19378	----	generously made available by Internet Archive/Million Book Project (http://www.archive.org/details/millionbooks) Note: Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive/Million Book Project. See http://www.archive.org/details/OrientalEncounters +-------------------------------------------------------------+ | Transcriber's note: | | | | Inconsistent hyphenation in the original document has been | | preserved. Inconsistent spellings of Arabic terms have been | | preserved. | | | | Obvious typographical errors have been corrected in this | | text. For a complete list, please see the end of this | | document. | | | +-------------------------------------------------------------+ ORIENTAL ENCOUNTERS Palestine And Syria (1894-5-6) by MARMADUKE PICKTHALL London: 48 Pall Mall W. Collins Sons & Co. Ltd. Glasgow Melbourne Auckland Copyright 1918 CONTENTS CHAP. PAGE. INTRODUCTION 1 I. RASHÎD THE FAIR 11 II. A MOUNTAIN GARRISON 20 III. THE RHINOCEROS WHIP 28 IV. THE COURTEOUS JUDGE 36 V. NAWÂDIR 45 VI. NAWÂDIR (_continued_) 54 VII. THE SACK WHICH CLANKED 68 VIII. POLICE WORK 77 IX. MY COUNTRYMAN 87 X. THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 96 XI. THE KNIGHT ERRANT 106 XII. THE FANATIC 117 XIII. RASHÎD'S REVENGE 125 XIV. THE HANGING DOG 134 XV. TIGERS 142 XVI. PRIDE AND A FALL 151 XVII. TRAGEDY 161 XVIII. BASTIRMA 171 XIX. THE ARTIST-DRAGOMAN 181 XX. LOVE AND THE PATRIARCH 188 XXI. THE UNPOPULAR LANDOWNER 198 XXII. THE CAÏMMACÂM 209 XXIII. CONCERNING BRIBES 218 XXIV. THE BATTLEFIELD 226 XXV. MURDERERS 237 XXVI. THE TREES ON THE LAND 245 XXVII. BUYING A HOUSE 255 XXVIII. A DISAPPOINTMENT 264 XXIX. CONCERNING CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 273 XXX. THE UNWALLED VINEYARD 282 XXXI. THE ATHEIST 291 XXXII. THE SELLING OF OUR GUN 302 XXXIII. MY BENEFACTOR 311 INTRODUCTION Early in the year 1894 I was a candidate for one of two vacancies in the Consular Service for Turkey, Persia, and the Levant, but failed to gain the necessary place in the competitive examination. I was in despair. All my hopes for months had been turned towards sunny countries and old civilisations, away from the drab monotone of London fog, which seemed a nightmare when the prospect of escape eluded me. I was eighteen years old, and, having failed in one or two adventures, I thought myself an all-round failure, and was much depressed. I dreamed of Eastern sunshine, palm trees, camels, desert sand, as of a Paradise which I had lost by my shortcomings. What was my rapture when my mother one fine day suggested that it might be good for me to travel in the East, because my longing for it seemed to indicate a natural instinct, with which she herself, possessing Eastern memories, was in full sympathy! I fancy there was some idea at the time that if I learnt the languages and studied life upon the spot I might eventually find some backstairs way into the service of the Foreign Office; but that idea, though cherished by my elders as some excuse for the expenses of my expedition, had never, from the first, appealed to me; and from the moment when I got to Egypt, my first destination, it lost whatever lustre it had had at home. For then the European ceased to interest me, appearing somehow inappropriate and false in those surroundings. At first I tried to overcome this feeling or perception which, while I lived with English people, seemed unlawful. All my education until then had tended to impose on me the cult of the thing done habitually upon a certain plane of our society. To seek to mix on an equality with Orientals, of whatever breeding, was one of those things which were never done, nor even contemplated, by the kind of person who had always been my model. My sneaking wish to know the natives of the country intimately, like other unconventional desires I had at times experienced, might have remained a sneaking wish until this day, but for an accident which freed me for a time from English supervision. My people had provided me with introductions to several influential English residents in Syria, among others to a family of good position in Jerusalem; and it was understood that, on arrival in that country, I should go directly to that family for information and advice. But, as it chanced, on board the ship which took me to Port Said from Naples I met a man who knew those people intimately--had been, indeed, for years an inmate of their house--and he assumed the office of my mentor. I stayed in Cairo, merely because he did, for some weeks, and went with him on the same boat to Jaffa. He, for some unknown reason--I suspect insanity--did not want me in Jerusalem just then; and, when we landed, spun me a strange yarn of how the people I had thought to visit were exceedingly eccentric and uncertain in their moods; and how it would be best for me to stop in Jaffa until he sent me word that I was sure of welcome. His story was entirely false, I found out later, a libel on a very hospitable house. But I believed it at the time, as I did all his statements, having no other means of information on the subject. So I remained at Jaffa, in a little _gasthaus_ in the German colony, which had the charms of cleanliness and cheapness, and there I might have stayed till now had I awaited the tidings promised by my counsellor. There for the first two weeks I found life very dull. Then Mr. Hanauer, the English chaplain, and a famous antiquarian, took pity on my solitary state, walked me about, and taught me words of Arabic. He was a native of Jerusalem, and loved the country. My sneaking wish to fraternise with Orientals, when I avowed it after hesitations, appeared good to him. And then I made acquaintance with a clever dragoman and one of the most famous jokers in all Syria, who happened to be lodging at my little hostelry, with nothing in the world to do but stare about him. He helped me to throw off the European and plunge into the native way of living. With him I rode about the plain of Sharon, sojourning among the fellâhîn, and sitting in the coffee-shops of Ramleh, Lydda, Gaza, meeting all sorts of people, and acquiring the vernacular without an effort, in the manner of amusement. From dawn to sunset we were in the saddle. We went on pilgrimage to Nebi Rubîn, the mosque upon the edge of marshes by the sea, half-way to Gaza; we rode up northward to the foot of Carmel; explored the gorges of the mountains of Judæa; frequented Turkish baths; ate native meals and slept in native houses--following the customs of the people of the land in all respects. And I was amazed at the immense relief I found in such a life. In all my previous years I had not seen happy people. These were happy. Poor they might be, but they had no dream of wealth; the very thought of competition was unknown to them, and rivalry was still a matter of the horse and spear. Wages and rent were troubles they had never heard of. Class distinctions, as we understand them, were not. Everybody talked to everybody. With inequality they had a true fraternity. People complained that they were badly governed, which merely meant that they were left to their devices save on great occasions. A Government which touches every individual and interferes with him to some extent in daily life, though much esteemed by Europeans, seems intolerable to the Oriental. I had a vision of the tortured peoples of the earth impelled by their own misery to desolate the happy peoples, a vision which grew clearer in the after years. But in that easy-going Eastern life there is a power of resistance, as everybody knows who tries to change it, which may yet defeat the hosts of joyless drudgery. My Syrian friend--the Suleymân of the following sketches--introduced me to the only Europeans who espoused that life--a French Alsatian family, the Baldenspergers, renowned as pioneers of scientific bee-keeping in Palestine, who hospitably took a share in my initiation. They had innumerable hives in different parts of the country--I have seen them near the Jaffa gardens and among the mountains south of Hebron--which they transported in due season, on the backs of camels, seeking a new growth of flowers. For a long while the Government ignored their industry, until the rumour grew that it was very profitable. Then a high tax was imposed. The Baldenspergers would not pay it. They said the Government might take the hives if it desired to do so. Soldiers were sent to carry out the seizure. But the bee-keepers had taken out the bottom of each hive, and when the soldiers lifted them, out swarmed the angry bees. The soldiers fled; and after that experience the Government agreed to compromise. I remember well a long day's ride with Emile and Samuel Baldensperger, round by Askelon and Ekron, and the luncheon which a village headman had prepared for us, consisting of a whole sheep, roast and stuffed with nuts and vegetables; and a day with Henri Baldensperger in the Hebron region. The friendships of those days were made for life. Hanauer, the Baldenspergers, Suleymân, and other natives of the country--those of them who are alive--remain my friends to-day. In short, I ran completely wild for months, in a manner unbecoming to an Englishman; and when at length, upon a pressing invitation, I turned up in Jerusalem and used my introductions, it was in semi-native garb and with a love for Arabs which, I was made to understand, was hardly decent. My native friends were objects of suspicion. I was told that they were undesirable, and, when I stood up for them, was soon put down by the retort that I was very young. I could not obviously claim as much experience as my mature advisers, whose frequent warnings to me to distrust the people of the country thus acquired the force of moral precepts, which it is the secret joy of youth to disobey. That is the reason why the respectable English residents in Syria figure in these pages as censorious and hostile, with but few exceptions. They were hostile to my point of view, which was not then avowed, but not to me. Indeed, so many of them showed me kindness--particularly in my times of illness--that I cannot think of them without a glow of friendliness. But the attitude of most of them was never mine, and the fact that at the time I still admired that attitude as the correct one, and thought myself at intervals a sad backslider, made it seem forbidding. In my Oriental life they really were, as here depicted, a disapproving shadow in the background. With one--referred to often in these tales--I was in full agreement. We lived together for some months in a small mountain village, and our friendship then established has remained unbroken. But he, though not alone, was an exception. Owing to the general verdict on my Arab friends, I led what might be called a double life during the months of my first sojourn in Jerusalem; until Suleymân, the tourist season being ended, came with promise of adventure, when I flung discretion to the winds. We hired two horses and a muleteer, and rode away into the north together. A fortnight later, at the foot of the Ladder of Tyre, Suleymân was forced to leave me, being summoned to his village. I still rode on towards the north, alone with one hired muleteer, a simple soul. A notion of my subsequent adventures may, perhaps, be gathered from the following pages, in which I have embodied fictionally some impressions still remaining clear after the lapse of more than twenty years. A record of small things, no doubt; yet it seems possible that something human may be learnt from such a comic sketch-book of experience which would never be derived from more imposing works. CHAPTER I RASHÎD THE FAIR The brown plain, swimming in a haze of heat, stretched far away into the distance, where a chain of mountains trenched upon the cloudless sky. Six months of drought had withered all the herbage. Only thistles, blue and yellow, and some thorny bushes had survived; but after the torrential winter rains the whole expanse would blossom like the rose. I traversed the plain afterwards in spring, when cornfields waved for miles around its three mud villages, wild flowers in mad profusion covered its waste places, and scarlet tulips flamed amid its wheat. Now all was desert. After riding for four days in such a landscape, it was sweet to think upon the journey's end, the city of perennial waters, shady gardens, and the song of birds. I was picturing the scene of our arrival--the shade and the repose, the long, cool drinks, the friendly hum of the bazaars--and wondering what letters I should find awaiting me, all to the tune of 'Onward, Christian soldiers'--for the clip-clap of a horse's hoofs invariably beats out in my brain some tune, the most incongruous, against my will--when a sudden outcry roused me. It came from my companion, a hired muleteer, and sounded angry. The fellow had been riding on ahead. I now saw that he had overtaken other travellers--two men astride of one donkey--and had entered into conversation with them. One of the two, the hindmost, was a Turkish soldier. Except the little group they made together, and a vulture, a mere speck above them in the blue, no other living creature was in sight. Something had happened, for the soldier seemed amused, while my poor man was making gestures of despairing protest. He repeated the loud cry which had disturbed my reverie, then turned his mule and hurried back to meet me. 'My knife!' he bellowed 'My knife!--that grand steel blade which was my honour!--so finely tempered and inlaid!--an heirloom in the family! That miscreant, may Allah cut his life!--I mean the soldier--stole it. He asked to look at it a minute, seeming to admire. I gave it, like the innocent I am. He stuck it in his belt, and asked to see the passport which permitted me to carry weapons. Who ever heard of such a thing in this wild region? He will not give it back, though I entreated. I am your Honour's servant, speak for me and make him give it back! It is an heirloom!' That grey-haired man was crying like a baby. Now, I was very young, and his implicit trust in my authority enthralled me. I valued his dependence on my manhood more than gold and precious stones. Summoning all the courage I possessed, I clapped spurs to my horse and galloped after the marauder. 'Give back that knife!' I roared. 'O soldier! it is thou to whom I speak.' The soldier turned a studiously guileless face--a handsome face, with fair moustache and a week's beard. He had a roguish eye. 'What knife? I do not understand,' he said indulgently. 'The knife thou stolest from the muleteer here present.' 'Oh, that!' replied the soldier, with a deprecating laugh: 'That is a thing unworthy of your Honour's notice. The rogue in question is a well-known malefactor. He and I are old acquaintance.' 'By the beard of the Prophet, by the August Coran, I never saw his devil's face until this minute!' bawled the muleteer, who had come up behind me. 'Give back the knife,' I ordered for the second time. 'By Allah, never!' was the cool reply. 'Give it back, I say!' 'No, it cannot be--not even to oblige your Honour, for whose pleasure, Allah knows, I would do almost anything,' murmured the soldier, with a charming smile. 'Demand it not. Be pleased to understand that if it were your Honour's knife I would return it instantly. But that man, as I tell thee, is a wretch. It grieves me to behold a person of consideration in such an unbecoming temper upon his account--a dog, no more.' 'If he is a dog, he is my dog for the present; so give back the knife!' 'Alas, beloved, that is quite impossible.' With a wave of the hand dismissing the whole subject the soldier turned away. He plucked a cigarette out of his girdle and prepared to light it. His companion on the donkey had not turned his head nor shown the slightest interest in the discussion. This had lasted long enough. I knew that in another minute I should have to laugh. If anything remained for me to do it must be done immediately. Whipping my revolver from the holster, I held it close against the rascal's head, yelling: 'Give back the knife this minute, or I kill thee!' The man went limp. The knife came back as quick as lightning. I gave it to the muleteer, who blubbered praise to Allah and made off with it. Equally relieved, I was about to follow when the utterly forlorn appearance of the soldier moved me to open the revolver, showing that it was not loaded. Then my adversary was transfigured. His back straightened, his mouth closed, his eyes regained their old intelligence. He stared at me a moment, half incredulous, and then he laughed. Ah, how that soldier laughed! The owner of the donkey turned and shared his glee. They literally hugged each other, roaring with delight, while the donkey underneath them both jogged dutifully on. Before a caravanserai in a small valley green with fruit-trees, beside a slender stream whose banks were fringed with oleander, I was sitting waiting for some luncheon when the donkey and its riders came again in sight. The soldier tumbled off on spying me and ran into the inn like one possessed. A minute later he brought out the food which I had ordered and set the table for me in the shade of trees. 'I would not let another serve thee,' he informed me, 'for the love of that vile joke that thou didst put upon me. It was not loaded. After all my fright!... It is a nice revolver. Let me look at it.' 'Aye, look thy fill, thou shalt not touch it,' was my answer; at which he laughed anew, pronouncing me the merriest of Adam's race. 'But tell me, what wouldst thou have done had I refused? It was not loaded. What wouldst thou have done?' His hand was resting at that moment on a stool. I rapped his knuckles gently with the butt of the revolver to let him know its weight. 'Wallahi!' he cried out in admiration. 'I believe thou wouldst have smashed my head with it. All for the sake of a poor man of no account, whom thou employest for a week, and after that wilt see no more. Efendim, take me as thy servant always!' Of a sudden he spoke very earnestly. 'Pay the money to release me from the army. It is a largeish sum--five Turkish pounds. And Allah knows I will repay it to thee by my service. For the love of righteousness accept me, for my soul is thine.' I ridiculed the notion. He persisted. When the muleteer and I set forth again, he rode beside us, mounted on another donkey this time--'borrowed,' as he put it--which showed he was a person of resource. 'By Allah, I can shoe a horse and cook a fowl; I can mend garments with a thread and shoot a bird upon the wing,' he told me. 'I would take care of the stable and the house. I would do everything your Honour wanted. My nickname is Rashîd the Fair; my garrison is Karameyn, just two days' journey from the city. Come in a day or two and buy me out. No matter for the wages. Only try me!' At the khan, a pretty rough one, where we spent the night, he waited on me deftly and enforced respect, making me really wish for such a servant. On the morrow, after an hour's riding, our ways parted. 'In sh'Allah, I shall see thee before many days,' he murmured. 'My nickname is Rashîd the Fair, forget not. I shall tell our captain thou art coming with the money.' I said that I might think about it possibly. 'Come,' he entreated. 'Thou wouldst never shame a man who puts his trust in thee. I say that I shall tell our captain thou art coming. Ah, shame me not before the Commandant and all my comrades! Thou thinkest me a thief, a lawbreaker, because I took that fellow's knife?' he asked, with an indulgent smile. 'Let me tell thee, O my lord, that I was in my right and duty as a soldier of the Sultan in this province. It is that muleteer who, truly speaking, breaks the law by carrying the knife without a permit. And thou, hast thou a passport for that fine revolver? At the place where we had luncheon yesterday were other soldiers. By merely calling on them to support me I could have had his knife and thy revolver with ease and honesty in strict accordance with the law. Why did I not do so? Because I love thee! Say thou wilt come to Karameyn and buy me out.' I watched him jogging on his donkey towards a gulley of the hills along which lay the bridle-path to Karameyn. On all the evidence he was a rogue, and yet my intimate conviction was that he was honest. All the Europeans in the land would lift up hands of horror and exclaim: 'Beware!' on hearing such a story. Yet, as I rode across the parched brown land towards the city of green trees and rushing waters, I knew that I should go to Karameyn. CHAPTER II A MOUNTAIN GARRISON The long day's ride was uneventful, but not so the night. I spent it in a village of the mountains at a very curious hostelry, kept by a fat native Christian, named Elias, who laid claim, upon the signboard, to furnish food and lodging 'alafranga'--that is, in the modern European manner. There was one large guest-room, and an adjoining bedroom of the same dimensions, for some thirty travellers. I had to find a stable for my horse elsewhere. A dining-table was provided, and we sat on chairs around it; but the food was no wise European, and the cooking was degraded Greek. A knife, fork, and spoon were laid for every guest but several cast these on the floor and used their fingers. In the long bedroom were a dozen beds on bedsteads. By offering a trifle extra I secured one to myself. In others there were two, three, even four together. An elderly Armenian gentleman who had a wife with him, stood guard with pistols over her all night. He was so foolish as to threaten loudly anyone who dared approach her. After he had done so several times a man arose from the bed next to mine and strolling to him seized him by the throat. 'O man,' he chided. 'Art thou mad or what, thus to arouse our passions by thy talk of women? Be silent, or we honest men here present will wring thy neck and take thy woman from thee. Dost thou understand?' He shook that jealous husband as a terrier would shake a rat. 'Be silent, hearest thou? Men wish to sleep.' 'Said I not well, O brother?' said the monitor to me, as he got back to bed. 'By Allah, well,' was my reply. The jealous one was silent after that. But there were other noises. Some men still lingered in the guest-room playing cards. The host, devoted to things European, had a musical-box--it was happily before the day of gramophones--which the card-players kept going all night long. I had a touch of fever. There were insects. Sleep was hopeless. I rose while it was yet night, went out without paying, since the host was nowhere to be seen, and, in some danger from the fierce attacks of pariah dogs, found out the vault in which my horse was stabled. Ten minutes later I was clear of the village, riding along a mountain side but dimly visible beneath the stars. The path descended to a deep ravine, and rose again, up, up, interminably. At length, upon the summit of a ridge, I felt the dawn. The mountain tops were whitened like the crests of waves, while all the clefts and hollows remained full of night. Behind me, in the east, there was a long white streak making the mountain outlines bleak and keen. The stars looked strange; a fresh breeze fanned my cheek and rustled in the grass and shrubs. Before me, on an isolated bluff, appeared my destination, a large village, square-built like a fortress. Its buildings presently took on a wild-rose blush, which deepened to the red of fire--a splendid sight against a dark blue sky, still full of stars. A window flashed up there. The sun had risen. Some English people, when informed of my intention to buy a man out of the Turkish Army had pronounced it madness. I did not know the people of the land as they did. I should be pillaged, brought to destitution, perhaps murdered. They, who had lived in the country twenty, thirty years, were better qualified to judge than I was. For peace and quiet I pretended acquiescence, and my purpose thus acquired a taste of stealth. It was with the feelings of a kind of truant that I had set out at length without a word to anyone, and with the same adventurous feelings that I now drew near to Karameyn. Two soldiers, basking in the sunshine on a dust-heap, sprang up at my approach. One was the man I sought, the rogue Rashîd. They led me to their captain's house--a modest dwelling, consisting of a single room, with hardly any furniture. A score of soldiers followed after us. The Captain--Hasan Agha--an old man, with face scarred and heavy white moustache, was in full uniform, and, as I entered, was engaged in putting on a pair of cotton gloves. He was one of the old 'alaïli,' Turkish officers--those whose whole knowledge of their business was derived from service in a regiment or 'alaï,' instead of from instruction at a military school; and his manner towards the men had nothing of the martinet. He addressed them as 'my children,' with affection; and they, though quite respectful, conversed freely in his presence. Hasan Agha paid me many compliments, and repeatedly inquired after my health. He would not hear about my business till I had had breakfast. Luncheon had been arranged for me, he said, but that could not be ready for some hours. Would I be so kind as to excuse a makeshift? Even as he spoke, a soldier entered with a tray on which were slabs of Arab bread, a pitcher of sour milk, and heaps of grapes. Another soldier began pounding coffee, while yet another blew upon the charcoal in a brazier. I refused to eat unless my host ate with me, which he did only after much polite resistance. After the meal, we sat and talked, the soldiers joining in the conversation. They told me of old wars and deeds of valour. Hasan Agha was, it seemed, a famous fighter; and the men did all they could to make him tell me of his battles. They brought an old man in out of the town to see me because he had fought in the Crimean war, and knew the English. Before it grew too hot, they took me out to see the barracks and a ramshackle old fieldpiece which they seemed to idolise. Then followed luncheon with its long array of Arab dishes, of which the soldiers had their share eventually. Rashîd assured me afterwards that all the food on this occasion had been 'borrowed.' That was in Abdul Hamid's golden days. After luncheon, there was coffee with more compliments; and then at last we got to business. A public writer was brought in. He wrote out a receipt for me, and also the discharge Rashîd required. Hasan Agha stamped both documents with an official seal, and handed them to me, who gave him in exchange the money. 'Bismillah!' he exclaimed. 'I call all here to witness that Rashîd, the son of Ali, called the Fair, is free henceforth to go what way he chooses.' To me he said: 'Rashîd is a good lad, and you will find him useful. The chief fault I have found in him is this: that, when obeying orders, he is apt to think, and so invent a method of his own, not always good. Also, he is too susceptible to female charms, a failing which has placed him in some strange positions.' The last remark evoked much laughter, relating, evidently to some standing joke unknown to me. Rashîd looked rather sheepish. Hasan Agha turned to him, and said: 'My son, praise Allah for thy great good fortune in finding favour in the sight of one so noble and benevolent as our beloved guest, who is henceforth thy master. Remember, he is not as I am--one who has been what thou art, and so knows the tricks. Serve him freely with thy mind and soul and conscience, not waiting for commands as in the Army. Come hither, O my son, grasp hands with me. I say, may God be with thee now and always! Forget not all the good instruction of thy soldier days. Be sure that we shall pray for thy good master and for thee.' The old man's eyes were wet, so were Rashîd's, so were the eyes of all the soldiers squatting round. Rashîd, dismissed, went off to change his uniform for an old suit of mine which I had brought for him, while Hasan Agha, talking of him as a father might, explained to me his character and little failings. At last I took my leave. Rashîd was waiting in my cast-off clothes, a new fez of civilian shape upon his head. He held my stirrup, and then jumped on to a raw-boned beast which had been 'borrowed' for him by his friends, so he informed me. It might be worth my while to buy it for him, he suggested later--the price was only eight pounds Turk, the merest trifle. The whole garrison escorted us to the last houses, where they stood a long while, waving their farewells. Two hours later, on the mountain-ridge, beyond the wady, we turned to look our last on Karameyn. It stood amid the flames of sunset like a castle of the clouds. We returned, then, to the 'alafranga' hostelry; but Rashîd, having heard the story of my sleepless night, would not allow me to put up there. I paid my debt to the proprietor, and then he found for me an empty house to which he brought a mattress and a coverlet, a lot of cushions, a brazier, and the things required for making coffee, also a tray of supper--all of them borrowed from the neighbouring houses. I might be pillaged, brought to destitution, and eventually murdered by him, as my friends had warned me. At least, the operation promised to be comfortable. CHAPTER III THE RHINOCEROS WHIP 'Where is the whip?' Rashîd cried, suddenly, turning upon me in the gateway of the khan where we had just arrived. 