them with their many things.

The British spoke not our language and the Beastman spoke no language at all, yet he could read and write in the way of a simpleton, for Auda saw him do these things. Around the council fire, Auda told tales of the many men he had killed and the camels he plundered, of gold, riches and the fame of victorious deeds. Auda asked the Beastman how many men he had killed. He said only, “umph,” and kicked the dirt. The British explained that the Beastman had not ever put a man to the knife, nor rent him with tooth, nor crushed him with his massive paws.

“Why not?” asked one of Auda’s men, Sayid. The Beastman looked stronger than ten of our hardest. Does the Beastman have the heart of a gazelle? The British said the Beastman had been in fighting, risked his life many times, and taken on the enemy as one against many. He lifted his gangly arms to show the scars. Auda’s man spat in the fire, for he still did not believe it. “You cannot fight,” he said. “You have the soul of a hare.” The Beastman did not answer the challenge, so my man kicked sand in his face. He still did not answer, so my man got up and went over to kick him. Now the British — Browntrout — intervened with woman’s words. My man shoved him aside and kicked the Beastman. The Beastman stared at him with dead, hateful brown eyes, but he still did nothing except mutter a low, “umph.”

Finally, my man drew his scimitar. The British tried to intervene but others held him down. Aurens was there too, but he watched the whole thing without saying anything.

The Beastman got to his feet. He and Auda’s man started circling each other around the fire. Someone beat a dumbek and a poet started composing and singing a song as the event unfolded. Sayid swiped with his scimitar at the Beastman, who had no weapon, but the furry creature parried the strike. Everyone began to clap their hands in time with the dumbek.

A furry one came

A furry one came

Sayid did not like this

He wanted to attract women

With deeds of bravery

The Beastman stooped as Sayid chopped at the air wildly over his head in frustration.

Sayid tried to subdue the Furry One

But he was too fast

He was too fast

Sayid did not yet win honor

Without warning, The Beastman reached down, picked up a handful of sand and threw it in Sayid’s face, causing him to drop the sword. The Beastman picked it up. At this point, he could have killed Sayid and no one could have stopped him, because Sayid made the challenge. Instead, the Beastman threw the scimitar in the fire, where no one could reach it. The poet continued singing.

Clever is the Beastman

He blinds his enemy

He takes away the teeth of the viper

And now the snake cannot bite

When Sayid regained his senses, rage filled him. He pulled a dagger from under his thawb and lunged at the Beastman. He grabbed Sayid’s wrist with one of his mighty paws and twisted it until he groaned in pain and dropped the dagger. He growled and with his other paw, he lifted Sayid off the ground by the neck, holding him aloft easily with one arm. Sayid showed no fear, but spat in the creature’s face. Aurens stood up and said, “Enough! Let him down.” The Beastman hesitated, but when the other British echoed the order, he released Sayid, who fell to the dirt, rubbing his neck.

The Beastman is not a coward

But he shows mercy

Did Allah send him or did the Devil?

He is not a man.

Yet he is not an animal.

Sayid got up and walked over to the dumbek player and kicked the dumbek out of his hands, then he stomped over to the poet and kicked him too. All were laughing, all but Aurens, the Beastman and the other British. And of course Sayid. As soon as Sayid left the tent, the poet added one final verse:

Today there is no honor for Sayid

Today, the women are unimpressed

Today Sayid’s once-sharp sword

Now lies in a camel-dung fire

I, Auda of the Howeitat witnessed these things. I do not lie.

Like what you’re reading? Subscribe to my newsletter: https://dashfire.substack.com/

Care to read a hilarious account of Theodore Roosevelt hunting Bigfoot? Find it here: https://www.amazon.com/Squabble-Titans-Recollections-Roosevelt-Rainforest/dp/B097X4R4LN