eding men are as martyrs, and would
go direct to heaven if death resulted from these self-inflicted wounds.
After the parade ends, the bloody shirts of these men are divided among
their friends and kept as holy relics. The men who compose these bands
are usually the most wicked in the community. They go through these
ceremonies for the remission of sins, and to redeem themselves in the
eyes of others; but they usually continue in their wickedness as time
goes on.

Another important feature of the last day in the procession, is a
richly decorated hearse containing a coffin, in which lies a man
representing the corpse of Hassan. Beside the coffin sits a woman, the
widow of Hassan, dressed in sackcloth, and her head covered with mud.
Following the hearse are three beautiful Arabian horses, finely saddled
and harnessed, with a flake of gold embedded with pearls on their
foreheads. On two of them are seated two girls representing the
daughters of martyrs. The top of the girls' heads are covered with mud
and straw. The third horse is riderless to remind one of the missing
martyr. Following next is a large number of women, boys and girls and
some men, all with yokes about their necks, their hands chained behind
them, seated on horses and mules. These are to represent the captives
taken by Yazid, the captain who killed Hussein. Near them are men in
helmets to represent the soldiers of Yazid. They are armed with whips
and are driving these women and children of Moslems into captivity.
Next in line may be seen false heads, raised aloft on poles,
representing Yazid, Mawya, and other ancient enemies of Hussein. Boys
and men gather around them spitting at and reviling them. Gathered, all
the sword bearers, chain strikers, and the many men beating their
breasts, they make a great crowd and tremendous noise. The bystander is
struck with horror when two fanatical bands meet, each trying to excel
the other in self mutilation. Then are frightful gushes cut; the
thumping of chains on bruised bodies, and the pounding of breasts is
heard louder than before. With an upward sweep of the right arm every
man cries in a loud voice: "Ya Ali, Ya Ali!" as the companies pass each
other.

At 4 P.M. on the last day the marching ceases, and the throng halts by
some tents pitched in the middle of a public square. The population of
the city is gathered round about. There is not even standing room for
all, and hundreds or thousands of people are gathere