'Merciful Allah! It is not with me. I must have left it in the carriage.' Rashîd threw down the saddlebags, our customary luggage, which he had been carrying, and started running for his life. The carriage had got half-way down the narrow street half-roofed with awnings. At Rashîd's fierce shout of 'Wait, O my uncle! We have left our whip!' the driver turned and glanced behind him, but, instead of stopping, lashed his horses to a gallop. Rashîd ran even faster than before. The chase, receding rapidly, soon vanished from my sight. Twilight was coming on. Above the low, flat roofs to westward, the crescent moon hung in the green of sunset behind the minarets of the great mosque. I then took up the saddle-bags and delicately picked my way through couchant camels, tethered mules and horses in the courtyard to the khan itself, which was a kind of cloister. I was making my arrangements with the landlord, when Rashîd returned, the picture of despair. He flung up both his hands, announcing failure, and then sank down upon the ground and moaned. The host, a burly man, inquired what ailed him. I told him, when he uttered just reflections upon cabmen and the vanity of worldly wealth. Rashîd, as I could see, was 'zi'lân'--a prey to that strange mixture of mad rage and sorrow and despair, which is a real disease for children of the Arabs. An English servant would not thus have cared about the loss of a small item of his master's property, not by his fault but through that master's oversight. But my possessions were Rashîd's delight, his claim to honour. He boasted of them to all comers. In particular did he revere my gun, my Service revolver, and this whip--a tough thong of rhinoceros hide, rather nicely mounted with silver, which had been presented to me by an aged Arab in return for some imagined favour. I had found it useful against pariah dogs when these rushed out in packs to bite one's horse's legs, but had never viewed it as a badge of honour till Rashîd came to me. To him it was the best of our possessions, marking us as of rank above the common. He thrust it on me even when I went out walking; and he it was who, when we started from our mountain home at noon that day, had laid it reverently down upon the seat beside me before he climbed upon the box beside the driver. And now the whip was lost through my neglectfulness. Rashîd's dejection made me feel a worm. 'Allah! Allah!' he made moan, 'What can I do? The driver was a chance encounter. I do not know his dwelling, which may God destroy!' The host remarked in comfortable tones that flesh is grass, all treasure perishable, and that it behoves a man to fix desire on higher things. Whereat Rashîd sprang up, as one past patience, and departed, darting through the cattle in the yard with almost supernatural agility. 'Let him eat his rage alone!' the host advised me, with a shrug. Having ordered supper for the third hour of the night, I, too, went out to stretch my limbs, which were stiff and bruised from four hours' jolting in a springless carriage, always on the point of overturning. We should have done better to have come on horseback in the usual way; but Rashîd, having chanced upon the carriage, a great rarity, had decided on that way of going as more fashionable, forgetful of the fact that there was not a road. The stars were out. In the few shops which still kept open lanterns hung, throwing streaks of yellow light on the uneven causeway, a gleam into the eyes of wayfarers and prowling dogs. Many of the people in the streets, too, carried lanterns whose swing made objects in their circle seem to leap and fall. I came at length into an open place where there was concourse--a kind of square which might be called the centre of the city. The crowd there, as I noticed with surprise, was stationary, with all its faces turned in one direction. I heard a man's voice weeping and declaiming wildly. 'What is it?' I inquired, among the outskirts. 'A great misfortune!' someone answered. 'A poor servant has lost a whip worth fifty Turkish pounds, his master's property. It was stolen from him by a miscreant--a wicked cabman. His lord will kill him if he fails to find it.' Seized with interest, I shouldered my way forward. There was Rashîd against the wall of a large mosque, beating himself against that wall with a most fearful outcry. A group of high-fezzed soldiers, the policemen of the city, hung round him in compassion, questioning. Happily, I wore a fez, and so was inconspicuous. 'Fifty Turkish pounds!' he yelled. 'A hundred would not buy its brother! My master, the tremendous Count of all the English--their chief prince, by Allah!--loves it as his soul. He will pluck out and devour my heart and liver. O High Protector! O Almighty Lord!' 'What like was this said cabman?' asked a sergeant of the watch. Rashîd, with sobs and many pious interjections, described the cabman rather neatly as 'a one-eyed man, full-bearded, of a form as if inflated in the lower half. His name, he told me, was Habîb; but Allah knows!' 'The man is known!' exclaimed the sergeant, eagerly. 'His dwelling is close by. Come, O thou poor, ill-used one. We will take the whip from him.' At that Rashîd's grief ceased as if by magic. He took the sergeant's hand and fondled it, as they went off together. I followed with the crowd as far as to the cabman's door, a filthy entry in a narrow lane, where, wishing to avoid discovery, I broke away and walked back quickly to the khan. I had been there in my private alcove some few minutes, when Rashîd arrived with a triumphant air, holding on high the famous whip. The sergeant came across the court with him. A score of soldiers waited in the gateway as I could see by the light of the great lantern hanging from the arch. 'Praise be to Allah, I have found it!' cried Rashîd. 'Praise be to Allah, we have been enabled to do a little service for your Highness,' cried the sergeant. Therewith he pounced upon my hand and kissed it. I made them both sit down and called for coffee. Between the two of them, I heard the story. The sergeant praised Rashîd's intelligence in going out and crying in a public place until the city and its whole police force had a share in his distress. Rashîd, on his side, said that all that would have been in vain but for the sergeant's knowledge of the cabman's house. The sergeant, with a chuckle, owned that that same knowledge would have been of no effect had not Rashîd once more displayed his keen intelligence. They had poured into the house--a single room, illumined only by a saucer lamp upon the ground--and searched it thoroughly, the cabman all the while protesting his great innocence, and swearing he had never in this world beheld a whip like that described. The soldiers, finding no whip, were beginning to believe his word when Rashîd, who had remained aloof, observing that the cabman's wife stood very still beneath her veils, assailed her with a mighty push, which sent her staggering across the room. The whip was then discovered. It had been hidden underneath her petticoats. They had given the delinquent a good beating then and there. Would that be punishment enough in my opinion? asked the sergeant. We decided that the beating was enough. I gave the sergeant a small present when he left. Rashîd went with him, after carefully concealing the now famous whip. I suppose they went off to some tavern to discuss the wonderful adventure more at length; for I supped alone, and had been some time stretched upon my mattress on the floor before Rashîd came in and spread his bed beside me. 'Art thou awake, O my dear lord?' he whispered. 'By Allah, thou didst wrong to give that sergeant any money. I had made thy name so great that but to look on thee was fee sufficient for a poor, lean dog like him.' He then was silent for so long a while that I imagined he had gone to sleep. But, suddenly, he whispered once again: 'O my dear lord, forgive me the disturbance, but hast thou our revolver safe?' 'By Allah, yes! Here, ready to my hand.' 'Good. But it would be better for the future that I should bear our whip and our revolver. I have made thy name so great that thou shouldst carry nothing.' CHAPTER IV THE COURTEOUS JUDGE We were giving a dinner-party on that day to half a dozen Turkish officers, and, when he brought me in my cup of tea at seven-thirty a.m., Rashîd informed me that our cook had been arrested. The said cook was a decent Muslim, but hot-tempered, and something of a blood in private life. At six a.m., as he stood basking in the sunlight in our doorway, his eyes had fallen on some Christian youths upon their way to college, in European clothes, with new kid gloves and silver-headed canes. Maddened with a sense of outrage by that horrid sight, he had attacked the said youths furiously with a wooden ladle, putting them to flight, and chasing them all down the long acacia avenue, through two suburbs into the heart of the city, where their miserable cries for help brought the police upon him. Rashîd, pursuing in vain attempts to calm the holy warrior, had seen him taken into custody still flourishing the ladle; but could tell me nothing of his after fate, having at that point deemed it prudent to retire, lest he, too, might be put in prison by mistake. It was sad. As soon as I was up and dressed, I wrote to Hamdi Bey, the chief of our intended visitors, informing him of the mishap which would prevent our giving him and his comrades a dinner at all worthy of their merit. By the time that I had finished dressing, Rashîd had found a messenger to whom the note was given with an order to make haste. He must have run the whole way there and back, for, after little more than half an hour, he stood before me, breathless and with streaming brow, his bare legs dusty to the knee. Rashîd had then gone out to do some marketing. The runner handed me a note. It said: 'Why mention such a trifling detail? We shall, of course, be charmed with anything you set before us. It is for friendship, not for food, we come!' There was a postscript:-- 'Why not go and see the judge?' Suleymân was in the room. He was an old acquaintance, a man of decent birth, but poor, by trade a dragoman, who had acquired a reputation for unusual wisdom. When he had nothing else to do, he came to me unfailingly, wherever I might chance to be established or encamped. He was sitting cross-legged in a corner, smoking his narghîleh, capriciously illumined by thin slants of light, alive with motes, from the Venetian blinds. He seized upon the postscript, crying:-- 'It is good advice. Why not, indeed? Let us approach the judge.' Therewith he coiled the tube of his narghîleh carefully around the bowl thereof, and, rising with the same deliberation, threw upon his shoulders a white dust-cloak, then looked at me, and questioned: 'Are you ready?' 'But I do not know the judge.' 'No more do I. But that, my dear, is a disease which can be remedied.' Without much trouble we found out the judge's house. A servant told us that his Honour had already started for the court. We took a carriage and pursued his Honour. At the court we made inquiry of the crowd of witnesses--false witnesses for hire--who thronged the entrance. The judge, we heard, had not yet taken his seat. We should be sure to find his Honour in the coffee-shop across the road. One of the false witnesses conducted us to the said coffee-shop and pointed out our man. Together with his clerk and certain advocates, one of whom read aloud the morning news, the judge sat underneath a vine arbour in pleasant shade. He smiled. His hands were clasped upon a fair round belly. Suleymân, his dust-cloak billowing, strolled forward coolly, and presented me as 'one of the chief people of the Franks.' The company arose and made us welcome, placing stools for our convenience. 'His Highness comes to thee for justice, O most righteous judge. He has been wronged,' observed Suleymân, dispassionately. The judge looked much concerned. 'What is the case?' he asked. 'Our cook is snatched from us,' was the reply, 'and to-night we have invited friends to dinner.' 'Is he a good cook?' asked the judge, with feeling. 'If your Excellency will restore him to us, and then join us at the meal----' 'How can I be of service in this matter?' I motioned to Suleymân to tell the story, which he did so well that all the company were soon in fits of laughter. The judge looked through the cause list till he found the case, putting a mark against it on the paper. 'How can we dine to-night without a cook?' I sighed, despairingly. 'Fear nothing,' said the judge. 'He shall be with you in an hour. Come, O my friends, we must to business! It grows late.' The judge took leave of me with much politeness. 'Now,' said Suleymân, when they were gone, 'let us go into the court and watch the course of justice.' We crossed the narrow street to an imposing portal. Suleymân whispered to a soldier there on guard, who smiled and bade us enter, with a gracious gesture. The hall inside was crowded. Only after much exertion could we see the dais. There sat the judge, and there stood our lamented cook, the picture of dejection. A soldier at his side displayed the wooden ladle. The Christian dandies whom he had assaulted were giving their account of the adventure volubly, until his Honour, with a heavy frown, bade them be silent. Then they cowered. 'Be careful what you say,' the judge enjoined. 'You have not hesitated to impute the anger of this cook to religious fanaticism. The Nazarenes are much too ready to bring such a charge against the Muslims, forgetful that there may be other causes of annoyance. Nay, many of the charges brought have proved upon investigation to be altogether groundless. You Nazarenes are often insolent in your demeanour. Confiding in the favour of the foreign consuls, foreign missionaries, you occasionally taunt and irritate, even revile, the Muslims. Now, even supposing your account of this affair to be correct--which I much doubt, for, on the one hand, I behold a wooden ladle of no weight; while, on the other, there are two fine walking-sticks with silver heads'--one of the Christian youths let fall his stick in trepidation--'and you are two, while this poor cook is one. Even supposing what you say is true, are you certain that nothing in your appearance, conversation, or behaviour gave him cause for anger? I incline to conjecture that you must have flouted him, or uttered, it may be, some insult to his creed.' 'He beat us for no reason, and most grievously,' moaned one of the assailed. Such language from a Muslim judge in a court filled with Muslims made the two Christians tremble in their shoes. 'We did not even see him till he started beating us. By Allah, my poor head is sore, my back is broken with that awful beating. He was like a madman!' The speaker and his fellow-plaintiff wept aloud. 'Didst thou beat these youths, as he describes?' inquired the judge, turning towards the cook with like severity. 'No, O Excellency!' came the bitter cry. 'I am an ill-used man, much slandered. I never set eyes upon those men until this minute.' He also began weeping bitterly. 'Both parties tell me lies!' exclaimed the judge, with anger. 'For thou, O cook, didst beat these youths. The fact is known, for thou wast taken in the act of beating them. And you, O Nazarenes, are not much injured, for everyone beholds you in most perfect health, with clothes unspoilt. The more shame to you, for it is evident that you bring the charge against this Muslim from religious hatred.' 'By Allah, no, O Excellency. We wish that man no harm. We did but state what happened.' 'You are a pack of rogues together,' roared the judge. 'Let each side pay one whole mejîdi[1] to the court; let the parties now, this minute, here before me, swear peace and lifelong friendship for the future, and never let me hear of them again!' The Christian youths embraced the cook, the cook embraced the Christian youths repeatedly, all weeping in a transport of delight at their escape from punishment. I paid the money for our man, who then went home with us; Suleymân, upon the way, delivering a lecture of such high morality, such heavenly language, that the poor, simple fellow wept anew, and called on Allah for forgiveness. 'Repentance is thy duty,' said Suleymân approvingly. 'But towards this world also thou canst make amends. Put forth thy utmost skill in cookery this evening, for the judge is coming.' FOOTNOTES: [1] About four shillings. CHAPTER V NAWÂDIR[2] We had arrived in a village of the mountains late one afternoon, and were sauntering about the place, when some rude children shouted: 'Hi, O my uncle, you have come in two!' It was the common joke at sight of European trousers, which were rare in those days. But Suleymân was much offended upon my account. He turned about and read those children a tremendous lecture, rebuking them severely for thus presuming to insult a stranger and a guest. His condemnation was supported on such lofty principles as no man who possessed a particle of religion or good feeling could withstand; and his eloquence was so commanding yet persuasive that, when at length he moved away, not children only but many also of the grown-up people followed him. The village was high up beneath the summit of a ridge, and from a group of rocks within a stone's throw of it could be seen the sea, a great blue wall extending north and south. We perched among those rocks to watch the sunset. The village people settled within earshot, some below and some above us. Presently an old man said: 'Thou speakest well, O sage! It is a sin for them to cry such things behind a guest of quality. Their misbehaviour calls for strong correction. But I truly think that no child who has heard your Honour's sayings will ever be so impudent again.' 'Amân!'[3] cried one of the delinquents. 'Allah knows that our intention was not very evil.' I hastened to declare that the offence was nothing. But Suleymân would not allow me to decry it. 'Your Honour is as yet too young,' he said severely, 'to understand the mystic value of men's acts and words. A word may be well meant and innocent, and yet the cause of much disaster, possessing in itself some special virtue of malignity. You all know how the jânn[4] attend on careless words; how if I call a goat, a dog, or cat by its generic name without pointing to the very animal intended, a jinni will as like as not attach himself to me, since many of the jânn are called by names of animals. You all know also that to praise the beauty of a child, without the offer of that child to Allah as a sacrifice, is fatal; because there is unseen a jealous listener who hates and would deform the progeny of Eve. Such facts as those are known to every ignoramus, and their cause is plain. But there exists another and more subtle danger in the careless use of words, particularly with regard to personal remarks, like that of these same children when they cried to our good master: 'Thou hast come in two,' directing the attention to a living body. I have a rare thing in my memory which perhaps may lead you to perceive my meaning darkly. 'A certain husbandman (fellâh) was troubled with a foolish wife. Having to go out one day, he gave her full instructions what to do about the place, and particularly bade her fix her mind upon their cow, because he was afraid the cow might stray, as she had done before, and cause ill-feeling with the neighbours. He never thought that such a charge to such a person, tending to concentrate the woman's mind upon a certain object, was disastrous. The man meant well; the woman, too, meant well. She gave her whole mind to obey his parting words. Having completed every task within the house, she sat down under an olive tree which grew before the door, and fixed her whole intelligence in all its force upon the black-and-white cow, the only living thing in sight, which was browsing in the space allowed by a short tether. So great did the responsibility appear to her that she grew anxious, and by dint of earnest gazing at the cow came to believe that there was something wrong with it. In truth the poor beast had exhausted all the grass within its reach, and it had not entered her ideas to move the picket. 'At length a neighbour passed that way. She begged him, of his well-known kindness, to inspect the cow and tell her what the matter really was. This neighbour was a wag, and knew the woman's species; he also knew the cow as an annoyance, for ever dragging out its peg and straying into planted fields. After long and serious examination he declared: "The tail is hurting her and ought to be removed. See how she swishes it from side to side. If the tail is not cut off immediately, the cow will die one day." '"Merciful Allah!" cried the woman. "Please remove it for me. I am all alone, and helpless." 'The man lifted up an axe which he was carrying and cut off the cow's tail near the rump. He gave it to the woman and she thanked him heartily. He went his way, while she resumed her watch upon the cow. And still she fancied that its health was not as usual. 'Another neighbour came along. She told him of her fears, and how the Sheykh Mukarram, of his well-known kindness, had befriended her by cutting off the damaged tail. '"Of course," cried the newcomer, "that accounts for it! The animal is now ill-balanced. It is always a mistake to take from one end without removing something also from the other. If thou wouldst see that cow in health again, the horns must go." '"Oh, help me; I am all alone! Perform the operation for me," said the woman. 'Her friend sawed off the horns and gave them to her. She exhausted thanks. But still, when he was gone, the cow appeared no better. She grew desperate. 'By then the news of her anxiety about the cow had spread through all the village, and every able body came to help her or look on. They cut the udder and the ears, and then the legs, and gave them to her, and she thanked them all with tears of gratitude. At last there was no cow at all to worry over. Seeing the diminished carcase lying motionless, the woman smiled and murmured: "Praise to Allah, she is cured at last; she is at rest! Now I am free to go into the house and get things ready for my lord's return." 'Her lord returned at dusk. She told him: "I have been obedient. I watched the cow and tended her for hours. She was extremely ill, but all the neighbours helped to doctor her, performing many operations, and we were able to relieve her of all pain, the praise to Allah! Here are the various parts which they removed. They gave them to me, very kindly, since the cow is ours." 'Without a word the man went out to view the remnant of the cow. When he returned he seized the woman by the shoulders, and, gazing straight into her eyes, said grimly: "Allah keep thee! I am going to walk this world until I find one filthier than thou art. And if I fail to find one filthier than thou art, I shall go on walking--I have sworn it--to the end."' Suleymân broke off there suddenly, to the surprise of all. 'I fail to see how that rare thing applies to my case,' I observed, as soon as I felt sure that he had finished speaking. 'It does not apply to your case, but it does to others,' he replied on brief reflection. 'It is dangerous to put ideas in people's heads or rouse self-consciousness, for who can tell what demons lurk in people's brains.... But wait and I will find a rare thing suited to the present instance.' 'Say, O Sea of Wisdom, did he find one filthier than she was?' 'Of course he did.' 'Relate the sequel, I beseech thee.' But Suleymân was searching in his memory for some event more clearly illustrating the grave risks of chance suggestion. At length he gave a sigh of satisfaction, and then spoke as follows: 'There was once a Turkish pasha of the greatest, a benevolent old man, whom I have often seen. He had a long white beard, of which he was extremely proud, until one day a man, who was a wag, came up to him and said: '"Excellency, we have been wondering: When you go to bed, do you put your beard inside the coverings or out?" 'The Pasha thought a moment, but he could not tell, for it had never come into his head to notice such a matter. He promised to inform his questioner upon the morrow. But when he went to bed that night he tried the beard beneath the bedclothes and above without success. Neither way could he get comfort, nor could he, for the life of him, remember how the beard was wont to go. He got no sleep on that night or the next night either, for thinking on the problem thus presented to his mind. On the third day, in a rage, he called a barber and had the beard cut off. Accustomed as he was to such a mass of hair upon his neck, for lack of it he caught a cold and died. 'That story fits the case before us to a nicety,' said Suleymân in conclusion, with an air of triumph. 'What is the moral of it, deign to tell us, master!' the cry arose from all sides in the growing twilight. 'I suppose,' I hazarded, 'that, having had attention called to the peculiar clothing of my legs, I shall eventually have them amputated or wear Turkish trousers?' 'I say not what will happen; God alone knows that. But the mere chance that such catastrophes, as I have shown, may happen is enough to make wise people shun that kind of speech.' I cannot to this day distinguish how much of his long harangue was jest and how much earnest. But the fellâhîn devoured it as pure wisdom. FOOTNOTES: [2] Rare things. [3] Equivalent to 'Pax.' [4] Genii. CHAPTER VI NAWÂDIR (_continued_) 'What happened to the man who went to seek one filthier than she was? How could he ever find one filthier?' inquired Rashîd, reverting to Suleymân's unfinished story of the foolish woman and her husband and the hapless cow, when we lay down to sleep that evening in the village guest-room. I also asked to hear the rest of that instructive tale. Suleymân, sufficiently besought, raised himself upon an elbow and resumed the narrative. Rashîd and I lay quiet in our wrappings. 'We had reached that point, my masters, where the injured husband, having seen the remnant of the cow, said to his wife: "Now, I am going to walk this world until I find one filthier than thou art; and if I fail to find one filthier than thou art I shall go on walking till I die." Well, he walked and he walked--for months, some people say, and others years--until he reached a village in Mount Lebanon--a village of the Maronites renowned for foolishness. It was the reputation of their imbecility which made him go there.' 'What was his name?' inquired Rashîd, who liked to have things clear. 'His name?' said Suleymân reflectively, 'was Sâlih.' 'He was a Muslim?' 'Aye, a Muslim, I suppose--though, Allah knows, he may perhaps have been an Ismaîli or a Druze. Any more questions? Then I will proceed. 'He came into this village of the Maronites, and, being thirsty, looked in at a doorway. He saw the village priest and all his family engaged in stuffing a fat sheep with mulberry leaves. The sheep was tethered half-way up the steps which led on to the housetop. The priest and his wife, together with their eldest girl, sat on the ground below, amid a heap of mulberry boughs; and all the other children sat, one on every step, passing up the leaves, when ready, to the second daughter, whose business was to force the sheep to go on eating. This they would do until the sheep, too full to stand, fell over on its side, when they would slaughter it for their supply of fat throughout the coming year. 'So busy were they in this occupation that they did not see the stranger in the doorway until he shouted: "Peace upon this house," and asked them for a drink of water kindly. Even then the priest did not disturb himself, but, saying "Itfaddal!" pointed to a pitcher standing by the wall. The guest looked into it and found it dry. '"No water here," he said. '"Oh," sighed the priest, "to-day we are so thirsty with this work that we have emptied it, and so busy that the children have forgotten to refill it. Rise, O Nesîbeh, take the pitcher on thy head, and hasten to the spring and bring back water for our guest." 'The girl Nesîbeh, who was fourteen years of age, rose up obediently, shaking off the mulberry leaves and caterpillars from her clothing. Taking up the pitcher, she went out through the village to the spring, which gushed out of the rock beneath a spreading pear tree. 'There were so many people getting water at the moment that she could not push her way among them, so sat down to wait her turn, choosing a shady spot. She was a thoughtful girl, and, as she sat there waiting, she was saying in her soul: '"O soul, I am a big girl now. A year or two and mother will unite me to a proper husband. The next year I shall have a little son. Again a year or two, he will be big enough to run about; and his father will make for him a pair of small red shoes, and he will come down to this pleasant spring, as children do, to splash the water. Being a bold lad, he will climb that tree." 'And then, as she beheld one great bough overhanging like a stretched-out arm, and realised how dangerous it was for climbing children, she thought: '"He will fall down and break his neck." 'At once she burst out weeping inconsolably, making so great a din that all the people who had come for water flocked around her, asking: "O Nesîbeh, what has hurt thee?" And between her sobs, she told them: '"I'm a big girl, now." '"That is so, O beloved!" '"A year or two, and mother will provide me with a husband." '"It is likely." '"Another year, and I shall have a little son." '"If God wills!" sighed the multitude, with pious fervour. '"Again a year or two, he will be big enough to run about, and his father will make for him a pair of small red shoes. And he will come down to the spring with other children, and will climb the tree. And--oh!--you see that big bough overhanging. There he will slip and fall and break his neck! Ah, woe!" 'At that the people cried: "O cruel fate!" and many of them rent their clothes. They all sank down upon the ground around Nesîbeh, rocking themselves to and fro and wailing: '"Ah, my little neighbour. My poor, dear little neighbour! Ah, would that thou had lived to bury me, my little neighbour!"[5] 'Meanwhile the stranger waiting for the water grew impatient, and he once more ventured to interrupt the work of sheep-stuffing with a remark that the young girl was long returning with her pitcher. The priest said: "That is true," and sent his second daughter to expedite the first. This girl went running to the spring, and found the population of the village sitting weeping on the ground around her sister. She asked the matter. They replied: "A great calamity! Thy sister--poor distracted mother!--will inform thee of its nature." She ran up to Nesîbeh, who moaned out: "I am a big girl now. A year or two, our mother will provide me with a husband. The next year I shall have a little son. Again a year or two he will be old enough to run about. His father will make for him a pair of small red shoes. He comes down to the spring to play in childish wise. He climbs that tree, and from that overhanging branch he falls and breaks his neck." 'At this sad news the second girl forgot her errand. She threw her skirt over her head and started shrieking: "Alas, my little nephew! My poor, dear little nephew! Would God that thou had lived to bury me, my little nephew!" And she too sat down upon the ground to hug her sorrow with the rest. 'The priest said: "That one too is long in coming; I will send another child; but thou must take her place upon the steps, O stranger, or else the work of stuffing will be much delayed." 'The stranger did as he was asked, while child after child was sent, till he alone was left to do the work of carrying the fresh leaves up from the ground and stuffing them into the sheep. Still none returned. 'The priest's wife went herself, remarking that her husband and the stranger were able by themselves to carry on the work. They did so a long while, yet no one came. 'At last the priest rose, saying: "I myself will go and beat them for this long delay. Do thou, O stranger, feed the sheep meanwhile. Cease not to carry up the leaves and stuff him with them, lest all the good work done be lost through negligence." 'In anger the priest strode out through the village to the spring. But all his wrath was changed into amazement when he saw the crowd of people sitting on the ground, convulsed with grief, around the members of his family. 'He went up to his wife and asked the matter. 'She moaned: "I cannot speak of it. Ask poor Nesîbeh!" 'He then turned to his eldest daughter, who, half-choked by sobs, explained: '"I am a big girl now." '"That is so, O my daughter." '"A year or two, and you and mother will provide me with a husband." '"That is possible." '"Another year, and I shall have a little son!" '"In sh' Allah!" said her father piously. '"Again a year or two, and my son runs about. His father makes for him a pair of small red shoes. He came down to the spring to play with other children, and from that overhanging bough--how shall I tell it?--he fell and broke his darling little neck!" Nesîbeh hid her face again and wailed aloud. 'The priest, cut to the heart by the appalling news, tore his cassock up from foot to waist, and threw the ends over his face, vociferating: '"Woe, my little grandson! My darling little grandson! Oh, would that thou had lived to bury me, my little grandson!" And he too sank upon the ground, immersed in grief. 'At last the stranger wearied of the work of stripping off the mulberry leaves and carrying them up the staircase to the tethered sheep. He found his thirst increased by such exertions.' 'Did he in truth do that, with no one looking?' said Rashîd. 'He must have been as big a fool as all the others.' 'He was, but in a different way,' said Suleymân. 'He walked down to the spring, and saw the congregation seated underneath the pear tree, shrieking like sinners at the Judgment Day. Among them sat the priest, with features hidden in his torn black petticoat. He ventured to approach the man and put a question. The priest unveiled his face a moment and was going to speak, but recollection of his sorrow overcame him. Hiding his face again, he wailed: '"Alas, my little grandson! My pretty little grandson! Ah, would that thou hadst lived to bury me, my little grandson!" 'A woman sitting near plucked at the stranger's sleeve and said: '"You see that girl. She will be soon full-grown. A year or two, and she will certainly be married. Another year, and she will have a little son. Her little son grows big enough to run about. His father made for him a pair of small red shoes. He came down to the spring to play with other children. You see that pear tree? On a day like this--a pleasant afternoon--he clambered up it, and from that bough, which overhangs the fountain, he fell and broke his little neck upon those stones. Alas, our little neighbour! Oh, would that thou had lived to bury us, our little neighbour!" And everyone began to rock and wail anew. 'The stranger stood and looked upon them for a moment, then he shouted: "Tfû 'aleykum!"[6] and spat upon the ground. No other word did he vouchsafe to them, but walked away; and he continued walking till he reached his native home. There, sitting in his ancient seat, he told his wife: '"Take comfort, O beloved! I have found one filthier."' Suleymân declared the story finished. 'Is there a moral to it?' asked Rashîd. 'The moral is self-evident,' replied the story-teller. 'It is this: however bad the woman whom one happens to possess may be, be certain it is always possible to find a worse.' 'It is also possible to find a better,' I suggested. 'Be not so sure of that!' said Suleymân. 'There are three several kinds of women in the world, who all make claim to be descended from our father Noah. But the truth is this: Our father Noah had one daughter only, and three men desired her; so not to disappoint the other two, he turned his donkey and his dog into two girls, whom he presented to them, and that accounts for the three kinds of women now to be observed. The true descendants of our father Noah are very rare.' 'How may one know them from the others?' I inquired. 'By one thing only. They will keep your secret. The second sort of woman will reveal your secret to a friend; the third will make of it a tale against you. And this they do instinctively, as dogs will bark or asses bray, without malevolence or any kind of forethought. 'That same priest of the Maronites of whom I told just now, in the first days of his married life was plagued by his companion to reveal to her the secrets people told him in confession. He refused, declaring that she would divulge them. '"Nay, I can keep a secret if I swear to do so. Only try me!" she replied. '"Well, we shall see," the priest made answer, in a teasing manner. 'One day, as he reclined upon the sofa in their house, that priest began to moan and writhe as if in agony. His wife, in great alarm, inquired what ailed him. '"It is a secret," he replied, "which I dare not confide to thee, for with it is bound up my earthly welfare and my soul's salvation." '"I swear by Allah I will hide it. Tell me!" she implored. '"Well," he replied, as if in torment, "I will risk my life and trust thee. Know thou art in the presence of the greatest miracle. I, though not a woman, am far gone with child--a thing which never happened on the earth till now--and in this hour it is decreed that I produce my first-born." 'Then, with a terrific cry, he thrust his hand beneath his petticoat, and showed his wife a little bird which he had kept there hidden. He let it fly away out through the window. Having watched it disappear, he said devoutly: '"Praise be to Allah! That is over! Thou hast seen my child. This is a sacred and an awful mystery. Preserve the secret, or we all are dead!" '"I swear I will preserve it," she replied, with fervour. 'But the miracle which she had witnessed burned her spirit. She knew that she must speak of it or die; and so she called upon a friend whose prudence she could trust, and binding her by vows, told her the story. 'This woman also had a trusted friend, to whom she told the story, under vows of secrecy, and so on, with the consequence that that same evening the priest received a deputation of the village elders, who requested, in the name of the community, to be allowed to kiss the feet of his mysterious son--that little, rainbow-coloured bird, which had a horn upon its head and played the flute. 'The priest said nothing to his wife. He did not beat her. He gave her but one look. And yet from that day forward, she never plagued him any more, but was submissive.' 'The priest was wise on that occasion, yet so foolish in the other story!' I objected. 'The way of the majority of men!' said Suleymân. 'But women are more uniformly wise or foolish. A happy night!' said Suleymân conclusively, settling himself to sleep. The usual night-light of the Syrian peasants--a wick afloat upon a saucerful of oil and water--burned upon the ground between us, making great shadows dance upon the walls and vaulting. The last I heard before I fell asleep was Rashîd's voice, exclaiming: 'He is a famous liar, is our wise man yonder; yet he speaks the truth!' FOOTNOTES: [5] 'Yâ takbar jârak, yâ jâri!'--a very common cry of grief in Syria. [6] Something like 'Pooh-pooh to you!' but more insulting. CHAPTER VII THE SACK WHICH CLANKED The sand which had been a rich ochre turned to creamy white, the sea from blue became a livid green, the grass upon the sand-hills blackened and bowed down beneath a sudden gust of wind. The change was instantaneous, as it seemed to me. I had observed that clouds were gathering upon the mountain peaks inland, but I had been riding in hot sunlight, only a little less intense than it had been at noon, when suddenly the chill and shadow struck me. Then I saw the sky completely overcast with a huge purple cloud which bellied down upon the land and sea. The waves which had been lisping all day long gave forth an ominous dull roar. White horses reared and plunged. A wind sang through the grass and thistles of the dunes, driving the sand into my face. Rashîd, who had been riding far behind, in conversation with our muleteer, came tearing up, and I could hear the shouts of the mukâri urging his two beasts to hurry. 'There is a village on the headland over there--a village of Circassian settlers,' cried my servant, breathless. 'It has a bad name, and I had not thought to spend the night there. But any roof is good in such a storm. Ride fast! We may arrive before the downpour.' My horse had broken to a canter of his own accord. I urged him to a gallop. We flew round the bay. The village on the headland took shape rapidly--a few cube-shaped, whitewashed houses perched amid what seemed at first to be great rocks, but on a close approach revealed themselves as blocks of masonry, the ruins of some city of antiquity. From time to time a jet of spray shot up above them, white as lilies in the gloom. The sea was rising. I discerned an ancient gateway opening on the beach, and set my horse towards it, while the rain came down in sheets. I saw no more until the ruins loomed up close before me, a blind wall. 'Your right hand!' called Rashîd; and, bearing to the right, I found the gateway. We waited underneath its vault until the muleteer, a dripping object, shrouded in a sack, came up with his two mules; and then we once more plunged into the deluge. The path, a very rough one, wavered up and down and in and out among the ruins. There were, perhaps, a dozen scattered houses without gardens or any sign of cultivation round them. Only one of them possessed an upper storey, and towards that, supposing it to be the guest-room, we now picked our way. It stood alone right out upon the promontory, topped by clouds of spray. A little courtyard gave us partial shelter while Rashîd ran up some rough stone steps and hammered at a door, exclaiming: 'Peace be on this house! My master craves for food and shelter, and we, his servants, ask the same boon of thy goodness. O master of the house, God will reward thy hospitality!' The door was opened and a man appeared, bidding us all come in, in Allah's name. He was of middle height and thick-set, with a heavy grey moustache. An old-fashioned, low-crowned fez, with large blue tassel, was bound about his brow with an embroidered turban. A blue zouave jacket, crimson vest and baggy trousers of a darker blue completed his apparel, for his feet were bare. In his girdle were a pair of pistols and a scimitar. He bade us welcome in bad Arabic, showing us into a good-sized room--the upper chamber we had seen from far. Its windows, innocent of glass, were closed by wooden shutters, roughly bolted, which creaked and rattled in the gale. A very fine-looking old man rose from the divan to greet us. 'What countryman art thou? A Turk, or one of us?' he asked, as I removed my head-shawl. 'An Englishman, sayest thou?' He seized my hand, and pressed it. 'An Englishman--any Englishman--is good, and his word is sure. But the English Government is very bad. Three Englishmen in Kars behaved like warrior-angels, fought like devils. And while they fought for us their Government betrayed our country. What? Thou hast heard about it? Praise to Allah! At last I meet with one who can confirm the story. My son here thinks that I invented it.' I happened to have read of the defence of Kars under the leadership of three heroic Englishmen--General Williams, Captain Teesdale, and Doctor Sandwith--and of the betrayal of the Circassian rising under Shamyl at the time of the Crimean war. The old man was delighted. 'Listen, O my son!' he called out to the person who had let us in. 'It is true what I have often told to thee. This Englishman knows all about it. So does all the world, except such blockheads as thyself and thy companions.' His son begged to be excused a minute while he put his crops into the barn. Therewith he dragged a sack out of the room. What crops he may have grown I do not know; but this I know--the contents of that sack clanked as he dragged it out. When he returned, he brought a bowl of eggs cooked in clarified butter, two slabs of bread, and a great jug of water, apologising for the coarseness of the fare. We all supped together, the old man babbling of the days of old with great excitement. His son stared at me with unblinking eyes. At last he said: 'I like thee, O khawâjah. I had once a son about thy age. Say, O my father, is there not a strong resemblance?' Thereafter he talked quite as much as the old man, giving me the history of their emigration from the Caucasus to escape the yoke of the accursed Muscovite, and enumerating all the troubles which attended their first coming into Syria. 'We are not subjects of the Government,' he told me, 'but allies; and we have special privileges. But the dishonoured dogs round here forget old compacts, and want us to pay taxes like mere fellâhîn.' We sat up talking far into the night, while the storm raged without, and the rain and the sea-spray pounded on the shutters; and never have I met with kinder treatment. It was the custom for chance comers to have food at evening only and leave betimes next morning. But our host, when I awoke in splendid sunlight, had breakfast ready--sour milk and Arab bread and fragrant coffee--and when I went out to my horse he followed me, and thrust two roasted fowls into my saddle-bags, exclaiming 'Zâd!'--which means 'food for the road.' And much to my abashment he and the old man fell upon my neck and kissed me on both cheeks. 'Good people! The very best of people! They would take no money. God reward them,' chanted Rashîd, as we rode out of the ruins inland through a garden of wild flowers. The storm had passed completely. Not a cloud remained. After an hour we came in sight of a large khan outside a mud-built village on the shore. Before it was a crowd, including several soldiers. As we drew near, Rashîd inquired the meaning of the throng. 'A great calamity,' he was informed. 'A man, a foreigner, is dying, killed by highwaymen. One of his companions, a poor servant, is already dead.' We both dismounted, and Rashîd pushed in to learn more of the matter. Presently a soldier came to me. 'Your Honour is an Englishman?' he questioned. 'Praise be to Allah! I am much relieved. This other also is an Englishman, they tell me. He is severely wounded, at the gate of death.' I went with him at once to see the sufferer, who seemed relieved to hear me speak, but could not answer. Rashîd and I did what we could to make him comfortable, giving the soldiers orders to keep out the crowd. We decided to ride on and send a doctor, and then report the matter to a British consul. 'He was going down to start some kind of business in the city over there,' the leader of the soldiers told me, nodding towards the south. 'He had a largeish company, with several camels. But near the village of ---- he was attacked by the Circassians, and was so foolish as to make resistance. They took everything he had of worth--his arms, his money--and killed a camel-driver, besides wounding him. It happened yesterday before the storm. They say I should take vengeance for him. What am I--a corporal with six men--to strive with Huseyn Agha and his cavalry! It needs a regiment.' He went grumbling off. Rashîd and I were staring hard at one another; for the village named was that where we had spent the night, and Huseyn Agha's roasted fowls were in our saddle-bags. Rashîd, as I could see, was troubled upon my account. He kept silence a good while. At last he said: 'It is like this, my lord. Each man must see with his own eyes and not another's. People are as one finds them, good or bad. They change with each man's vision, yet remain the same. For us those highway robbers are good people; we must bless them; having cause to do so. This other man is free to curse them, if he will. Good to their friends, bad to their enemies. What creature of the sons of Adam can condemn them quite?' CHAPTER VIII POLICE WORK Having to dress for dinner on a certain evening, I took off my money-belt, and quite forgot to put it on again. It happened to contain twelve English pounds. I left it lying on the table in the hotel bedroom. When I came back in the small hours of the morning it was gone. Rashîd--who slept out at a khan in charge of our two horses--came in at eight o'clock to rouse me. Hearing of my loss, he gave me the worst scolding I have ever had, and then went out to blow up the hotel proprietor. It was, for once, a real hotel with table d'hôte, hall-porter, and a palm-lounge--everything, in fact, excepting drains. The owner was a fat, brown individual, whom I had generally seen recumbent on a sofa in his office, while someone of his many sons did all the work. But that he could show energy upon occasion I now learnt. Hearing from Rashîd that I, a guest in his hotel, had suffered robbery, he sprang on to his feet and danced with rage. When I arrived upon the scene, which was the palm-lounge--an open courtyard shaded by an awning--he was flourishing a monstrous whip, with dreadful imprecations, literally foaming at the mouth. I begged him to do nothing rash, but he seemed not to hear me. With the squeal of a fighting stallion, he rushed off to the servants' quarters, whence presently there came heartrending shrieks and cries for mercy. His sons, in fear of murder, followed him, and added their remonstrance to the general din. The women of his house appeared in doorways, weeping and wringing their hands. Rashîd seemed gratified by this confusion, regarded as a tribute to our greatness, his and mine. 'Be good enough to go away,' he told me. 'The scene is quite unworthy of your dignity. I will take care that all is done to raise your honour.' I remained, however. Presently, the host returned, perspiring freely, mopping his brown face with a crimson handkerchief. He smiled as one who has had healthy exercise. 'It is no use,' he told me, with a shrug. 'I beat them well, and every one of them confessed that he alone, and not another, was the thief. Each, as his turn came, wished to stay my hand at any cost.' He sank down on a sofa which was in the court. 'What further is your Honour's will?' he asked. 'I will beat anyone. The story is so bad for the hotel. I should be ruined if it reached the ears of Cook or Baedeker.' The cries of those unhappy servants having shamed me, I told him that I was content to count the money lost rather than that harmless folk should suffer for my carelessness. Rashîd protested, saying twelve pounds was no trifle, although I might, in youthful folly, so regard it. He, as my servant, had to guard my wealth. 'The gold is lost. It is the will of Allah. Let it be,' I answered irritably. 'Thou wilt not tell the English consul?' cried the host, with sudden eagerness. 'Thou wilt refrain from saying any word to Cook or Baedeker to bring ill-fame and ruin on the place? Our Lord augment thy wealth and guard thee always! May thy progeny increase in honour till it rules the world!' 'But something must be done,' Rashîd remonstrated. 'A crime has been committed. We must find the culprit.' 'True,' said the host, 'and I will help with all my strength. The consul would not help at all. He would but frighten the police, with the result that they would torture--perhaps hang--a man or two, but not the man who stole your belt of money. Our police, when not alarmed, are clever. Go to them and give a little money. They will find the thief.' 'I go this minute,' said Rashîd. I bade him wait. Knowing his way of magnifying me and my possessions, I thought it better to be present at the interview, lest he should frighten the police no less than would the intervention of a consul. We went together through the shady markets, crossing here and there an open space of blinding sunlight, asking our way at intervals, until at last we entered a large whitewashed room where soldiers loitered and a frock-coated, be-fezzed official sat writing at a desk. This personage was very sympathetic. 'Twelve pounds!' he cried. 'It is a serious sum. The first thing to be done is to survey the scene of crime. Wait, I will send with you a knowing man.' He called one of the soldiers, who stepped forward and saluted, and gave him charge of the affair. 'You can place confidence in him. He knows his business,' he assured me, bowing with extreme politeness, as we took our leave. With the soldier who had been assigned to us we sauntered back to the hotel. The man abounded in compassion for me. He said it was the worst case he had ever heard of--to rob a man so manifestly good and amiable of so great a sum. Alas! the badness of some people. It put out the sun! At the hotel he spent a long while in my room, searching, as he said, for 'traces.' Rashîd, the host and all his family, and nearly all the servants, thronged the doorway. After looking into every drawer, and crawling underneath the bed, which he unmade completely, he spent some minutes in debating whether the thief had entered by the window or the door. Having at last decided for the door, he turned to me and asked if there was anybody I suspected. When I answered 'no,' I saw him throw a side-glance at Rashîd, as if he thought him fortunate in having so obtuse a master. As he was departing, Rashîd, at my command, gave him a silver coin, for which he kissed my hand and, having done so, said: 'I know a clever man, none like him for such business. I will send him to your presence in an hour.' Three hours passed. I had finished luncheon, and was sipping coffee in the lounge, when a sleek personage in gorgeous robes was brought to me. He had a trick of looking down his nose at his moustache, the while he stroked it, with a gentle smirk. 'Your Excellency has been robbed,' he murmured in a secret tone, 'and you would know the robber? There is nothing simpler. I have discovered many thieves. I think it likely that I know the very man. I will disguise myself as an old woman or a begging dervish. There are many ways. But, first, your Honour must bestow on me an English pound. That is my fee. It is but little for such services.' I answered languidly that the affair had ceased to thrill me; I wished to hear no more about the money or the thief. He stayed a long while, wheedling and remonstrating, depicting his own subtlety in glowing terms; but in the end departed with despairing shrugs and backward glances, hoping that I might relent. Rashîd, who had been out to tend the horses, came presently and asked if I had seen the great detective. When I described our interview, he nearly wept. 'The people here think me the thief,' he told me. 'They say nothing, but I feel it in their bearing towards me. And now you give up seeking for the culprit! Am I to bear this shame for evermore?' Here was a new dilemma! No way out of it appeared to me, for even if we did employ the great detective, our chance of finding the delinquent seemed exceeding small. I was thinking what could possibly be done to clear Rashîd, when a familiar figure came into the court and strolled towards us. It was Suleymân! I had imagined him three hundred miles away, at Gaza, in the south of Palestine. Loud were our exclamations, but his calm rebuked us. I never knew him show excitement or surprise. He heard our story with deliberation, and shook his head at the police and the detective. 'No use at all,' he scoffed. 'The one man for your purpose is the Chief of the Thieves. I know him intimately.' 'Ma sh'Allah! Is there then a guild of thieves?' 'There is.' 'The Sheykh of the Thieves must be the greatest rogue. I do not care to have to do with him.' 'You err,' remarked Suleymân, with dignity. 'Your error has its root in the conviction that a thief is evil. He may be evil as an individual; all men are apt to be who strive for gain; but as a member of a corporation he has pride and honour. With Europeans, it is just the opposite. They individually are more honourable than their governments and corporations. The Sheykh of the Thieves, I can assure you, is the soul of honour. I go at once to see him. He can clear Rashîd.' 'If he does that, he is the best of men!' exclaimed my servant. An hour later one of the hotel men, much excited, came to tell me that some soldiers were approaching, who had caught the thief. The host and all his family ran out into the hall. Rashîd and all the servants came from kitchen purlieus. Four soldiers entered with triumphant exclamations, dragging and pushing forward--Suleymân! The prisoner's demeanour had its usual calm. 'I have regained the belt,' he called to me. 'These men were watching near the house, and found it on me. They would not hear reason. The man who stole the belt--a Greek--has left the city. He gave the Sheykh the belt, but kept the money.' The soldiers, disappointed, let him go. 'How dost thou know all that?' inquired their leader. 'The Headman of the Thieves informed me of it.' 'Ah, then, it is the truth,' the soldier nodded. 'He is a man of honour. He would not deceive thee.' I do not claim to understand these things. I but relate them. CHAPTER IX MY COUNTRYMAN One summer, in the south of Syria, amid that tumbled wilderness of cliff and chasm, shale and boulder, which surges all around the Sea of Lot, we had been riding since the dawn without encountering a human being, and with relief at last espied a village, having some trace of cultivated land about it, and a tree. Rashîd was on ahead. Suleymân had been beside me, but had dropped behind in order to perform some operation on his horse's hoof. As I came down the last incline on to the village level I heard angry shouts, and saw a crowd of fellâhîn on foot mobbing Rashîd. Urging my horse, I shouted to him to know what was happening. At once a number of the villagers forsook him and surrounded me, waving their arms about and talking volubly. I had gathered, from their iteration of the one word 'moyeh,' that water was the matter in dispute, even before Rashîd succeeded in rejoining me. He said: 'I rode up to the spring which flows beneath that arch, and was letting my horse drink from the stone trough of water, when these maniacs rushed up and dragged my horse away, and made this noise. They say the water in the spring is theirs, and no one else has any right to touch it. I offered to make payment, but they would not hear me. I threatened them with vengeance, but they showed no fear. Is it your Honour's will that I should beat a few of them?' Seeing their numbers, I considered it the wiser plan for us to let them be till their excitement had cooled down, and till Suleymân arrived to help us with advice. Accordingly, I smiled and nodded to the villagers, and rode back up the path a little way, Rashîd obeying my example with reluctance, muttering curses on their faith and ancestry. Then we dismounted and lay down in the shadow of some rocks. It wanted still two hours before the sun would set. Suleymân came on us, and dismounted at a call from me. 'What is the noise down there?' he questioned, looking at the village with that coolness, like indifference, habitual to his face when meeting problems of importance. 'They will not let us touch the water--curse their fathers!' growled Rashîd. 'Heard anyone the like of such inhospitality? It would but serve them right if we destroyed their houses.' Suleymân screwed up his eyes, the better to survey the crowd of villagers below, who now sat guard around the spring, and murmured carelessly: 'It is evident that thou hast angered them, O son of rashness. We shall do well to wait before approaching them again with our polite request.' Therewith he stretched his length upon the ground, with a luxurious sigh, and would, I think, have gone to sleep, had not Rashîd, conceiving himself blamed, thought necessary to relate in full the whole adventure. 'What else could man have done?' he asked defiantly. 'Say in what respect, however trifling, did I act unwisely?' 'By Allah, thou didst nothing wrong, and yet thou mightest have done better, since thy efforts led to failure,' said the sage, benignly. 'Thou art a soldier yet in thought, and thy one method is to threaten. If that avails not, thou art helpless. There are other ways.' 'I offered money,' cried Rashîd indignantly. 'Could man do more?' 'What are those other ways? Instruct us, O beloved!' I put in, to save Rashîd from feeling lonely under blame for ignorance. 'No truly great one ever argues with a crowd. He chooses out one man, and speaks to him, him only,' said Suleymân; and he was going to tell us more, but just then something in the wadi down below the village caught his eye, and he sat up, forgetting our dilemma. 'A marvel!' he exclaimed after a moment spent in gazing. 'Never, I suppose, since first this village was created, have two Franks approached it in a single day before. Thou art as one of us in outward seeming,' he remarked to me; 'but yonder comes a perfect Frank with two attendants.' We looked in the direction which his finger pointed, and beheld a man on horseback clad in white from head to foot, with a pith helmet and a puggaree, followed by two native servants leading sumpter-mules. 'Our horses are in need of water,' growled Rashîd, uninterested in the sight. 'It is a sin for those low people to refuse it to us.' 'Let us first wait and see how this newcomer fares, what method he adopts,' replied Suleymân, reclining once more at his ease. The Frank and his attendants reached the outskirts of the village, and headed naturally for the spring. The fellâhîn, already put upon their guard by Rashîd's venture, opposed them in a solid mass. The Frank expostulated. We could hear his voice of high command. 'Aha, he knows some Arabic. He is a missionary, not a traveller,' said Suleymân, who now sat up and showed keen interest. 'I might have known it, for the touring season is long past.' He rose with dignified deliberation and remounted. We followed him as he rode slowly down towards the scene of strife. When we arrived, the Frank, after laying about him vainly with his riding-whip, had drawn out a revolver. He was being stoned. His muleteers had fled to a safe distance. In another minute, as it seemed, he would have shot some person, when nothing under Allah could have saved his life. Suleymân cried out in English: 'Don't you be a fool, sir! Don't you fire!' The Frank looked round in our direction, with an angry face; but Suleymân bestowed no further thought on him. He rode up to the nearest group of fellâhîn, crying aloud: 'O true believers! O asserters of the Unity! Bless the Prophet, and inform me straightway what has happened!' Having captured their attention by this solemn adjuration, he inquired: 'Who is the chief among you? Let him speak, him only!' Although the crowd had seemed till then to be without a leader, an old white-bearded man was thrust before him, with the cry: 'Behold our Sheykh, O lord of judgment. Question him!' Rashîd and I heard nothing of the conversation which ensued, except the tone of the two voices, which appeared quite friendly, and some mighty bursts of laughter from the crowd. No more stones were thrown, although some persons still kept guard over the spring. At length Suleymân returned to us, exclaiming: 'All is well. They grant us leave to take what water we require. The spring has been a trouble to these people through the ages because the wandering tribes with all their herds come here in time of drought and drink it dry. But now they are our friends, and make us welcome.' He called out to the Frank, who all this while had sat his horse with an indignant air, more angry, as it seemed, to be forgotten than to be assailed: 'It is all right. You take the water and you pay them five piastres.' 'It is extortion!' cried the Frank. 'What right have they to charge me money for the water of this natural spring, which is the gift of God? I will not pay.' 'No matter. I pay for you,' shrugged Suleymân. I tried to make the missionary--for such he proved to be upon acquaintance--understand that the conditions in that desert country made the spring a valued property, and gave a price to every pitcherful of water. 'What! Are you English?' was his only answer, as he scanned my semi-native garb with pity and disgust. 'And who, pray, is that person with you who was rude to me?' 'His name is Suleymân. He is a friend of mine.' 'A friend, I hardly think,' replied the Frank, fastidiously. He was a big man, with a dark complexion and light eyes. 'I am going to camp here to-night. I have a tent. Perhaps you will be good enough to come and sup with me. Then we can talk.' 'With pleasure,' I made answer, taken by surprise. 'Where is your camp?' he asked. 'We haven't got one. We put up in the guest-room if there is one, or under the stars.' 'Well, there's no accounting for tastes,' he murmured, with a sneer. Rashîd, through all this conversation, had been standing by, waiting to tell me that Suleymân had gone before into the village to the headman's house, where it had been arranged that we should pass the night. Thither we went, when I had finished speaking to the missionary; and there we found Suleymân enthroned among the village elders in a long, low room. He stood up on my entrance, as did all the others, and explained: 'We have a room near by where we can throw our saddle-bags, but it is verminous, and so we will not sleep inside it, but outside--on the roof. For supper we are the invited guests of the good sheykh, and I can tell you he is getting ready a fine feast.' With deep regret and some degree of shame I told him of my promise to take supper with the missionary. He looked reproach at me, and told the villagers what I had said. They all cried out in disappointment. Suleymân suggested that I should revoke the promise instantly, but that I would not do, to his annoyance; and after that, till it was time for me to go, he and Rashîd were sulky and withdrew their eyes from me. I knew that they were jealous of the Frank, whom they regarded as an enemy, and feared lest he should turn my mind against them. CHAPTER X THE PARTING OF THE WAYS It was dusk when I set out for the missionary's tent, and starlit night before I reached it--so fleeting is the summer twilight in that land. Rashîd went with me, as in duty bound, and insisted on remaining with the servants of the missionary by the cook's fire, although I told him to go back repeatedly, knowing how his mouth must water for the headman's feast. The dudgeon which he felt at my desertion made him determined not to let me out of sight, and called for the martyrdom of someone, even let that someone be himself. The missionary called: 'Come in!' while I was still a good way off the tent. Entering, I found him stretched on a deck-chair, with hands behind his head. He did not rise upon my entrance, but just smiled and pointed to another chair beyond a little folding table laid for supper. He spoke of the day's heat and the fatigues of travel and the flies; and asked me how I could endure to sleep in native hovels full of fleas and worse. I told him that, by Suleymân's arrangement, we were to sleep upon the roof for safety. He sniffed. I then related a discussion I had overheard between Rashîd and Suleymân as to the best way of defeating those domestic pests, thinking to make him laugh. Rashîd had spoken of the virtues of a certain shrub; but Suleymân declared the best specific was a new-born baby. This, if laid within a room for a short while, attracted every insect. The babe should then be carried out and dusted. The missionary did not even smile. 'The brutes!' he murmured. 'How can you, an Englishman, and apparently a man of education, bear their intimacy?' They had their good points, I asserted--though, I fear, but lamely; for the robustness of his attitude impressed me, he being a man, presumably, of wide experience, and, what is more, a clergyman--the kind of man I had been taught to treat with some respect. He said no more till we had finished supper, which consisted of sardines and corned beef and sliced pineapple, tomatoes and half-liquid butter out of tins, and some very stale European bread which he had brought with him. Confronted with such mummy food, I thought with longing of the good, fresh meal which I had left behind me at the headman's house. He may have guessed my thoughts, for he observed: 'I never touch their food. It is insanitary'--which I knew to be exactly what they said of his. The man who waited on us seemed to move in fear, and was addressed by his employer very curtly. After the supper there was tea, which, I confess, was welcome, and then the missionary put me through a kind of catechism. Finding out who I was, and that we had some friends in common, he frowned deeply. He had heard of my existence in the land, it seemed. 'What are you doing here at all?' he asked severely. 'At your age you should be at college or in training for some useful work.' 'I'm learning things,' I told him rather feebly. His point of view, the point of view of all my countrymen, imposed itself on me as I sat there before him, deeply conscious of my youth and inexperience. 'What things?' he asked. And then his tongue was loosed. He gave me his opinion of the people of the country, and particularly of my two companions. He had summed them up at sight. They were two cunning rogues, whose only object was to fleece me. He told me stories about Englishmen who had been ruined in that very way through making friends with natives whom they thought devoted to them. One story ended in a horrid murder. He wanted me to have no more to do with them, and when he saw I was attached to them, begged me earnestly to treat them always as inferiors, to 'keep them in their place'; and this I promised, coward-like, to do, although I knew that, in the way he meant, it was not in me. It seemed that he himself was travelling in these wild places in search of an old Greek inscription, mention of which he had discovered in some book. He half-persuaded me to bear him company. 'You are doing no good here, alone with such companions,' he said, as I at last departed. 'Think over my advice to you. Go back to England. Come with me for the next few days, and share my tents. Then come and stay with me in Jerusalem, and we can talk things over.' There was no doubt of the kindliness of his intention. I thanked him, and strolled back toward the village in the starlight, Rashîd, who, at my first appearance, had detached himself from a small group which sat around the missionary's kitchen fire, stalking on before me with a lantern. It seemed a wonder that the village dogs, which had made so great a noise on our arrival in the place so short a while before, now took no notice, seeming to recognise our steps as those of lawful inmates. At the headman's house Suleymân still sat up talking with the village elders. He expressed a hope that I had much enjoyed myself, but with a hint of grievance which I noticed as a thing expected. Looking round upon those eager, friendly faces, I compared them with the cold face of the missionary, who suddenly appeared to me as a great bird of prey. I hated him instinctively, for he was like a schoolmaster; and yet his words had weight, for I was young to judge, and schoolmasters, though hateful, have a knack of being in the right. At last we three went up on to the roof to sleep. We had lain down and said 'good night' to one another, when Suleymân remarked, as if soliloquising: 'Things will never be the same.' 'What do you mean?' I questioned crossly. 'That missionary has spoilt everything. He told you not to trust us, not to be so friendly with persons who are natives of this land, and therefore born inferior.' I made no answer, and Suleymân went on: 'A man who journeys in the desert finds a guide among the desert people, and he who journeys on the sea trusts seamen. What allegations did he make? I pray you tell us!' 'He told me stories of his own experience.' 'His experience is not, never will be, yours. He is the enemy. A tiger, if one asked him to describe mankind, would doubtless say that they are masters of the guile which brings destruction, deserving only to be clawed to death. Question the pigeons of some mosque, upon the other hand, and they will swear by Allah men are lords of all benevolence.' Rashîd broke in: 'His boys, with whom I talked, inform me that he is devoid of all humanity. He never thanks them for their work, however perfect, nor has a word of blessing ever passed his lips. He frowns continually. How can he be the same as one like thee who laughs and talks?' We had all three sat up, unconsciously. And we continued sitting up, debating miserably under the great stars, hearing the jackals' voices answer one another from hill to hill both near and far, all through that night, drawing ever closer one to another as we approached an understanding. 'An Englishman such as that missionary,' said Suleymân, 'treats good and bad alike as enemies if they are not of his nation. He gives bare justice; which, in human life, is cruelty. He keeps a strict account with every man. We, when we love a man, keep no account. We never think of what is due to us or our position. And when we hate--may God forgive us!--it is just the same--save with the very best and coolest heads among us.' 'But you are cunning, and have not our code of honour,' I objected, with satirical intention, though the statement sounded brutal. 'Your Honour says so!' cried Rashîd, half weeping. 'No doubt you are referring to that theft in the hotel, of which you thought so little at the time that you would take no action. That was the doing of a Greek, as was established. Say, can you of your own experience of children of the Arabs say that one of us has ever robbed you of a small para, or wronged you seriously?' 'I cannot,' was my answer, after brief reflection. 'But the experience of other, older men must weigh with me.' 'Let other men judge people as they find them, and do thou likewise,' said Suleymân. 'He urged me to give up this aimless wandering and go with him in search of an old Greek inscription, not far off. Within four days he hopes to see El Cuds again; and thence he urged me to return to England.' At that my two companions became silent and exceeding still, as if some paralysing fear hung over them. It was the hour immediately before the dawn, and life seemed hopeless. The missionary's voice seemed then to me the call of duty, yet every instinct in my blood was fierce against it. 'Your Honour will do what he pleases,' said my servant mournfully. 'The Lord preserve thee ever!' sighed Suleymân. 'Thou art the leader of the party. Give command.' A streak of light grew on the far horizon, enabling us to see the outlines of the rugged landscape. A half-awakened wild-bird cried among the rocks below us. And suddenly my mind grew clear. I cared no longer for the missionary's warning. I was content to face the dangers which those warnings threatened; to be contaminated, even ruined as an Englishman. The mischief, as I thought it, was already done. I knew that I could never truly think as did that missionary, nor hold myself superior to Eastern folk again. If that was to be reprobate, then I was finished. 'Saddle the horses. We will start at once,' I told Rashîd. 'Before the missionary is afoot--towards the East.' For a moment he sat motionless, unable to believe his ears. Then suddenly he swooped and kissed my hand, exclaiming: 'Praise be to Allah!' 'Praise be to Allah!' echoed Suleymân, with vast relief. 'The tiger in thee has not triumphed. We shall still know joy.' 'I resign myself to be the pigeon of the mosque,' I answered, laughing happily. Five minutes later we were riding towards the dawn, beginning to grow red behind the heights of Moab. CHAPTER XI THE KNIGHT ERRANT We had left Damascus after noon the day before, and had spent the night at a great fortress-khan--the first of many on the pilgrims' road. We had been on our way an hour before Rashîd discovered that he had left a pair of saddle-bags behind him at the khan; and as those saddle-bags contained belongings of Suleymân, the latter went back with him to retrieve them. I rode on slowly, looking for a patch of shade. Except the khan, a square black object in the distance, there was nothing in my range of vision to project a shadow larger than a good-sized thistle. Between a faint blue wave of mountains on the one hand and a more imposing but far distant range upon the other, the vast plain rolled to the horizon in smooth waves. I was ascending such an undulation at my horse's leisure when a cavalier appeared upon its summit--a figure straight out of the pages of some book of chivalry, with coloured mantle streaming to the breeze, and lance held upright in the stirrup-socket. This knight was riding at his ease till he caught sight of me, when, with a shout, he laid his lance in rest, lowered his crest and charged. I was exceedingly alarmed, having no skill in tournament, and yet I could not bring myself to turn and flee. I rode on as before, though with a beating heart, my purpose, if I had one, being, when the moment came, to lean aside, and try to catch his spear, trusting in Allah that my horse would stand the shock. But the prospect of success was small, because I could see nothing clearly, till suddenly the thunder of the hoof-beats ceased, and I beheld the knight within ten yards of me, grinning and saluting me with lance erect, his horse flung back upon its haunches. 'I frightened thee, O Faranji?' he asserted mockingly. I replied that it would take more than such a wretched mountebank as he could do to frighten me, and showed him my revolver, which, until the fear was over, had escaped my memory. It pleased him, and he asked for it immediately. I put it back. 'A pretty weapon,' he agreed, 'but still I frightened thee.' I shrugged and sneered, disdaining further argument, and thought to pass him; but he turned his horse and rode beside me, asking who I was and where I came from, and what might be my earthly object in riding thus towards the desert all alone. I answered all his questions very coldly, which did not disconcert him in the least. Hearing that I had attendants, one of whom had skill in warfare, he said that he would wait with me till they came up. I tried to frighten him with tales of all the men Rashîd had slain in single combat: he was all the more determined to remain with me, saying that he would gain much honour from destroying such a man. 'But I do suspect that thou are lying, O most noble Faranji, and that this boasted champion is some wretched townsman whose only courage is behind a wall,' he chuckled. At that I was indignant, and I lied the more. Thus talking, we came near a piece of ruined wall, which cast sufficient shadow for a man to rest in. The knight dismounted and tied up his horse. I was for riding on, but he made such an outcry that, wishing to avoid a quarrel, I alighted also and tied up my horse. We lay down near together in the strip of shade. He passed me a rough leathern water-bottle, and I took a draught of warmish fluid, tasting like the smell of goats. He took a longer draught, and then exclaimed: 'There are thy friends.' Far off upon the plain two specks were moving. I could not have told man from man at such a distance, but the knight was able to distinguish and describe them accurately. 'The younger man who sits erect upon his horse--he is no doubt the warrior of whom thou speakest. The other, plump and lolling, has the air of greatness--a Pasha, maybe, or a man of law.' I told him that Suleymân was a man of learning, and then let him talk while I took stock of his appearance. The figure out of books of chivalry was shabby on a close inspection. The coloured surcoat was both weather-stained and torn, the coat of mail beneath so ancient that many of the links had disappeared completely; the holes where they had been were patched with hide, which also was beginning to give way in places. His age was about three-and-twenty; he had bright brown eyes, a black moustache and beard, and a malicious air. He looked a perfect ragamuffin, yet he spoke with condescension, talking much about his pedigree, which contained a host of names which I had never heard before--a fact which, when he realised it, filled him first with horror, then with pity of my ignorance. He expatiated also on his horse's pedigree, which was as lengthy as his own. When my friends came up, I quite expected them to rid me of the tiresome knight. But they did nothing of the sort. They took the man and his pretensions seriously, exchanging with him compliments in striking contrast with the haughty tone I had till then adopted. Rashîd refused his challenge with politeness, and, much to my dismay, Suleymân, the older and more thoughtful man, accepted it upon condition that the combat should stand over till some more convenient time; and when the knight proclaimed his sovereign will to travel with us, they seemed pleased. 'He will be useful to us,' said Rashîd, when I complained to him of this deception, 'for his tribe controls a great part of this country. But it will be best for me to carry our revolver while he rides with us. Then I and not your Honour can deny him, which is more becoming.' The knight had asked for my revolver thrice already. That evening, near a lonely village of the plain, the battle with Suleymân was fought with equal honours, each rider hitting his man squarely with the long jerideh--the stripped palm-branch--which is substituted for the spear in friendly combat. The heroes faced each other at a regulated distance. Then one--it was Suleymân--clapped spurs into his horse's flanks and fled, keeping within a certain space which might be called the lists; the other flying after him, with fearful yells, intent to fling the missile so that it should strike the victim in a certain manner. This lasted till the throw was made, and then the order was reversed, and the pursuer in his turn became the hunted. The knight applauded his opponent's skill reluctantly, and with regret that he himself had not been in his usual form. He journeyed with us after that for many days. It seemed that he was out in search of exploits, so did not care a jot which way he rode. In former days, he told me, there used to be a tournament in every town each Friday, where any stranger knight might show his prowess, winning honour and renown. But in these degenerate times it was necessary for the would-be champion to cry his challenge in some public place, or else arrange the fight beforehand meanly in some tavern. I should have been delighted with him on the whole, if he had not been quarrelsome and had not expected us, as his companions, to extricate him from the strife in which his arrogance involved him. We dreaded the arrival at a town or village. If he had possessed the prowess of his courage, which was absolutely reckless, he would have been a more endurable, if dread, companion. But in almost every quarrel which he brought upon himself he got the worst of it, and was severely beaten, and then would talk to us about the honour of the Arabs till we fell asleep. One night in the small town of Mazarib we rescued him from two Circassian bravoes whom he had insulted wantonly. They had nearly stopped his mouth for ever when we intervened. I cannot say he was ungrateful upon that occasion. On the contrary, he swore that he would not forsake us until death--a vow which filled us with dismay, for even Suleymân by that time saw that he was useless; and Rashîd, our treasurer, resented his contempt of money. He had a way, too, of demanding anything of ours which took his fancy, and, if not forcibly prevented, taking it, peculiarly obnoxious to Rashîd, who idolised my few belongings. We were his friends, his manner told us, and he, the bravest of the brave, the noblest of the noble Arabs, was prepared to give his life for us at any time. Any trifles therefore which we might bestow on him were really nothing as compared with what he gave us every hour of every day. It grew unbearable. The people in the khan at Mazarib were laughing at us because that wretched Bedawi, a chance adherent, ruled our party. We plotted desperately to get rid of him. At length Suleymân devised a scheme. It was that we should change the whole direction of our journey, turning aside into the mountain of the Druzes. The Druzes were at war with many of the Bedu--probably with this man's tribe; at any rate, a Bedawi, unless disguised, would run grave risk among them while the war was on. Accordingly, when we at length set out from Mazarib, Suleymân, with many compliments, informed the knight of a dilemma which distressed us greatly. I had been summoned to the bedside of a friend of mine, a great Druze sheykh, now lying very ill, whose one wish was to gaze on me before he died. Rashîd chimed in to say how tenderly that Druze chief loved me, and how depressed I was by sorrow for his grievous illness. In short, it was imperative that we should go at once to the Druze mountain. What were our feelings when we suddenly bethought us that there was danger in that region for an Arab knight! Must we then part from our beloved, from our souls' companion? Suleymân declared that we had wept like babes at such a prospect. No, that must never be; our grief would kill us. We had been obliged to think of some contrivance by which our hearts' delight might bear us company without much risk, and with the help of Allah we had hit upon a splendid plan, yet simple: That he should lay aside his lance and armour, dress as a Christian, and become our cook. 'Why need he seem a Christian?' asked Rashîd. 'Because all cooks who go with English travellers are Christians,' was the earnest answer, 'and because no man would ever think to find a Bedawi beneath a Christian's cloak.' 'A person of my master's standing ought to have a cook,' murmured Rashîd, as one who thought aloud. Never have I seen such horror in the face of man as then convulsed the features of the desert knight. He, a cook! He, the descendant of I know not whom, to wear the semblance of a heathen and degraded townsman! Rather than that he would encounter twenty spear-points. If we were going to the mountain of the Druzes, we might go alone! We all were eager to express regret. He listened with a sneer, and answered nothing. After a while he beckoned me to speak apart with him, and, when we were beyond the hearing of the others, said: 'I leave thee now, O Faranji, and journey towards Nejd to seek adventures. Thou lovest me I am aware, and so I grieve to part from thee; but thy adherents are low people and devoured by envy. If ever we should meet again I will destroy them. If thou shouldst travel south and eastward through the Belka, remember me, I beg, and seek our tents. There thou shalt find a welcome far more hospitable than the Druze will give thee. I shall never cease to pray for thee. My grief will be extreme until we meet again. I pray thee give me that revolver as a souvenir.' CHAPTER XII THE FANATIC A European hat in those days was a rarity except in the large towns, and it attracted notice. That is the reason why I generally discarded it, with other too conspicuously Western adjuncts. Where the inhabitants were not well-mannered, the hat was apt to be saluted with a shower of stones. One afternoon I happened to be riding by myself along a so-called road in the bare mountain country round Jerusalem, wearing a hat, when I came on a pedestrian resting in the shadow of a rock by the wayside. He was a native Christian--that much could be detected at a glance; but of what peculiar brand I could not guess from his costume, which consisted of a fez; a clerical black coat and waistcoat, quite of English cut, but very much the worse for wear; a yellow flannel shirt, and a red cord with tassels worn by way of necktie; baggy Turkish pantaloons; white stockings, and elastic-sided boots. Beside him, a long staff leaned up against the rock. He sprang upon his feet at my approach, and, with an amiable smile and bow, exclaimed: 'Good afternoon. I think you are an English gentleman?' I pleaded guilty to the charge, and he asked leave to walk beside me until past a certain village, not far distant, of which the people, he assured me, were extremely wicked and averse to Christians. I readily consented, and he took his staff and walked beside me, pouring out his soul in fulsome flattery. The village which he dreaded to approach alone was the abode of Muslims, devilish people who hate the righteous Christians and persecute them when they get the chance. He said that he looked forward to the day when the English would take over the whole country and put those evil-doers in their proper place, below the Christians. It would be a mercy and a blessing to the human race, he gave as his mature opinion, if the English were to conquer the whole world. They were so good and upright and so truly pious. He did not think that any wrong was ever done in England. And then: 'You are a Brûtestant?' he asked. I answered that I was a member of the Church of England. 'Ah, thank God!' he cried. 'I also am a Brûtestant--a Babtist.' He seemed to think that my avowal made us brothers. It seemed, from the account he gave me of himself, that he was an evangelist, working to spread the truth among his wicked country-people; for the Christians of the Greek and Latin Churches were both wicked and benighted, he informed me, and would persecute him, like the Muslims, if they got the chance. It was hard work, he told me, turning up his eyes to heaven. He grieved to say it, but there seemed no other way to purge the land of all those wicked people save destruction. He wondered that the Lord had not destroyed them long ago. Yet when I said that I did not agree with him, but thought that they were decent folk, though rather backward, he came round to my opinion in a trice, exclaiming: 'Ah, how true you speak! It is that they are backward. They will neffer be no better till they get the Gosbel light, the liffin water.' I told him he was talking nonsense; that, for my part, I thought the missionaries did more harm than good, and once again he changed his standpoint, though less boldly, saying: 'It is so delightful to talk thus freely to a noble English gentleman. God knows that I could listen for a day without fatigue, you talk so sweet. And what you say is all so new to me.' And he proceeded to relate with what severity the English missionaries treated native converts like himself, mentioning many wicked things which they had done in his remembrance. I could not but admire his versatility and total lack of shame in his desire to please. Thus talking, we approached the village of his fears. 'If I was by myself I should be much afraid,' he fawned; 'but not with you. These wicked beoble do not dare to hurt an English gentleman, who wears the hat and is brotected by the Bowers of Eurobe.' We had not really got into the place before some boys at play among the rocks outside the houses, spying my hat, threw stones in our direction. One hit my horse. I raised my whip and rode at them. They fled with screams of terror. Glancing back, I could perceive no sign of my devout companion. But when I returned at leisure, having driven the young rogues to cover, I found him vigorously beating a small boy who had fallen in the panic flight and, finding himself left behind, had been too frightened to get up again. Never have I seen a face of such triumphant malice as then appeared on that demure evangelist. He beat the child as if he meant to kill it, muttering execrations all the while and looking round him furtively for fear lest other Muslims should appear in sight, in which case, I believe, he would at once have turned from blows to fondling. 'The wicked boy!' he cried, as I came up, 'to throw stones at a noble English gentleman. He well deserfs to be deliffered ofer to the Bowers of Eurobe.' I bade him leave the child alone, or it would be the worse for him. Aggrieved, and, in appearance, shocked at my unsympathetic tone, he left his prey, and I endeavoured to speak comfort to the victim; who, however, took no notice of my words, but ran hard for the village, howling lustily. 'The wicked boy! The wicked children!' the evangelist kept moaning, in hesitating and half-contrite tones. 'It is a bity that you let him go. He will perhabs make trouble for us in the fillage. But you are so brafe. I think the English are the brafest kind of beeble.' I also thought it possible there might be trouble; but I decided to go on, not wishing to show fear before that craven. He cried aloud in awe and wonder when I told him that little boys threw stones in Christian England. 'But only upon unbelievers!' he exclaimed imploringly, as one who would preserve his last illusion. I replied to the effect that members of the Church of England would, no doubt, have stoned a Baptist or a Roman Catholic with pleasure, if such heretics with us had dressed in a peculiar way; but that, in my opinion, it was only natural instinct in a boy to throw a stone at any living thing which seemed unusual. The shock this information gave him--or his private terrors--kept him silent through the village; where the people, men and women, watched us pass with what appeared to be unfriendly faces. I was ill at ease, expecting some attack at every step. As luck would have it, at the far end of the place, when I could see the open country, and was giving thanks for our escape, a great big stone was thrown by a small boy quite close to me. It struck me on the arm, and hurt enough to make me really angry. 'For God's sake, sir!' implored my terrified companion, 'Ride on! Do nothing! There are men obserfing.' I heard him taking to his heels. But I had caught the culprit, and was beating him. His yells went forth with terrible insistence: 'O my father, O my mother, help. Ya Muslimin!' And, in a trice, I was surrounded by a group of surly-looking fellâhîn, one of whom told me curtly to release the boy. I did so instantly, prepared for trouble. But no sooner had I left off beating than that man began. The boy's appeals for help went forth anew; but this time he addressed them to his mother only, for his father held him. I begged the man to stop, and in the end he did so. All those ferocious-looking fellâhîn returned my smile at this conclusion, and wished me a good evening as I rode away. I never saw that bright evangelist again. No doubt he ran till he had reached some place inhabited by altogether righteous Christian people. But the way he started running was a clear inducement to pursuit to any son of Adam not evangelised. CHAPTER XIII RASHÎD'S REVENGE We were staying with an English friend of mine--a parson, though the least parsonical of men--who had a pleasant little house in a Druze village of Mount Lebanon, and nothing to do but watch, and do his utmost to restrain, the antics of a very wealthy and eccentric lady missionary. He had gone away for a few weeks, leaving us in possession, when another sort of clergyman arrived--a little man with long white beard, sharp nose, and pale, seraphic eyes. He was, or fancied that he was, on duty, inspecting missionary establishments in those mountains. The master of the house had once invited him to stay there if he passed that way. He seemed surprised to find us in possession, and treated us as interlopers, though I was in fact his host, regarding our small dwelling as a clergy house. His gaze expressed an innocent surprise when I sat down to supper with him and performed the honours on the night of his arrival. He gave his orders boldly to my servant, and his demeanour plainly asked what business I had there, though he would never listen to my explanation. I took the whole adventure philosophically, but rage and indignation took possession of Rashîd. And his indignation was increased by the popularity of our insulter with the girls and teachers of the mission-school hard by. Our guest was innocence itself, if silly and conceited. But Rashîd watched all his movements, and could tell me that the old 'hypocrite,' as he invariably called him, went to the school each day and kissed the pupils, taking the pretty ones upon his knee, and making foolish jokes, talking and giggling like an imbecile, bestowing sweetmeats. With them--for the most sinful motives, as Rashîd averred, and, I suppose, believed--he was all sugar; but when he came back to the house he was as grumpy as could be. Rashîd would have destroyed him at a nod from me one evening when he said: 'I think I must have left my glasses over at the school. Will you be good enough to go and ask?' 'Now your Honour knows how we feel when we meet a man like that; and there are many such among the Franks,' my servant whispered in my ear as I went out obediently. 'By Allah, it is not to be endured!' The parson occupied the only bedroom; and I slept out upon the balcony on his account. Yet he complained of certain of my garments hanging in his room, and flung them out. It was after that revolting episode, when I was really angry for a moment, that Rashîd came to me and said: 'You hate this hypocrite; is it not so?' 'By Allah,' I replied, 'I hate him.' He seemed relieved by the decision of my tone, and then informed me: 'I know a person who would kill him for the sake of thirty English pounds.' It became, of course, incumbent on me to explain that, with us English, hatred is not absolute as with the children of the Arabs--mine had already reached the laughing stage. He was evidently disappointed, and answered with a weary sigh: 'May Allah rid us of this foul oppression!' It was a bitter pill for him, whose whole endeavour was for my aggrandisement, to see me treated like a menial by our guest; who, one fine evening, had me summoned to his presence--I had been sitting with some village elders in the olive grove behind the house--and made to me a strange proposal, which Rashîd declared by Allah proved his perfect infamy. His manner was for once quite amiable. Leaning back in a deck-chair, his two hands with palms resting on his waistcoat, the fingers raised communicating at the tips, he said, with clerical complacency: 'It is my purpose to make a little tour to visit missionary ladies at three several places in these mountains, and then to go on to Jezzîn to see the waterfall. As you appear to know the country and the people intimately, and can speak the language, it would be well if you came too. The man Rashîd could wait upon us all.' Rashîd, I knew, was listening at the door. 'Us all? How many of you are there, then?' He hemmed a moment ere replying: 'I--er--think of taking the Miss Karams with me'--Miss Sara Karam, a young lady of Syrian birth but English education, was head teacher at the girls' school, and her younger sister, Miss Habîbah Karam, was her constant visitor--'I thought you might take charge of the younger of the two. The trip will give them both great pleasure, I am sure.' And they were going to Jezzîn, where there was no hotel, and we should have to herd together in the village guest-room! What would my Arab friends, censorious in all such matters, think of that? I told him plainly what I thought of the idea, and what the mountain-folk would think of it and all of us. I told him that I had no wish to ruin any woman's reputation, nor to be forced into unhappy marriage by a public scandal. He, as a visitor, would go away again; as an old man, and professionally holy, his good name could hardly suffer among English people. But the girls would have to live among the mountaineers, who, knowing of their escapade, would thenceforth scorn them. And as for me---- 'But I proposed a mere excursion,' he interpolated. 'I fail to see why you should take this tone about it.' 'Well, I have told you what I think,' was my rejoinder. I then went out and told the story to Rashîd, who heartily applauded my decision, which he had already gathered. I did not see our simple friend again till after breakfast the next morning. Then he said to me, in something of a contrite tone: 'I have been thinking over what you said last night. I confess I had not thought about the native gossip. I have decided to give up the expedition to Jezzîn. And it has occurred to me that, as you are not going, I could ride your horse. It would save the trouble and expense of hiring one, if you would kindly lend it.' Taken fairly by surprise, I answered: 'Certainly,' and then went out and told Rashîd what I had done. He wrung his hands and bitterly reproached me. 'But there is one good thing,' he said; 'Sheytân will kill him.' In all the months that we had owned that horse Rashîd had never once before alluded to him by the name which I had chosen. It was ill-omened, he had often warned me. But nothing could be too ill-omened for that hypocrite. 'I do not want to lend the horse at all,' I said. 'And I am pretty sure he could not ride him. But what was I to say? He took me by surprise.' 'In that case,' said Rashîd, 'all is not said. Our darling shall enjoy his bath to-day.' The washing of my horse--a coal-black Arab stallion, as playful as a kitten and as mad--was in the nature of a public festival for all the neighbours. Sheytân was led down to the spring, where all the population gathered, the bravest throwing water over him with kerosene tins, while he plunged and kicked and roused the mountain echoes with his naughty screaming. On this occasion, for a finish, Rashîd let go his hold upon the head-rope, the people fled in all directions, and off went our Sheytân with tail erect, scrambling and careering up the terraces, as nimble as a goat, to take the air before returning to his stable. Our reverend guest had watched the whole performance from our balcony, which, from a height of some three hundred feet, looked down upon the spring. I was up there behind him, but I said no word till he exclaimed in pious horror: 'What a vicious brute! Dangerous--ought to be shot!' when I inquired to what he was alluding. 'Whose is that savage beast?' he asked, with quite vindictive ire, pointing to Sheytân, who was disporting on the terrace just below. 'Oh, that's my horse,' I answered, interested. 'He's really quite a lamb.' 'Your horse! You don't mean that?' He said no more just then, but went indoors, and then out to the mission school to see the ladies. That evening he informed me: 'I shall not require your horse. I had no notion that it was so strong an animal when I suggested borrowing it. Old Câsim at the school will hire one for me. I should be afraid lest such a valuable horse as yours might come to grief while in my charge.' That was his way of putting it. We watched the party start one early morning, the clergyman all smiles, the ladies in a flutter, all three mounted on hired chargers of the most dejected type, old Câsim from the school attending them upon a jackass. Rashîd addressed the last-named as he passed our house, applying a disgraceful epithet to his employment. The poor old creature wept. 'God knows,' he said, 'I would not choose such service. But what am I to do? A man must live. And I will save my lady's virtue if I can.' 'May Allah help thee!' said Rashîd. 'Take courage; I have robbed his eyes.' I had no notion of his meaning at the time when, sitting on the balcony, I overheard this dialogue; but later in the day Rashîd revealed to me two pairs of eyeglasses belonging to our guest. Without these glasses, which were of especial power, the reverend man could not see anything in detail. 'And these two pairs were all he had,' exclaimed Rashîd with triumph. 'He always used to put them on when looking amorously at the ladies. The loss of them, please God, will spoil his pleasure.' CHAPTER XIV THE HANGING DOG Our English host possessed a spaniel bitch, which, being well-bred gave him much anxiety. The fear of mésalliances was ever in his mind, and furiously would he drive away the village pariahs when they came slinking round the house, with lolling tongues. One brown and white dog, larger than the others and with bristling hair, was a particular aversion, the thought of which deprived him of his sleep of nights; and not the thought alone, for that persistent suitor--more like a bear than any dog I ever saw--made a great noise around us in the darkness, whining, howling, and even scrabbling at the stable door. At length, in desperation, he resolved to kill him. One night, when all the village was asleep, we lay out on the balcony with guns and waited. After a while the shadow of a dog slinking among the olive trees was seen. We fired. The village and the mountains echoed; fowls clucked, dogs barked; we even fancied that we heard the cries of men. We expected the whole commune to rise up against us; but after a short time of waiting all was still again. Rashîd, out in the shadows, whispered: 'He is nice and fat,' as if he thought that we were going to eat the dog. 'And is he dead?' I asked. 'Completely dead,' was the reply. 'Then get a cord and hang him to the balcony,' said my companion. 'His odour will perhaps attract the foxes.' Another minute and the corpse was hanging from the balcony, while we lay out and waited, talking in low tones. The bark of foxes came from vineyards near at hand, where there were unripe grapes. 'Our vines have tender grapes,' our host repeated; making me think of the fable of the fox and the grapes, which I related to Rashîd in Arabic as best I could. He laughed as he exclaimed: 'Ripe grapes, thou sayest? Our foxes do not love ripe grapes and seldom steal them. I assure you, it was sour grapes that the villain wanted, and never did they seem so exquisitely sour as when he found out that he could not reach them. How his poor mouth watered!' This was new light upon an ancient theme for us, his hearers. After an hour or two of idle waiting, when no foxes came, we went to bed, forgetting all about the hanging dog. The house was close beside a carriage road which leads down from the chief town of the mountains to the city, passing many villages. As it was summer, when the wealthy citizens sleep in the mountain villages for coolness' sake, from the dawn onward there was a downward stream of carriages along that road. When the daylight became strong enough for men to see distinctly, the sight of a great brown and white dog hanging from our balcony, and slowly turning, struck terror in the breasts of passers-by. Was it a sign of war, or some enchantment? Carriage after carriage stopped, while its inhabitants attempted to explore the mystery. But there was nobody about to answer questions. My host and I, Rashîd as well, were fast asleep indoors. Inquirers looked around them on the ground, and then up at the shuttered house and then at the surrounding olive trees, in one of which they finally espied a nest of bedding on which reclined a blue-robed man asleep. It was the cook, Amîn, who slept there for fresh air. The firing of the night before had not disturbed him. By dint of throwing stones they woke him up, and he descended from his tree and stood before them, knuckling his eyes, which were still full of sleep. They asked: 'What means this portent of the hanging dog?' He stared incredulously at the object of their wonder, then exclaimed: 'Some enemy has done it, to insult me, while I slept. No matter, I will be avenged before the day is out.' The tidings of the mystery ran through the village, and every able-bodied person came to view it, and express opinions. 'The dog is well known. He is called Barûd; he was the finest in our village. He used to guard the dwelling of Sheykh Ali till he transferred his pleasure to the house of Sheykh Selîm. It was a sin to kill him,' was the general verdict. And Amîn confirmed it, saying: 'Aye, a filthy sin. But I will be avenged before the day is out.' At last Rashîd, awakened by the noise of talking, came out of the stable where he always slept, and with a laugh explained the whole occurrence. Some of the villagers were greatly shocked, and blamed us strongly. But Rashîd stood up for us, declaring that the dog belonged in truth to no man, so that no man living had the right to blame his murderer; whereas the valuable sporting bitch of the Casîs (our host) was all his own, and it was his duty therefore to defend her from improper lovers. He then cut down the body of the dog, which no one up till then had dared to do; and all the people gradually went away. The coast was clear when we arose towards eight o'clock. Rashîd, with laughter, told the tale to us at breakfast. We had been silly, we agreed, to leave the hanging dog; and there, as we supposed, the matter ended. But hardly had we finished breakfast when a knock came at the open door, and we beheld a tall and dignified fellâh depositing his staff against the doorpost and shuffling off his slippers at the call to enter. He said the murdered dog was his, and dear to him as his own eyes, his wife and children. He was the finest dog in all the village, of so rare a breed that no one in the world had seen a dog just like him. He had been of use to guard the house, and for all kinds of work. The fellâh declared his worth to be five Turkish pounds, which we must pay immediately unless we wished our crime to be reported to the Government. With as nonchalant an air as I could muster, I offered him a beshlik--fourpence halfpenny. He thereupon became abusive and withdrew--in the end, hurriedly, because Rashîd approached him in a hostile manner. He had not been gone ten minutes when another peasant came, asserting that the dog was really his, and he had been on the point of regaining his possession by arbitration of the neighbours when we shot the animal. He thus considered himself doubly injured--in his expectations and his property. He came to ask us instantly to pay an English pound, or he would lay the case before the Turkish governor, with whom, he could assure us, he had favour. I offered him the beshlik, and he also stalked off in a rage. We were still discussing these encounters with Rashîd when there arrived a vastly more imposing personage--no other than the headman of the village, the correct Sheykh Mustafa, who had heard, he said, of the infamous attempts which had been made to levy blackmail on us, and came now in all haste to tell us of the indignation and disgust which such dishonesty towards foreigners aroused in him. He could assure us that the dog was really his; and he was glad that we had shot the creature, since to shoot it gave us pleasure. His one desire was that we should enjoy ourselves. Since our delight was in the slaughter of domestic animals, he proposed to bring his mare--of the best blood of the desert--round for us to shoot. We felt exceedingly ashamed, and muttered what we could by way of an apology. But the sheykh would not accept it from us. Gravely smiling, and stroking his grey beard, he said: 'Nay, do what pleases you. God knows, your pleasure is a law to us. Nay, speak the word, and almost (God forgive me!) I would bring my little son for you to shoot. So unlimited is my regard for men so much above the common rules of this our county, and who are protected in their every fancy by the Powers of Europe.' His flattery dejected us for many days. CHAPTER XV TIGERS The fellâhîn who came to gossip in the winter evenings round our lamp and stove assured us there were tigers in the neighbouring mountain. We, of course, did not accept the statement literally, but our English friend possessed the killing instinct, and held that any feline creatures which could masquerade in popular report as tigers would afford him better sport than he had yet enjoyed in Syria. So when the settled weather came we went to look for them. For my part I take pleasure in long expeditions with a gun, though nothing in the way of slaughter come of them. My lack of keenness at the proper moment has been the scorn and the despair of native guides and hunters. Once, in Egypt, at the inundation of the Nile, I had been rowed for miles by eager men, and had lain out an hour upon an islet among reeds, only to forget to fire when my adherents whispered as the duck flew over, because the sun was rising and the desert hills were blushing like the rose against a starry sky. I had chased a solitary partridge a whole day among the rocks of En-gedi without the slightest prospect of success; and in the Jordan valley I had endured great hardships in pursuit of wild boar without seeing one. It was the lurking in wild places at unusual hours which pleased me, not the matching of my strength and skill against the might of beasts. I have always been averse to every sort of competition. This I explain that all may know that, though I sallied forth with glee in search of savage creatures, it was not to kill them. We set out from our village on a fine spring morning, attended by Rashîd, my servant, and a famous hunter of the district named Muhammad, also two mules, which carried all things necessary for our camping out, and were in charge of my friend's cook, Amîn by name. We rode into the mountains, making for the central range of barren heights, which had the hue and something of the contour of a lion's back. At length we reached a village at the foot of this commanding range, and asked for tigers. We were told that they were farther on. A man came with us to a point of vantage whence he was able to point out the very place--a crag in the far distance floating in a haze of heat. After riding for a day and a half we came right under it, and at a village near its base renewed inquiry. 'Oh,' we were told, 'the tigers are much farther on. You see that eminence?' Again a mountain afar off was indicated. At the next village we encamped, for night drew near. The people came out to inspect us, and we asked them for the tigers. 'Alas!' they cried. 'It is not here that you must seek them. By Allah, you are going in the wrong direction. Behold that distant peak!' And they pointed to the place from which we had originally started. Our English friend was much annoyed, Rashîd and the shikâri and the cook laughed heartily. No one, however, was for going back. Upon the following day our friend destroyed a jackal and two conies, which consoled him somewhat in the dearth of tigers, and we rode forward resolutely, asking our question at each village as we went along. Everywhere we were assured that there were really tigers in the mountain, and from some of the villages young sportsmen who owned guns insisted upon joining our excursion, which showed that they themselves believed such game existed. But their adherence, though it gave us hope, was tiresome, for they smoked our cigarettes and ate our food. At last, towards sunset on the seventh evening of our expedition, we saw a wretched-looking village on the heights with no trees near it, and only meagre strips of cultivation on little terraces, like ledges, of the slope below. Our friend had just been telling me that he was weary of this wild-goose chase, with all the rascals upon earth adhering to us. He did not now believe that there were tigers in the mountain, nor did I. And we had quite agreed to start for home upon the morrow, when the people of that miserable village galloped down to greet us with delighted shouts, as if they had been waiting for us all their lives. 'What is your will?' inquired the elders of the place, obsequiously. 'Tigers,' was our reply. 'Say, O old man, are there any tigers in your neighbourhood?' The old man flung up both his hands to heaven, and his face became transfigured as in ecstasy. He shouted: 'Is it tigers you desire? This, then, is the place where you will dwell content. Tigers? I should think so! Tigers everywhere!' The elders pointed confidently to the heights, and men and women--even children--told us: 'Aye, by Allah! Hundreds--thousands of them; not just one or two. As many as the most capacious man could possibly devour in forty years.' 'It looks as if we'd happened right at last,' our friend said, smiling for the first time in three days. We pitched our tent upon the village threshing-floor, the only flat place, except roofs of houses, within sight. The village elders dined with us, and stayed till nearly midnight, telling us about the tigers and the way to catch them. Some of the stories they related were incredible, but not much more so than is usual in that kind of narrative. It seemed unnecessary for one old man to warn us gravely on no account to take them by their tails. 'For snakes it is the proper way,' he said sagaciously, 'since snakes can only double half their length. But tigers double their whole length, and they object to it. To every creature its own proper treatment.' But there was no doubt of the sincerity of our instructors, nor of their eagerness to be of use to us in any way. Next morning, when we started out, the headman came with us some distance, on purpose to instruct the guide he had assigned to us, a stupid-looking youth, who seemed afraid. He told him: 'Try first over there among the boulders, and when you have exhausted that resort, go down to the ravine, and thence beat upwards to the mountain-top. Please God, your Honours will return with half a hundred of those tigers which devour our crops.' Thus sped with hope, we set out in good spirits, expecting not a bag of fifty tigers, to speak truly, but the final settlement of a dispute which had long raged among us, as to what those famous tigers really were. Rashîd would have it they were leopards, I said lynxes, and our English friend, in moments of depression, thought of polecats. But, though we scoured the mountain all that day, advancing with the utmost caution and in open order, as our guide enjoined, we saw no creature of the feline tribe. Lizards, basking motionless upon the rocks, slid off like lightning when aware of our approach. Two splendid eagles from an eyrie on the crags above hovered and wheeled, observing us, their shadows like two moving spots of ink upon the mountain-side. A drowsy owl was put up from a cave, and one of our adherents swore he heard a partridge calling. No other living creature larger than a beetle did we come across that day. Returning to the camp at evening, out of temper, we were met by all the village, headed by the sheykh, who loudly hoped that we had had good sport, and brought home many tigers to provide a feast. When he heard that we had not so much as seen a single one he fell upon the luckless youth who had been told off to conduct us, and would have slain him, I believe, had we not intervened. 'Didst seek in all the haunts whereof I told thee? Well I know thou didst not, since they saw no tiger! Behold our faces blackened through thy sloth and folly, O abandoned beast!' Restrained by force by two of our adherents, the sheykh spat venomously at the weeping guide, who swore by Allah that he had obeyed instructions to the letter. Our English friend was much too angry to talk Arabic. He bade me tell the sheykh he was a liar, and that the country was as bare of tigers as his soul of truth. Some of our fellâh adherents seconded my speech. The sheykh appeared amazed and greatly horrified. 'There are tigers,' he assured us, 'naturally! All that you desire.' 'Then go and find them for us!' said our friend, vindictively. 'Upon my head,' replied the complaisant old man, laying his right hand on his turban reverently. 'To hear is to obey.' We regarded this reply as mere politeness, the affair as ended. What was our surprise next morning to see the sheykh and all the able men, accompanied by many children, set off up the mountain armed with staves and scimitars, and all the antique armament the village boasted! It had been our purpose to depart that day, but we remained to watch the outcome of that wondrous hunting. The villagers spread out and 'beat' the mountain. All day long we heard their shouts far off among the upper heights. If any tiger had been there they must assuredly have roused him. But they returned at evening empty-handed, and as truly crestfallen as if they had indeed expected to bring home a bag of fifty tigers. One man presented me with a dead owl--the same, I think, which we had startled on the day before, as if to show that their display had not been quite in vain. 'No tigers!' sighed the sheykh, as though his heart were broken. 'What can have caused them all to go away? Unhappy day!' A lamentable wail went up from the whole crowd. 'A grievous disappointment, but the world is thus. But,' he added, with a sudden brightening, 'if your Honours will but condescend to stay a week or two, no doubt they will return.' CHAPTER XVI PRIDE AND A FALL There was to be a grand fantasia at the castle of the greatest of Druze sheykhs in honour of a visit from the English Consul-General in Syria; and as an Englishman I was invited to be there. It was a journey of a day and a half. Upon the second morning Rashîd and I had not gone far ere we fell in with other horsemen wending in the same direction as ourselves, well mounted and in holiday attire. All greeted us politely, but we kept apart, because they nearly all rode mares while we rode stallions--a fruitful source of trouble and a cause of war. At length a young man mounted on a stallion overtook us with most cordial greetings. I had met him often. He was the son of a rich landowner in a neighbouring valley, and, I think, the most beautiful human creature I ever saw. That day he was particularly good to look at, his complexion of clear olive slightly flushed, his violet eyes beneath their long dark lashes dancing, his perfect white teeth gleaming with excitement and delight. He wore a cloak, broad striped, of white and crimson, a white frilled shirt of lawn showing above a vest of crimson velvet, fawn-coloured baggy trousers, and soft sheepskin boots. A snow-white turban crowned his whole appearance. His horse was thoroughbred and young, and he controlled its ceaseless dance to admiration. He told me that the stallion was his own, an uncle's gift, and quite the best in all the mountains; although mine, he added out of mere politeness, was undoubtedly a pearl of breeding and high spirit. He hoped with such a steed to gain renown in that day's horsemanship, and, if it might be, win the notice of the Consul-General and his lady. 'My father wished me to take out another horse,' he said; 'but I love this one, and am used to all his ways. I could not do myself full justice on another, nor would Rustem do his best for any other rider.' He proceeded to discuss the horses which we saw before us on the road, pointing out in each of them some defect, and exclaiming: 'I shall excel them all, in sh' Allah! Does not your Honour also think my horse the best?' I assured him that I did indeed, and all my wishes were for his success, 'because,' said I, 'I know and like you, and I do not know the others.' 'But some thou knowest for a certainty, for all the Mountain will be there. Come, let me name them to thee one by one.' And some of those he named were certainly well known to me. 'When thou seest Hasan, son of Ali, nicely mounted, wilt thou not think he is the better man?' 'No, no, by Allah!' I disclaimed such fickleness. 'Be sure that if good wishes can ensure success, all mine are with thee in to-day's event.' 'Allah increase thy wealth!' he cried in joy, as if I had bestowed on him a gift of price. There was a crowd of many colours on the well-made road which wanders up through orchards to the village and ends on the meydân before the castle gate. There the crowd halted, making fast their horses to the many rings and tie-holes which were in the walls. Rashîd took charge of my horse and his own, while I went on up steps on to a higher platform intersected by a stream of ice-cold water plunging down into the valley in a fine cascade whose spray and murmur cooled the air. That rush of water was the greatest luxury in such a land, and the lord of the castle took much pride in its contrivance. I went up to a door where soldiers and domestics lounged, but was informed: 'Our lord is out of doors.' A soldier pointed to a bunch of trees above the waterfall and overlooking the meydân, where many notables in black frock coat and fez sat out on chairs. He ran on to announce my coming. I was soon a member of the formal group, replying to the usual compliments and kind inquiries. Coffee was handed round. Then came a tray of different kinds of sherbet, then a tray of eatables. The chiefs around me talked of harvests and the price of land, but, most of all, of horses, since it was a horsey day. The screaming of a stallion came persistently from the meydân--a naughty screaming which foreboded mischief. I recognised the voice. The culprit was my own Sheytân. The screams were so disturbing, so indecent, that several of the great ones round me frowned and asked: 'Whose horse is that?' in accents of displeasure. I was ashamed to own him. At length the lord of the castle called a servant to his side and whispered, pointing with his hand in the direction whence the screams proceeded. The servant hurried off, but presently returned and whispered something in his master's ear. His master looked at me and nodded gravely. He then addressed me in a deprecating tone, remarking: 'Your Honour's horse is too high-spirited; the crowd excites him. Will you allow him to be tethered in some other place?' From the excessive smoothness of his manner I could guess that, had I been a native of the land, he would have told me to remove the vicious brute and myself likewise. I rose at once to go and see to it. 'Pray do not give yourself the trouble!' he exclaimed, distressed. The servant went along with me, and, when we got to the meydân, Rashîd came running. Sheytân was then indeed a terrifying sight, with streaming tail, mane bristling, and a wicked bloodshot eye, tearing at his head-rope, one minute pawing at the wall as if to climb it, the next kicking wildly with his head down. I know little of horses in general, but I knew that particular horse, and he knew me. I went up quietly and talked to him, then loosed the rope and led Sheytân away without much difficulty, Rashîd meanwhile explaining to the servant of the house that no one else could possibly have done it. We tied him at the further end of the meydân. Then I went back on to the terrace, where the notables had risen and were looking at the youths who were to take part in the fantasia, among them my companion of the road, the young Sheykh Abdul Hamid. These were now on the parade-ground with their horses. My neighbour in the group of great ones said, politely: 'Your Honour should go with them; it is only proper, since their going is to compliment the representative of England. And you are, I see, a very skilful cavalier. The way you quieted that horse of yours was wonderful. We have all been talking of it. Ride with them!' I begged to be excused. The essence of the fantasia is to show off one's own prowess and one's horse's paces while careering madly in a widish circle round some given object--an open carriage with some great one in it, or a bridal pair--taking no note of obstacles, dashing over rocks and gulleys and down breakneck slopes, loading and firing off a gun at intervals, in full career. I had tried the feeling of it once at a friend's wedding, and had been far from happy, though my horse enjoyed the romp and often tried to start it afterwards when there was no occasion. Remembering Abdul Hamid and his desire for praise that day, I said: 'There is only one good horseman here--Abdul Hamid, the son of the Sheykh Mustafa. All the rest of us, compared with him, are mere pedestrians.' I pointed out the youth in question to my neighbour, who was a man of power in the mountains, and he praised the beauty of his form on horseback. 'By Allah, right is with thee,' he assented. 'There is none but he.' Away they went--Jinblâts, Talhûks, and Abdul Meliks--all in clean white turbans, with coloured cloaks a-stream upon the breeze, on horses gorgeously caparisoned. We waited half an hour--in silence, as it seemed; and then we heard the noise of their return, the shouts, the firing. I swear I saw a horse and man surmount a housetop in the village and then leap down upon the other side. At last, with yells and reckless gunshots and a whirl of dust, the crowd of horsemen came full tilt on the meydân. Their leader--in appearance a mad angel--was my friend, Abdul Hamid. Suddenly he drew his rein, flinging the steed right back upon his haunches. In so doing, looking up at me with a triumphant smile, he somehow missed his balance and pitched clear over his horse's head, just at the very moment when a carriage and pair containing the beaming Consul-General and his lady, with a glorious Cawwâs upon the box, arrived upon the scene. I ran to help him, but another person was before me. A tall old man, whose garb bespoke him an initiated Druze, rushed out among the horses and the dust and beat the wretched lad about the shoulders, heaping curses on that lovely head for bringing shame upon an honoured house before such company. It was the lad's own father, the Sheykh Mustafa. I helped to drag the old man off, and would have gone on to console the son; but just then I beheld Sheytân approaching with a broken head-rope. I contrived to catch him and to mount without attending to the girths; and, once on horseback, I was glad to be there; for quite fifty of the tethered steeds had broken loose in the excitement, and were rushing here and there and fighting in a most alarming way. I have always had a dread of horse-fights, and this was not a single fight; it was a mêlée, fresh horses every minute breaking loose to join it. Right in my way two angry stallions rose up, boxing one another like the lion and the unicorn, and a little boy of ten or thereabouts ran in between and, jumping, caught their head-ropes. I escaped at last and rode down through the village to the bottom of the valley, where a grove of walnut trees cast pleasant shade beside a stream. There Rashîd found me later in the day. He told me that my disappearance had caused consternation and alarm, the Consul-General and his lady having asked for me. Bidding him remain with the two horses, I went back on foot to the castle, where I stayed only the time necessary to pay my respects. As I was returning towards the valley, a litter borne between two mules was leaving the meydân. Beside it walked the stern Sheykh Mustafa, and in it, I had little doubt, reclined the beautiful Abdul Hamid. I asked the serving-man who led the foremost mule if his young lord was seriously hurt. He answered: 'Yes; for he has broken his elbow and his shoulder and his collar-bone. But that is nothing, since he has disgraced our house.' A bitter wail of 'Woe the day!' came from within the palanquin. CHAPTER XVII TRAGEDY The sun was sinking down over the sea, the mountain wall with all its clefts and promontories wore a cloak of many colours, when we saw before us on a rock a ruined tower. We were looking for some human habitation where we might get food and shelter for the night; but we should have passed by that building, taking it to be deserted, had not we espied a woman's figure sitting out before it in the evening light. Experience of late had taught us to shun villages, belonging thereabouts to a peculiar sect, whose members made a virtue of inhospitality. At noon that day, when wishing to buy food, we had been met with such amazing insults that Rashîd, my henchman, had not yet recovered from his indignation, and still brooded on revenge. On seeing that the ruined tower had occupants, he said: 'If these refuse us, we will force an entrance mercilessly; for see, they dwell alone, with none to help them.' He rode before me towards the tower, with shoulders squared and whip upraised. It surprised me that the woman sitting out before the door appeared indifferent to his approach, until, upon a closer view, I saw that she was old and blind. She must, I thought, be deaf as well, since she had failed to move at sound of hoof beats; which sound brought out an aged man, who shattered Rashîd's plan of vengeance by exclaiming: 'Itfaddalû! (Perform a kindness!' that is, 'Enter!'). 'It is thou who doest kindness,' I replied, by rote. 'We are thy suppliants for food and rest this night.' 'All mine is thine,' the old man answered, coming to hold my horse's head, while I dismounted. His wrinkled face was moulded to a patient, sad expression, which became more noticeable when he smiled; and he was always smiling. I went into the tower and down a flight of much-worn steps, which ended in a heap of fallen masonry. 'Deign to proceed,' called out the tenant from behind me; when, climbing over the obstruction, I found myself in a large room, of which the only furniture consisted in a heap of bedding and some cooking things. Rather to my surprise the place was clean. The old man flung himself upon the ground and blew upon the mass of charcoal in a brazier, and presently a smell of coffee stewing filled the dungeon; for such it doubtless had been in the past, its only window being high above our heads, yet only just above the level of the rock, as I discovered when I went to seek Rashîd, who, by our host's direction, had bestowed the horses in a cavern by the sea. The blind old woman still sat out before the door. I walked all round the tower and noticed small fields neatly fenced below it on the landward side, and a few hobbled goats upon a strip of herbage near the shore; which, with some fishing-nets spread out upon the rocks to dry, informed me how our host obtained a livelihood. As I went back towards the door, I met Rashîd bringing our saddlebags. He nodded to the woman, who still sat there motionless, and told me: 'She is mad, the poor old creature--but not dangerous. Fear nothing. They are quite good people. It is strange, but he informs me she is not his mother nor his wife, nor anyone by birth allied to him. And yet he waits upon her, helpless as she is.' Just then, the master of the tower appeared, and, going to the woman, took her hand and raised her. 'Itfaddalû!' he said, with just the same polite alacrity with which he welcomed us on our arrival, as if she, too, had been an honoured guest. We all went down the broken steps into the dungeon. A meal of fish and bread was set before us. The woman took her food apart. The master of the house did not sit down till she was satisfied; and, after supper, he set out a bed for her, and then washed out the vessels, before he came again and sat with us. By that time the old woman was asleep. Two lighted wicks, passed through a piece of cork which floated in a bowl of oil and water, roused the shadows of the vault. A sudden outcry at the far end of the room made us both jump. 'Fear nothing!' said our entertainer. 'She is dreaming. Ah, poor lady! Our Lord repay her goodness in the next life for all the evil she has borne in this!' 'Is it permissible to ask to hear her story?' said Rashîd. The old man looked at me with a reluctant smile, as who should say: 'It is a sad tale. Would you really care to hear it?' I nodded gravely, and, with a deep sigh, he began: 'Many years ago--how many it is now impossible for me to say, for, dwelling here, I have lost count of time--a certain chieftain of the desert Arabs had a son who loved the daughter of his father's enemy. There was no intercourse between the houses, but the young prince of whom I speak contrived to see the maiden and to meet her stealthily, even riding in among the dwellings of her people at risk of his own life and mine; for I must tell you that I am his foster-brother, though not by blood a scion of the desert, and so I served him, as was usual with us, in the quality of an esquire. 'Both tribes were of those Arabs which have villages for their headquarters, without renouncing the old life of war and wandering. Our village was upon the borders of the Belka, and hers far north towards the Hauran. In those days there were no Turkish military posts beyond the Jordan. The feuds and customs of the tribes were then the only law; though now, they tell me, that that country is made safe for travel. 'There was no means to bridge the gulf which custom fixed between the lovers; and so my foster-brother, being mad with longing for the maid, decided to abduct her and escape into the settled country. I, loving him, applauded all his schemes. The princess Amîneh--for she was the daughter of a sovereign chief--was of a spirit equal to his own. She rode out from her father's town by night upon the best mare of the tribe with but one girl attendant. My lord and I were waiting by a certain well. And then we rode, well knowing that both tribes would hunt us, towards the wilâyet, where there was law and Turkish power to protect us. The princess Amîneh lacked a man's endurance, and her woman suffered greatly from fatigue. Their weakness had to be considered, and there came a time when it was evident that they could go no further without rest. 'We were then within a short day's journey of the nearest Government post, attaining which we should have been in safety. We took refuge in a ruined sheepcote. I was keeping the look-out while all the others slept, when I noticed a small cloud of dust uprising in the distance. I roused my lord, and told him: "The pursuers come." He looked upon the princess and her maiden: they lay fast asleep, exhausted by fatigue. '"Let be," he said. "There is no hope for us in flight. Lie low. Perhaps they will pass by without perceiving us." 'And so they might have done, God knows, had not our horses neighed, winding the other horses.' The old man wrung his hands, then hid his eyes with them. 'Never, never can I tell the details of what followed. We fought, and the princess fought beside us, snatching a scimitar which I was wearing from my side. Her boldness helped us somewhat to delay the end, for our assailants were her father's people, and they feared to hurt her. But the end came; it was from the first inevitable. I was lying helpless on the ground, wounded, but fully conscious, when they slew my lord. At once they hewed his body into fragments, each of which was soon exalted on a spear. The princess, wounded in the face, and pinioned, witnessed that. Her damsel lay inanimate, and at the time I thought her dead. She was my promised bride. Then the Emir approached with a great spear--as I suppose, to kill his daughter, but just then there were loud shouts, and then another battle, in which I heard the war-cry of our tribe. The father of my lord, pursuing also with intent to punish us, had come upon his ancient enemy at unawares. He won the day. The other Arabs broke and fled. The noblest of our braves pursued them; but several of the lewder sort remained behind to torture and dishonour my unhappy lady. I tried to rise and rescue her, but, with the effort, my spirit left my body, and I lay as dead--the praise to Allah!--which is the reason why I am alive to-day. 'So great a fight could not take place so near the guarded country without coming to the knowledge of the Government. Ten Turkish soldiers, armed with carbines, and an ombashi, coming to the spot next day, discovered us, and carried the survivors to a place of safety. The princess was then, as you yourselves have seen her, except that she was young and now is old. Her damsel had survived the fight without much hurt, by God's protection, having lain upon the ground so still that she was left for dead. When I recovered from my wounds, I married her. 'So tragic was our tale that all men pitied us. The Governor himself protected the princess, and placed her with the women of his household. But she could not be happy in the city, in that kind of life; her soul grew restless, pining. My wife, who visited her every day, was grieved for her; and when I found that it was as she said, I went and asked the Governor's permission to support our lady. Perceiving that she was not happy in his house, he yielded; and we three wandered through the settled country for long months, the people showing kindness to us through compassion, for our tale was known. At last we reached this ruin by the sea, which pleased our lady because, my wife believed, the mountains are so like a wall raised up between her and the country of her grief. That must be thirty years ago; but she has never wandered since. 'My wife died and I buried her beside the shore; for years I have performed her duties to our lady. The people of these parts are wicked, but they let us be, because they think that we are under some enchantment. My prayer is always that I may survive my lady, for how could she, poor creature, fare alone? So far, we have been very fortunate, praise be to Allah!' Rashîd was loud in his expressions of amazement at the story, his mind intent upon the central tragedy. He said no word of praise or wonder at our host's self-sacrifice. That he accepted, as a thing of course. This attitude of his, which I observed, prevented me from uttering the words of pity and condolence which were on my tongue; and I am glad those words were never uttered, for they were impertinent, and would have seemed absurd to Orientals, who have not our sentiment. So, after the conclusion of the tale, we went to bed. CHAPTER XVIII BASTIRMA The moon began to shine upon the gardens of Damascus, casting pale shadows, though the daylight had not quite departed, and the sky behind the trees to westward was still green. We were sitting out on stools under the walnut trees, beside a stream which made a pleasant murmur. The air was laden with the scent of unseen roses. Behind us was a little tavern with a lantern lighted in its entrance arch, a solitary yellow eye amid the twilight. We were the centre of a crowd, as usual when Suleymân was with us. His voice attracted people like a drum, and the matter of his talk had power to hold them. It was a weighty voice of studied modulations, which promised wisdom on the brink of laughter. He generally chose some moral or religious subject for discourse, and illustrated it by what we call 'nawâdir' (rare things) selected from his vast experience of life. By his own account he had journeyed to the world's rim, and had associated not alone with men, but also with jinn and ghouls. On the other hand, he had been to Europe several times, and knew the streets of Paris and of London. Somehow, one never doubted any of his stories while he was telling them, the accents of his voice had such conviction. One was conscious that his tales--even the most extravagant--were true in some mysterious, intrinsic way. This time he chose to speak to us of guilt and innocence, of good and evil works, and their effect on man's salvation. He aired the theory, which roused approving murmurs in the listening circle, that to have a good intention was the chief desideratum for every son of Adam on his journey through the world, no matter though his works might turn out bad or unsuccessful. 'To lie with good intention is better than to tell the truth with bad intention,' he declared. 'To lie is the salt of a man; the shame is to him who believes,' put in Rashîd, my servant, who was great at proverbs. Suleymân paid no heed to the interruption. 'A sin committed thoughtlessly,' said he, 'is light compared with one which thou hast hatched and planned.' 'Nay, O beloved, a sin is a sin, appointed so by the Most High; and the duty of a man is to avoid it. The hurt to man's salvation is the same, however he approach it,' said an old man in the audience. 'If I cut my hand, is the wound less, is it not rather likely to be more--for being thoughtless?' There was a murmur of applause as all eyes turned on this objector, whose likeness could not be distinguished in the gloaming. I spoke in approbation of the view expressed, and the old man, emboldened, laughed: 'To lie is bad, to kill is bad, to steal is bad. Our Lord destroy this rogue of an Intention, which plain men cannot catch nor understand!' 'Nay, listen!' Suleymân became persuasive and profoundly earnest, as was his manner always under opposition. 'Thou hast not altogether caught my meaning. I say a man should trust in the Most High, not think too much beforehand of his ways. By thinking beforehand, he may form a bad intention, since man's thoughts are naturally fallible. Let him think afterwards, thus he will learn to shun such snares in future, and by repentance place a good work to his credit. Men learn wisdom from their sins, not from their righteous deeds. And the consciousness of sin, the knowledge that they may at any moment fall into it, preserves them from the arrogance of goodness.' 'There may be some small grain of sense in what thou sayest,' chuckled the objector, 'but not enough to make sin righteous, nor yet to abrogate the sacred law.' Suleymân pursued unheeding: 'I have a rare thing, which will show you what I mean. 'A new judge had been appointed to the Holy City. He was departing from Stambûl by ship to take up his appointment. On the quay, a Jew of his acquaintance came to him with reverence, and begged him kindly to convey a basket of bastirma to his (the Jew's) son at the Holy City, which the Jews in their own language call Jerusalem. You all know what bastirma is. It is dried and salted mutton--very tasty--a dish of which the Turks are most inordinately fond. The Cadi graciously consented, bidding his major-domo take the basket, and bestow it carefully among the things. The Jew departed. The Cadi and his party journeyed till they reached their destination, where, upon arrival, they discovered a young Jew inquiring earnestly about a basket of bastirma. The Cadi had forgotten its existence. "Ah, to be sure!" he cried. "I gave it my major-domo for safe keeping." 'He called that servant, and commanded him to give the basket of bastirma to the Jew there waiting. The major-domo bowed his head, folded his hands upon his breast, and said: "I ask forgiveness, O my lord. The basket still remains, but the bastirma was so excellent that, having tasted but a piece of it, I wanted more, so that, in fact, I ate it all upon the journey. I wish to pay the price of it to this young Jew." 'The Cadi thought his servant's offer fair enough, but the young Jew went mad. Flying at the throat of the major-domo, he flung him to the ground, and tried to tear the soul out of his body with his teeth and nails. The Cadi called upon the bystanders for help. The Jew was dragged with difficulty from his victim. Then the Cadi asked: '"Why, pray, did you attack my servant in that savage way?" '"That man," said the Jew, still white with rage, and pointing with his tallow finger at the major-domo, who had risen from the ground--"that man contains my grandfather." '"What words are these? Explain yourself!" the Cadi cried. '"Three weeks ago, O gracious Excellency, my grandfather died in Stambûl. It had ever been his dearest wish to be buried in the Holy City, near the scene of judgment; and that wish of his was law on us his offspring. But how could we fulfil it? How, I ask? No skipper, whether Nazarene or Muslim, would receive a dead Jew on his ship for less than the corpse-weight in gold. And we are poor. To take him overland was quite impossible. And so my father and my mother in Stambûl cured his dead limbs, and made of them bastirma, and sent him hither in the way thou knowest. It follows that thy servant has committed a most dreadful crime. Let him be killed, I pray, and buried in the tomb we have prepared, that so my grandfather's great wish may be fulfilled." 'The major-domo was more dead than living as he heard that story. He rent his clothes and fell down on the ground insensible. 'The Cadi answered the young Jew with wisdom, saying: "Thou art entitled to the price of one basket of bastirma, and no more, from this my servant; but he, on his side, has a right to all thou ownest. What wealth can ever compensate him for the haunting fear that on the Last Day he may rise inextricably mingled with thy worthy grandfather? Go, I say, and never venture to approach him any more, or I shall surely act upon this judgment and denude thee quite." The major-domo--' Cries of 'Miskîn! Miskîn!' (poor fellow!) interrupted the narrative. One said: 'I once ate pig's flesh by mistake, but this man's plight is much more horrible.' Suleymân's opponent cried: 'It was a judgment on him, evidently, for his theft of the bastirma. Say, what became of him thereafter, O narrator?' 'The major-domo, who, till then, had been a precious rogue--I knew him intimately from a child, and so can vouch for it--became from that day forth the saintliest of men. He thought about his crime and mourned for it, and deemed himself an unclean beast until he died--may God have mercy on him--and was buried in the Holy City as the Jew desired. He thought of nothing but good deeds, yet without seeking merit, knowing that nothing he could do would ever cleanse him. He became the humblest and the best of men, who had before been arrogant and very wicked. Therefore I say that it is well for men to think of their sins after rather than before committing them.' 'But the intention!--What of the intention, O my master? His intention was not good. He stole!' 'His intention went no further than a basket of bastirma. The Jew was only an unpleasant accident, in respect whereof no guilt attached to him. The case is clear, and yet, although I used to argue with him on the subject, I never could contrive to make him see it. One thing is certain, and will prove to you the worth of good intentions. He only meant to eat a basket of bastirma; therefore he felt great remorse when he devoured a Jew, and so became a saint for Paradise. Had he intended to devour a Jew he could not possibly have felt such great remorse. What say you?' And everyone agreed that it was so. CHAPTER XIX THE ARTIST-DRAGOMAN Of Suleymân in his capacity of dragoman I saw little but heard much both from himself and others. The English residents in Palestine and Syria--those who knew of him--regarded him as but a doubtful character, if one may judge from their repeated warnings to me not to trust him out of sight. His wisdom and his independent way of airing it did not please everybody as they did me; and reverence in dealing with a fellow-man was not his strong point. By travellers, I gather from innumerable testimonials which he showed me, he was either much beloved or the reverse, though none could say he did not know his business. His English, though voluminous and comprehensive, was sometimes strange to native English ears. He had read the Bible in a German mission school, and spoke of 'Billiam's donkey' and 'the mighty Simson' where we should speak of Balaam's ass and Samson. He called the goatskins used for carrying water 'beastly skins,' and sometimes strengthened a mild sentence with an expletive. I do not think he ever went so far in this way as another dragoman who, riding out from Haifa one fine morning with an English lady, pointed to Mount Carmel and observed: 'Bloody fine hill, madam!' He knew how to adapt his language to his audience. But it is curious that a man whose speech in Arabic was highly mannered, in English should have cultivated solecisms. That he did cultivate them as an asset of his stock-in-trade I can affirm, for he would invent absurd mistakes and then rehearse them to me, with the question: 'Is that funny? Will that make the English laugh?' For clergymen he kept a special manner and a special store of jokes. When leading such through Palestine he always had a Bible up before him on the saddle; and every night would join them after dinner and preach a sermon on the subject of the next day's journey. This he would make as comical as possible for their amusement, for clergymen, he often used to say to me, are fond of laughter of a certain kind. One English parson he bedevilled utterly by telling him the truth--or the accepted legend--in such a form that it seemed false or mad to him. As they were riding out from Jaffa towards Jerusalem, he pointed to the mud-built village of Latrûn and said: 'That, sir, is the place where Simpson catch the foxes.' 'Ah?' said the clergyman. 'And who was Simpson?' 'He was a very clever gentleman, and liked a bit of sport.' 'Was he an Englishman?' 'No, sir; he was a Jew. He catch a lot of foxes with some traps; he kill them and he take their skins to Jaffa to the tailor, and he tell the tailor: "Make me one big skin out of these little ones." The tailor make one thundering big fox's skin, big enough for Simpson to get inside of it. Then Simpson, he put on that skin one night, and go and sit out in the field and make the same noise what the little foxes make. The little foxes come out of their holes to look; they see one big fox sitting there, and they not know it's really Simpson. They come quite near and Simpson catch hold of their tails and tie their tails together. Then they make the noise, and still more foxes come, and Simpson catch hold of their tails and tie their tails together, till he got hundreds and hundreds.' 'Whatever did he do with them?' inquired the parson. 'He set fire to them.' 'What on earth did he do that for?' 'That, sir, was to annoy his wife's relations.' 'And would you believe it,' added Suleymân when he told me the story, 'that foolish preacher did not know that it is in the Bible. He took it all down in his notebook as the exploit of a Jewish traveller. He was the Heavy One.' The last remark was in allusion to an Arabic proverb of which Suleymân was very fond: 'When the Heavy One alights in the territory of a people there is nothing for the inhabitants except departure.' Which, in its turn, is an allusion to the following story: A colony of ducks lived on an island in a river happily until a certain day, when the carcase of an ox came drifting down the current and stuck upon the forepoint of that island. They tried in vain to lift it up or push it off; it was too heavy to be moved an inch by all their efforts. They named it in their speech the Heavy One. Its stench infected the whole island, and kept on increasing until the hapless ducks were forced to emigrate. Many Heavy Ones fell to the lot of Suleymân as dragoman, and he was by temperament ill-fitted to endure their neighbourhood. Upon the other hand, he sometimes happened on eccentrics who rejoiced his heart. An American admiral, on shore in Palestine for two days, asked only one thing: to be shown the tree on which Judas Iscariot had hanged himself, in order that he might defile it in a natural manner and so attest his faith. Suleymân was able to conduct him to the very tree, and to make the journey occupy exactly the time specified. The American was satisfied, and wrote him out a handsome testimonial. It must have been a hardship for Suleymân--a man by nature sensitive and independent--to take his orders from some kinds of tourists and endure their rudeness. If left alone to manage the whole journey, he was--I have been told, and I can well believe it--the best guide in Syria, devoting all his energies to make the tour illuminating and enjoyable; if heckled or distrusted, he grew careless and eventually dangerous, intent to play off jokes on people whom he counted enemies. One Englishman, with a taste for management but little knowledge of the country, and no common sense, he cruelly obeyed in all things, with the natural result in loss of time and loss of luggage, sickness and discomfort. That was his way of taking vengeance on the Heavy Ones. 'And yet the man was happy, having had things his own way, even after the most horrid and disastrous journey ever made,' he told me with a sigh. 'Some men are asses.' One afternoon, when I was riding round the bay from Akka towards the foot of Carmel, supposing Suleymân to be a hundred miles away, I came upon a group of tourists by the river Kishon, on the outskirts of the palm grove. They had alighted and were grouped around a dragoman in gorgeous raiment, like gulls around a parrot. The native of the land was holding forth to them. His voice was richly clerical in intonation, which made me notice that his audience consisted solely of members of the clergy and their patient women. 'This, ladies and gentlemen,' the rascal was declaiming like a man inspired, 'is that ancient riffer, the riffer Kishon. It was here that the great Brophet Elijah bring the Brophets of Baal after he catch them with that dirty trick which I exblain to you about the sacrifice ub there upon that mountain what you see behind you. Elijah he come strollin' down, quite habby, to this ancient riffer, singin' one little song; and the beoble they lug down those wicked brophets. Then Elijah take one big, long knife his uncle gif him and sharben it ubon a stone like what I'm doin'. Then he gif a chuckle and he look among those brophets; and he see one man he like the look of, nice and fat; and he say: "Bring me that man!" They bring that man; Elijah slit his throat and throw him in the riffer. Then he say: "Bring his brother!" and they bring his brother, and he slit his throat and throw him in the riffer ... till they was ALL gone. Then Elijah clean his knife down in the earth, and when he'd finished laughin' he put ub a brayer. 'That was a glorious massycration, gentlemen!' The preacher was Suleymân, at struggle with the Heavy Ones. He was not at all abashed when he caught sight of me. CHAPTER XX LOVE AND THE PATRIARCH I was staying for some weeks at Howard's Hotel in Jerusalem (Iskender Awwad, the dragoman, had transformed himself into the Chevalier Alexander Howard, a worthy, if choleric, gentleman, and a good friend of mine), and I rode out every day upon a decent pony, which I had discovered in the stables at the back of the hotel. One afternoon a nephew of the stable-owner, who was something of a blood, proposed that we should ride together out towards Bethlehem. His horse was a superb and showy stallion, quite beyond his power to manage properly. My modest steed was fired to emulation, and, once beyond the outskirts of Jerusalem, we tore away. At a corner where the road was narrow between rocks, I do not know exactly how, the big horse cannoned into mine and overturned him. I pitched headlong on some stones. My first impression was that I had struck a wet spot in that arid wilderness. Then I saw my horse at a great distance, galloping, and heard the nephew of the owner saying that he must pursue it, while I must mount his horse and ride on slowly. 'Not half a mile from here, upon that hill,' he said, 'is Katamûn, the country seat of the Greek Patriarch. There you are certain to find people who will have compassion. Would God that I had never lived to see this day! Would God that I were in the grave instead of you!' He seemed beside himself with grief and fear on my account; and yet the sense of property remained supreme. His first concern was to retrieve the runaway. Bewildered and unable to see clearly, I did not mount the horse, which would have mastered me in that condition, but led him slowly up the hill to Katamûn. Upon the top there was a grove of trees, above which peeped some flat roofs and a dome. At length I reached the gate of this enclosure. It was open, and I led the horse along a sort of drive, on which were many chickens and a tethered sheep, which, bolting round a tree at our approach, became inextricably tangled in its rope. In a court between a little church and other buildings, a grim old woman in a coloured head-veil looked at me out of a doorway. I called to her that I had had an accident, and asked the favour of some washing-water and a bandage. She stared at me in doleful wise, and shook her head. 'Water! Bring me water!' I insisted. She went indoors and fetched a man of the same breed, whose eyes grew large and dull with horror at the sight of me. Again I asked to be allowed to wash my head and face. I heard the woman whisper: 'Shall I bring it?' and the man reply: 'Let be! This blood-stained form is half a corpse already. He will surely die. The horse, perhaps, is stolen. There has been a fight. If we should touch him we might be concerned in it. Wait till the end. Then we will summon his Beatitude, and have our testimony written down to prove our innocence.' Amazed at their stupidity, I took a step towards them, arguing. They vanished headlong, when I realised for the first time that my appearance was in truth alarming. Perceiving the advantage that appearance gave me, I pursued them, promising them plagues in this world and perdition in the next unless they brought some water instantly. The horse, which I was leading all this while, had been as quiet as a lamb; but, frightened by my shouts and gestures, he became unmanageable. I was struggling with him in the doorway of the house when a large and dignified ecclesiastic came upon the scene, the jewelled cross upon his cassock flashing in the sun. In the twinkling of an eye, it seemed to me, he had subdued the horse and tied him to a ring in the wall which I, in my bewilderment, had failed to see; had seized me by the collar of my coat and driven me before him through a kind of tunnel to a second court in which there was a cistern and a pump. He worked that pump and held my head beneath it, cursing the servants for a pack of imbeciles. The man and woman reappeared, completely tamed. He sent them running, one for stuff to make a bandage, the other for medicaments, but said no word to me until the work was ended, when he grinned and asked: 'Art happy now?' I told him that I felt a great deal better. 'Good,' he said, and led me by the hand into an upper chamber, richly carpeted, and furnished with a cushioned divan, of which the windows framed a wide view eastward over the Judæan wilderness. There, sitting comfortably, he asked who I was and of what country; and, hearing that I came from England, questioned me about the High Church and the Low Church in that land, and whether they formed one communion or were separate--a problem which he seemed to think of great importance. He was glad, he said, that I was not a Roman Catholic, a sect which he regarded as the worst of heretics. But his concern with all these matters seemed perfunctory compared with the delight he took in farming; for when I noticed from the window some sleek cows munching in a small enclosure, he brightened up and told me they were recent purchases. He talked about his poultry and his sheep and goats, all of which he would be pleased to show me if I cared to see them. Accordingly, when we had drunk some coffee, which completed my revival, he took me out and showed me round his small demesne. We were standing in the shade of trees, discussing turkeys, when my companion of the road arrived upon the truant horse. He was a member of the Orthodox Greek Church. What was my amazement when, having tied up the horse, he came with reverent haste and knelt at my companion's feet, kissing his hand with pious and devoted fervour. The grey-bearded priest, with full brown eyes, and hair that curled below the tall black head-dress like a trimming of grey astrakhan, with whom I had been talking so familiarly, was no other than the successor of St. James, the Orthodox Patriarch of Jerusalem. I had supposed him some sub-prior or domestic chaplain. His Beatitude acknowledged my surprise by an ironic grin. The new arrival, still upon his knees, embarked on a long story, told in lamentable tones, about a man who was in love, and like to die of it, with a young girl who was the sister of his brother's wife. It is forbidden by the canons of the Eastern Church for two brothers to marry two sisters. 'Is there no way by which he may obtain her lawfully?' the suppliant asked. The Patriarch assumed an air of weariness, and shook his head. 'If he were a Catholic or a Protestant he could obtain her lawfully.' The Patriarch assumed an air of pitying scorn. 'The case is very hard,' the suppliant moaned, as he rose up from the ground at last and cleaned his knees. The Patriarch, with a shrug, remarked that it was so. The young man should not have cast eyes upon a maid unlawful to him. 'The only way,' he said, 'is to obtain annulment of the brother's marriage by proving it to be illegal in some way.' With that he left the subject and resumed his talk concerning poultry. My companion of the road was plucking at my sleeve. I took leave of the Patriarch respectfully, with many thanks. He clapped me on the shoulder, saying: 'Come again! And never seek to wed the sister of thy brother's wife. Your Church does not forbid such marriage--does it?--being still tainted with the Latin heresy. Why does the Orthodox Church forbid it? Because it brings confusion into families, and is indecent.' He seemed to jest, but the look he gave to my companion as we rode away was stern, I thought, and more than half-contemptuous. Excepting that my head was bandaged, I felt well again; so we rode on, as we had first intended, towards Bethlehem. Over a rocky land with patches of pink cyclamen, black crows were wheeling in a sky of vivid blue. We came into the olive groves beneath the hill on which stands the Greek priory of Mâr Elias, when my companion said ingratiatingly: 'If you please, we will call at the monastery and take refreshment. The monks are friends of mine. It was with the object of this visit that I led our ride in this direction.' As I raised no objection, we tied up our horses in the garden of the monastery and went in. We found the Prior in the middle of a tea-party, a number of Greek neighbours, of both sexes, being gathered in a very comfortably-furnished room. My friend, ere entering, implored me in a whisper not to tell them that my accident was owing to his clumsy horsemanship. Instead, he put about some story which I did not clearly overhear--something about a fight with desert Arabs, redounding to my credit, I conclude, from the solicitude which everyone expressed on my account when he had told it. Some of the ladies present insisted on a second washing of my wounds with rose-water, and a second bandaging with finer linen than the Patriarch had used. Some monks, their long hair frizzed coquettishly and tied with ribbon, helped in the work. I did not like the look of them. My friend meanwhile was talking to some pretty girls. When we rode off again towards Jerusalem he asked me questions about the Anglican and Roman Churches, and seemed to think it a sad defect in the former that it lacked the faculty of dispensation with regard to marriage. After a space of silence, as we were riding down the hill by the Ophthalmic Hospital, with the Tower of David and the city walls crowning the steep before us, he inquired: 'Did you observe those girls with whom I was conversing--especially the one with pale-blue ribbons. It is her I love.' And, when I complimented him on his good taste, he added: 'I think I shall become a Catholic,' and started weeping. I then learnt from his broken speech that he was himself the hapless lover of his story to the Patriarch. The girl whom I had seen at Mâr Elias was the sister of his brother's wife. I was as sympathetic in appearance as I could be; but somehow all my sympathy was with the Patriarch, who seemed to me the only man whom I had seen that day. CHAPTER XXI THE UNPOPULAR LANDOWNER I had decided to buy land and settle down in Syria; and had obtained consent from home upon condition that I did not spend more than a certain sum of money, not a large one, which, Suleymân had told me, would be quite sufficient for the purpose. He pointed out how lands, at present desert, and to be bought for a mere song, could be rendered profitable for the cost of bringing water to them. There was such a tract of land adjacent to the village where he had a house, with water running under it at no great depth. Rashîd, my servant, did not like this notion of converting deserts into gardens. He called it simple waste of time and labour, when gardens ready made were going cheap. There was a nice estate, with two perennial springs within its boundaries, near his village in the north. His people would be proud and gratified if I would honour their poor dwelling while inspecting it. Suleymân lamented that his house was quite unworthy of my occupation, but proposed to have a fine pavilion pitched outside it, if I would deign to grace the village as his guest. 'Depend upon it,' said an Englishman whom I consulted on one of my rare visits to the city, 'the land they recommend belongs to their relations. They will sell it you for twenty times the market value, and then adhere to you like leeches till they've sucked you dry.' He added: 'I advise you to give up the whole idea,' but I was used to that advice, and firm against it. His warning against native counsellors, however, weighed with me to this extent, that I determined to ignore the lands they recommended in their neighbourhood. Each was at first cast down when I announced this resolution. But presently Rashîd exclaimed: 'No matter where we dwell. I still shall serve thee'; and Suleymân, after smoking his narghîleh a long while in silence, said: 'Each summer I will visit thee and give advice.' All three of us then set to work upon inquiries. Innumerable were the sheykhs who seemed to be in money difficulties and wished to sell their land. Some owners journeyed forty miles to come and see me, and explain the great advantage of their property. But, knowing something of the Land Code, I inquired about the tenure. I wanted only 'mulk' or freehold land; and 'wakf' (land held in tail or mortmain) of various and awful kinds is much more common. At last a sheykh came who declared his land was 'mulk,' and certain of our neighbours, men of worth, testified of their certain knowledge that he spoke the truth. The village where the property was situated was a long day's journey from our own. A fortnight after my discussion with the owner Suleymân and I set out on our way thither, having sent Rashîd ahead of us to find a decent lodging, since it was our intention to remain there several days. The village was arranged in steps upon a mountain side, the roofs of houses on the lower level serving as approach to those above. On all the steep slopes round about it there were orchards, with now and then a flat-roofed house among the trees. Rashîd came out to meet us, accompanied by certain of the elders, among whom I looked in vain for the owner of the land we were to visit. My first inquiry was for him. Rashîd replied: 'He is unpopular. I went to the chief people of the village'--he waved his hand towards the persons who escorted him--'and they have set apart a house and stable for your Honour's use.' The house turned out to be a single room, cube-shaped, and furnished only with some matting. The stable, part of the same building, was exactly like it, except that it was open at one end. We had our supper at a tavern by the village spring, surrounded by a friendly crowd of fellâhîn. Again I looked for the old gentleman whom I had come to see, and whispered my surprise at not beholding him. Rashîd again replied: 'He is unpopular.' Returning to the house with me, Rashîd arranged my bed; put candle, matches, cigarettes within my reach; fastened the shutters of two windows; and retired, informing me that he and Suleymân were sleeping at the dwelling of the headman of the place. I had got into my bed upon the floor when there came a knocking on the solid wooden shutters which Rashîd had closed. I went and opened one of them a little way. It was moonlight, but the window looked into the gloom of olive trees. A voice out of the shadows questioned: 'Is it thou, the Englishman?' It was the owner of the land, who then reproached me in heartbroken tones because I had not let him know the hour of my arrival, that he and his three sons might have gone forth upon the road to meet me. The owners of the place where now I lodged were his chief enemies. He begged me to steal forth at once and come with him. When I refused, he groaned despairingly and left me with the words: 'Believe not anything they say about us or the property.' I closed the shutter and went back to bed. But it was hot. I rose again and opened both the windows so as to secure whatever breeze there was, and, after a long spell of angry tossing due to sandflies, fell asleep. When I awoke the room was full of daylight and a murmur which I first mistook for that of insects, but soon found out to be the voice of a considerable crowd of human beings. At every window was a press of faces and of women's head-veils, and children raised upon their mothers' shoulders. I heard a child's sad wail: 'O mother, lift me up that I, too, may behold the unbeliever!' I made haste to cover myself somehow, for in my sleep I had kicked off the bedclothes, and commanded all those women to be gone immediately. They merely grinned and wished me a good day, and then discussed my personal appearance, the whiteness of my skin, and more particularly my pyjamas, with much interest. This went on till Rashîd appeared upon the scene, bringing my india-rubber bath and a kerosene tin full of water. He closed and bolted all the shutters firmly, with stern reflections on the lack of shame of my admirers. I told him of the visit of the owner of the land. He answered as before: 'He is unpopular.' I asked the reason, and he told me: 'There are in this part of the country two factions which have existed from old time. All the people in this village are adherents of one faction, except that old man and his children, who uphold the other. The people would not mind so much if he kept silent, but he gibes at them and vaunts his party upon all occasions. They intend to kill him. That is why he wants to sell. It is good to know this, since it gives us an advantage.' Suleymân arrived. We all three breakfasted on slabs of country bread and a great bowl of curds, and then went out to view that old man's land. The sheykh--whose name was Yûsuf--and his sons were there to show us round, and, though the property was not extensive, they contrived to keep us there till noon, when a round meal was spread for us beneath some trees. And after that was finished, the sheykh availed himself of some remark of mine to start the whole perambulation once again. At last it came to mention of the price, which seemed to me excessive, and I said so to my friends. Rashîd replied: 'Of course! The business has not yet begun. To-morrow and the next day we shall view the land again; and after that we shall arrange for the appointment of two valuers, one for us and one for him, who will inspect the land, first separately, then together; and after that we shall appoint an arbiter who will remonstrate with the owner of the land; and after that----' 'But the business will take months.' 'That is the proper way, unless your Honour wishes to be cheated.' 'What is your opinion?' I inquired of Suleymân. 'The land is good, and capable of much improvement,' he replied, 'and all the trees go with it, which is an advantage. Also the source of water will be all our own.' Suleymân repeated this remark in presence of the crowd of villagers whom we found awaiting our return before my house. At once there rose a cry: 'That Yûsuf is a liar. Some of the trees do not belong to him. The water, too, does not originate upon his property, but on the hill above, so can be cut from him.' Suleymân was talking with the village headman. When he returned to me his face was grave. 'What is it?' I inquired. 'Has the Sheykh Yûsuf been deceiving us?' He shook his head with a disgusted frown before replying: 'No, it is these others who are lying through dislike of him. Is your heart set upon the purchase of that land?' 'By no means.' 'That is good; because this village is a nest of hornets. The headman has long marked that land out for his own. Were we to pay Sheykh Yûsuf a good price for it, enabling him to leave the neighbourhood with honour, they would hate us and work for our discomfort in a multitude of little ways. We will call upon the Sheykh to-morrow and cry off the bargain, because your Honour caught a touch of fever from the land to-day. That is a fair excuse.' We proffered it upon the morrow, when the Sheykh Yûsuf received it with a scarce veiled sneer, seeming extremely mortified. Directly after we had left him, we heard later, he went down to the tavern by the village spring and cursed the elders who had turned my mind against him in unmeasured terms; annoying people so that they determined there and then to make an end of him. Next morning, when we started on our homeward way, there was a noise of firing in the village, and, coming round a shoulder of the hill in single file we saw Sheykh Yûsuf seated on a chair against the wall of his house, and screened by a great olive tree, the slits in whose old trunk made perfect loopholes, blazing away at a large crowd of hostile fellâhîn. He used, in turn, three rifles, which his sons kept loading for him. He was seated, as we afterwards found out, because he had been shot in the leg. I was for dashing to his rescue, and Rashîd was following. We should both have lost our lives, most probably, if Suleymân had not shouted at that moment, in stentorian tones: 'Desist, in the name of the Sultan and all the Powers of Europe! Desist, or every one of you shall surely hang!' Such words aroused the people's curiosity. The firing ceased while we rode in between them and their object; and Suleymân assured the villagers politely that I was the right hand and peculiar agent of the English Consul-General, with absolutely boundless power to hang and massacre. Upon the other hand, we all three argued with Sheykh Yûsuf that he should leave the place at once and lay his case before the Governor. 'We will go with him,' said Suleymân to me, 'in order that your Honour may be made acquainted with the Governor--a person whom you ought to know. His property will not be damaged in his absence, for they fear the law. The heat of war is one thing, and cold-blooded malice is another. It is the sight and sound of him that irritates them and so drives them to excess.' At length we got the Sheykh on horseback and upon the road; but he was far from grateful, wishing always to go back and fight. We could not get a civil word from him on the long ride, and just before we reached the town where lived the Governor he managed to escape. Rashîd flung up his hands when we first noticed his defection. 'No wonder that he is unpopular,' he cried disgustedly. 'To flee from us, his benefactors, after we have come so far out of our way through kindness upon his account. It is abominable. Who, under Allah, could feel love for such a man?' CHAPTER XXII THE CAÏMMACÂM Though the reason of our coming, the Sheykh Yûsuf, had deserted us, we rode into the town and spent the night there, finding lodgings at a khan upon the outskirts of the place, of which the yard was shaded by a fine old carob tree. While we were having breakfast the next morning in a kind of gallery which looked into the branches of that tree, and through them and a ruined archway to the road, crowded just then with peasants in grey clothing coming in to market, Suleymân proposed that he and I should go and call upon the Caïmmacâm, the local Governor. I had spent a wretched night. The place was noisy and malodorous. My one desire was to be gone as soon as possible, and so I answered: 'I will call on no one. My only wish to see him was upon account of that old rogue who ran away from us.' 'The man was certainly ungrateful--curse his father!' said Rashîd. 'The man is to be pitied, being ignorant,' said Suleymân. 'His one idea was to defend his house and land by combat. He did not perceive that by the course of law and influence he might defend them more effectually, and for ever. He probably did not imagine that your Honour would yourself approach the Governor and plead with him.' 'I shall see nobody,' I answered crossly. 'We return at once.' 'Good,' said Rashîd. 'I get the horses ready.' 'And yet,' said our preceptor thoughtfully, 'his Excellency is, they say, a charming man; and this would be a golden opportunity for us to get acquainted with him and bespeak his favour. Thus the Sheykh Yûsuf, though himself contemptible, may be of service to us. Already I have told the people here that we have come on an important errand to the Governor. Rashîd, too, as I know, has spoken of the matter in a boastful way. If, after that, we should depart in dudgeon without seeing him, there would be gossip and perhaps--God knows--even political disturbance. The Governor, coming to hear of it, might reasonably feel aggrieved.' He argued so ridiculously, yet so gravely, that in the end I was obliged to yield. And so, a little before ten o'clock, we sauntered through the narrow streets to the Government offices--a red-roofed, whitewashed building near which soldiers loitered, in a dusty square. There we waited for a long while in an ante-room--spacious, but rather dingy, with cushionless divans around the walls, on which a strange variety of suitors sat or squatted. Some of these appeared so poor that I admired their boldness in demanding audience of the Governor. Yet it was one of the most wretched in appearance who was called first by the turbaned, black-robed usher. He passed into an inner room: the door was shut. Then Suleymân went over to the usher, who kept guard upon that door, and held a whispered conversation with him. I know not what he said; but, when the wretched-looking man came out again, the usher slipped into the inner room with reverence and, presently returning, bowed to us and bade us enter. I went in, followed by Suleymân, who swelled and strutted like a pouter pigeon in his flowing robes. The Caïmmacâm was a nice-looking Turk of middle-age, extremely neat in his apparel and methodical in his surroundings. He might have been an Englishman but for the crimson fez upon his brow and a chaplet of red beads, with which he toyed perpetually. He gazed into my eyes with kind inquiry. I told him that I came with tidings of a grave disturbance in his district, and then left Suleymân to tell the story of Sheykh Yûsuf and his neighbours and the battle we had witnessed in the olive grove before his house. Suleymân exhausted all his powers of language and of wit, making a veritable poem of the episode. The Governor did not appear profoundly interested. 'Sheykh Yûsuf! Who is he?' he asked at the conclusion of the tale. I explained that the Sheykh Yûsuf was a landowner, whose acquaintance we had made through my desire to buy some property. 'Your Honour thinks of settling here among us?' cried his Excellency, with sudden zest, appearing quite enraptured with the notion. He asked then if the French tongue was intelligible to me, and, hearing that it was, talked long in French about my project, which seemed to please him greatly. He said that it would be a blessing for his district to have a highly civilised, enlightened being like myself established in it as the sun and centre of improvement; and what a comfort it would be to him particularly to have an educated man at hand to talk to! He hoped that, when I had set up my model farm--for a model it would be, in every way, he felt quite sure of that, from my appearance and my conversation--I would not limit my attention solely to the work of agriculture, but would go on to improve the native breeds of sheep and oxen. He heard that splendid strains of both were found in England. He wished me to import a lot of English bulls and rams, assuring me of the assistance of the Government in all that I might do in that direction, since the Sultan ('His Imperial Majesty' he called him always) took the greatest interest in such experiments. All this was very far from my original design, which was to lead as far as possible a quiet life. But I promised to give thought to all his Excellency's counsels. He made me smoke two cigarettes and drink a cup of coffee which his secretary had prepared upon a brazier in a corner of the room; and then, with a sweet smile and deprecating gestures of the hands, he begged me to excuse him if he closed the interview. It was a grief to him to let me go, but he was very busy. I rose at once, and so did Suleymân. 'But what of the Sheykh Yûsuf?' I exclaimed, reminding him. 'Ah, to be sure!' rejoined the Governor with a slight frown. 'Of what religion is he?' 'I suppose a Druze.' 'And the people who attacked him so unmercifully?' 'Are Druzes too.' 'Ah, then, it is all in the family, as the saying goes. And, unless some deputation from the Druze community appeals to me, I should be ill-advised to interfere in its affairs. Our way of government is not identical with that which is pursued with such conspicuous success in highly civilised and settled countries like your own. We leave the various communities and tribes alone to settle their internal differences. It is only where tribe wars on tribe, religion on religion, or their quarrels stop the traffic on the Sultan's highway that we intervene. What would you have, mon ami? We are here in Asia!' With these words, and a smile of quite ineffable indulgence for my young illusions, his Excellency bowed me out. In the ante-room Suleymân drew close to my left ear and whispered sharply: 'Give me four mejîdis.' 'Whatever for?' I asked in deep amazement. 'That I will tell you afterwards. The need is instant.' I produced the four mejîdis from a trouser-pocket, and, receiving them, he went back to the door by which the usher stood, and whispered to the man, who went inside a moment and came back with the private secretary of the Caïmmacâm. The compliments which passed between them seemed to me interminable. I paced the pavement of the waiting-room, the only figure in the crowd whose attitude bespoke impatience. The others sat or squatted round the walls in perfect resignation, some of them smoking, others munching nuts of various kinds, of which the shells began to hide the floor adjacent to them. A few of the suppliants had even had the forethought to bring with them bags full of provisions, as if anticipating that their time of waiting might endure for several days. At last, when I was growing really angry with him, Suleymân returned and told me: 'All is well, and we can now be going, if your Honour pleases.' 'I do please,' I rejoined indignantly. 'Why have you kept me waiting all this while? I never wished to come at all into this place, and Allah knows that we have done no good by coming. We have spoilt a morning which we might have spent upon the road.' 'Allah, Allah!' sighed Suleymân long-sufferingly. 'Your Honour is extremely hard to please. Did not his Excellency talk to you exclusively, with every sign of the most lively pleasure for quite half an hour; whereas he scarcely deigned to throw a word to me, although I wooed his ear with language calculated to seduce the mind of kings? I have some cause to be dejected at neglect from one so powerful; but you have every cause to be elated. He is now your friend.' 'I shall never see him in my life again most likely!' I objected. 'Nay, that you cannot tell,' replied my mentor suavely. 'To be acquainted with a person in authority is always well.' CHAPTER XXIII CONCERNING BRIBES 'Why did you want those four mejîdis?' I inquired severely. Suleymân shrugged up his shoulders and replied: 'I had to pay the proper fees, since you yourself showed not a sign of doing so, to save our carefully established honour and good name.' 'You don't mean that you gave them to the Caïmmacâm?' 'Allah forbid! Consider, O beloved, my position in this matter. To put it in the form of parables: Suppose a king and his vizier should pay a visit to another king and his vizier. If there were presents to be made, I ask you, would not those intended for the king be offered personally by the king, and those for the vizier by the vizier? It will be obvious to your Honour, upon slight reflection, that if, in our adventure of this morning, a present to the Governor was necessary or desirable, you personally, and no other creature, should have made it.' 'Merciful Allah!' I exclaimed. 'He would have knocked me down.' 'He would have done nothing of the kind, being completely civilised. He would merely have pushed back your hand with an indulgent smile, pressing it tenderly, as who should say: "Thou art a child in these things, and dost not know our ways, being a stranger." Yet, undoubtedly, upon the whole, your offer of a gift, however small, would have confirmed the good opinion which he formed at sight of you. 'But let that pass! Out of the four mejîdis which you gave me so reluctantly (since you ask for an account) I presented one to the usher, and three to his Excellency's private secretary, in your name. And I have procured it of the secretary's kindness that he will urge his lord to take some measures to protect that ancient malefactor, the Sheykh Yûsuf.' 'If I had tipped the Governor, as you suggest that I ought to have done,' I interrupted vehemently, 'do you mean to say he would have taken measures to protect Sheykh Yûsuf?' 'Nay, I say not that; but he would at least have had complete conviction that your Honour takes a lively interest in that old churl--a person in himself unpleasant and unworthy of a single thought from any thinking or right-minded individual. Thus, even though he scorned the money, as he would no doubt have done, the offer would have told him we were earnest in our application, and he might conceivably have taken action from desire to do a pleasure to one whom, as I said before, he loved at sight.' 'The whole system is corrupt,' I said, 'and what is worse, unreasonable.' 'So say the Franks,' replied Suleymân, shrugging his shoulders up and spreading wide his hands, as though before a wall of blind stupidity which he knew well could never be cast down nor yet surmounted. 'Our governors, our judges, and the crowd of small officials are not highly paid, and what they do receive is paid irregularly. Then all, whether high or low, must live; and it is customary in our land to offer gifts to persons in authority, because a smile, God knows, is always better than a frown from such an one. We are not like the Franks, who barter everything, even their most sacred feelings, even love. It gives us pleasure to make gifts, and see them welcomed, even when the recipient is someone who cannot in any way repay us for our trouble, as a Frank would say.' 'But to sell justice; for it comes to that!' I cried, indignant. 'Who talks of selling justice? You are quite mistaken. If I have to go before a judge I make a gift beforehand to his Honour, whose acceptance tells me, not that he will give a verdict in my favour--do not think it!--but merely that his mind contains no grudge against me. If he refused the gift I should be terrified, since I should think he had been won completely by the other side. To take gifts from both parties without preference, making allowance, when there is occasion, for the man who is too poor to give; and then to judge entirely on the merits of the case; that is the way of upright judges in an Eastern country. The gifts we make are usually small, whereas the fees which lawyers charge in Western countries are exorbitant, as you yourself have told me more than once and I have heard from others. And even after paying those enormous fees, the inoffensive, righteous person is as like to suffer as the guilty. Here, for altogether harmless men to suffer punishment in place of rogues is quite unheard-of; though occasionally one notorious evildoer may be punished for another's crime when this is great and the real criminal cannot be found and there is call for an example to be made upon the instant. This generally happens when a foreign consul interferes, demanding vengeance for some slight offence against his nationals. Things like that take place occasionally when the court is flustered. But in its natural course, believe me, Turkish justice, if slow-moving, is as good as that of Europe and infinitely less expensive than your English law.' I made no answer, feeling quite bewildered. Suleymân was always serious in manner, which made it very hard to tell when he was joking or in earnest. Among the natives of the land, I knew, he had the reputation of a mighty joker, but I had learnt the fact from the applause of others. I never should have guessed from his demeanour that he jested consciously. He also held his peace until we reached our hostelry. There, some half-hour later, when I had given orders for our horses to be ready for a start directly after luncheon--a decision against which Suleymân protested unsuccessfully, declaring it would be too hot for riding--I overheard him telling the whole story of our visit, including the donation of the four mejîdis, to Rashîd, who was lazily engaged in polishing my horse's withers. 'That secretary is a man of breeding,' he was saying, in a tone of warm approval; 'for I noticed he was careful to receive the present in his left hand, which he placed behind his back in readiness, with great decorum. Nor did he thank me, or give any token of acknowledgment beyond a little friendly twinkle of the eyes.' At once I pounced on this admission, crying: 'That shows that he regarded the transaction as unlawful! And your remark upon it shows that you, too, think it so.' Suleymân looked slowly round until his eyes met mine, not one whit disconcerted, though until I spoke he had not known that I was anywhere in earshot. 'Your Honour is incorrigible,' he replied, with a grave smile. 'I never knew your like for obstinacy in a false opinion; which shows that you were born to fill some high position in the world. Of course they all--these fine officials, great and small--regard it as beneath their dignity to take a present which they sorely need. To take such presents greedily would be to advertise their poverty to all the world. And Government appointments swell a man with pride, if nothing else--a pride which makes them anxious to be thought above all fear of want. For that cause, they are half-ashamed of taking gifts. But no one in this country thinks it wrong of them to do so, nor to oblige the giver, if they can, in little ways. It would be wrong if they betrayed the trust reposed in them by their superiors, or were seduced into some act against their loyalty or their religion. But that, praise be to God, you will not find. It is only in small matters such as acts of commerce or politeness, which hardly come within the sphere of a man's conscience, that they are procurable, and no one in this country thinks the worse of them, whatever people say to you, a foreigner, by way of flattery. It is very difficult for foreigners to learn the truth. Your Honour should be thankful that you have Suleymân for an instructor--and Rashîd, too,' he added as an after-thought, seeing that my bodyservant stood close by, expecting mention. And after more than twenty years' experience of Eastern matters, I know now that he was right. CHAPTER XXIV THE BATTLEFIELD Our road, the merest bridle-path, which sometimes altogether disappeared and had to be retrieved by guesswork, meandered on the side of a ravine, down in the depths of which, in groves of oleander, there flowed a stream of which we caught the murmur. The forest was continuous on our side of the wadi. It consisted of dense olive groves around the villages and a much thinner growth of ilex in the tracts between. The shade was pleasant in the daytime, but as night came on its gloom oppressed our spirits with extreme concern, for we were still a long way off our destination, and uncertain of the way. The gloom increased. From open places here and there we saw the stars, but gloom filled the ravine, and there was little difference between the darkness underneath the trees and that outside in open spaces of the grove. We trusted to our horses to make out the path, which sometimes ran along the verge of precipices. I cannot say that I was happy in my mind. Rashîd made matters worse by dwelling on the risks we ran not only from abandoned men but ghouls and jinnis. The lugubrious call of a hyæna in the distance moved him to remark that ghouls assume that shape at night to murder travellers. They come up close and rub against them like a loving cat; which contact robs the victims of their intellect, and causes them to follow the hyæna to its den, where the ghoul kills them and inters their bodies till the flesh is ripe. He next expressed a fear lest we might come upon some ruin lighted up, and be deceived into supposing it a haunt of men, as had happened to a worthy cousin of his own when on a journey. This individual, whose name was Ali, had been transported in the twinkling of an eye by jinnis, from somewhere in the neighbourhood of Hamá to the wilds of Jebel Câf (Mount Caucasus), and had escaped a hideous and painful death only by recollection of the name of God. He told me, too, how he himself, when stationed at Mersîn, had met a company of demons, one fine evening in returning from an errand; and other tales which caused my flesh to creep. The groves receded. We were in an open place where only a low kind of brushwood grew, when suddenly my horse shied, gave a fearful snort, and sturdily refused to budge another inch. I let him stand until Rashîd came up. He thought to pass me, but his horse refused as mine had done. 'It is no doubt some jinni in the way,' he whispered in a frightened tone; then, calling out: 'Dastûr, ya mubârak' (Permission, blessed one!), he tried to urge his horse, which still demurred. So there we were, arrested by some unseen hand; and this became the more unpleasant because a pestilential smell was in the place. 'Better return!' muttered Rashîd, with chattering teeth. 'Give me a match!' I said distractedly. 'My box is empty.' 'Better return!' he pleaded. 'A match, do you hear?' I cried, made cross by terror. He gave the match, and I believe I shouted as I struck it. For a brief space it made a dazzle in my eyes, preventing me from seeing anything, and then went out. 'There is something lying in the path!' Rashîd was gibbering. I got down off my horse and lit a second match, which I took care to shelter till the flame was strong. A human arm lay in the path before us. My horror was extreme, and grew uncanny when the match expired. But the ghastly object had restored his courage to Rashîd, who even laughed aloud as he exclaimed: 'The praise to Allah! It is nothing which can hurt us. No doubt some murder has been here committed, all unknown. The Lord have mercy on the owner of that arm! We will report the matter to some high official at our journey's end.' We turned our horses to the right and made a long detour, but scarcely had they found the path again when mine (which led the way) demurred once more. 'Another piece,' exclaimed Rashîd excitedly. He got down off his horse to look. 'Nay, many pieces. This, by Allah, is no other than a battlefield unknown to fame.' 'How can a battle take place without public knowledge?' I inquired, incredulous. 'The thing may happen when two factions quarrel for unlawful cause--it may be over stolen gains, or for some deadly wrong which cannot be avowed without dishonour--and when each side exterminates the other.' 'How can that happen?' I exclaimed again. Rashîd could not at once reply, because in our avoidance of those human relics we found ourselves on broken ground and among trunks of trees, which called for the address of all our wits. But when the horses once more plodded steadily, he assured me that the thing could happen, and had happened often in that country, where men's blood is hot. He told me how a band of brigands once, in Anti-Lebanon, had fought over their spoils till the majority on both sides had been slain, and the survivors were so badly wounded that they could not move, but lay and died upon the battlefield; and how the people of two villages, both men and women, being mad with envy, had held a battle with the same result. I interrupted him with questions. Both of us were glad to talk in order to get rid of the remembrance of our former fear. We gave the rein to our imaginations, speaking eagerly. Reverting to the severed limbs which we had seen, Rashîd exclaimed: 'Now I will tell your Honour how it happened. A deadly insult had been offered to a family in a young girl's dishonour. Her father and her brothers killed her to wipe out the shame--as is the custom here among the fellâhîn--and then with all their relatives waylaid the men of the insulter's house when these were cutting wood here in the forest. There was a furious battle, lasting many hours. The combatants fought hand-to-hand with rustic weapons, and in some cases tore each other limb from limb. When all was done, the victors were themselves so sorely wounded that they were able to do nothing but lie down and die.' 'How many do you think there were?' I asked, believing. 'To judge by scent alone, not one or two; but, Allah knows, perhaps a hundred!' said Rashîd reflectively. 'It is strange they should have lain there undiscovered.' 'Not strange, when one remembers that the spot is far from any village and probably as far from the right road,' was his reply. This last conjecture was disquieting; but we were both too much excited for anxiety. 'It is an event to be set down in histories,' Rashîd exclaimed. 'We shall be famous people when we reach the village. Such news is heard but once in every hundred years.' 'I wish that we could reach that village,' was my answer; and again we fell to picturing the strange event. At length we heard the barking of a dog in the far distance, and gave praise to Allah. A half-hour later we saw lights ahead of us. But that did not mean that the village was awake, Rashîd explained to me, for among the people of that country 'to sleep without a light' is to be destitute. A little later, Rashîd hammered at a door, while savage dogs bayed round us, making rushes at his heels. 'Awake, O sons of honour!' was his cry. 'A great calamity!' And, when the door was opened, he detailed the story of an awful fight, in which both parties of belligerents had been exterminated. 'They are torn limb from limb. We saw the relics,' he explained. 'If you have any doubt, question my lord who is out here behind me--a great one of the English, famed for his veracity.' And I was ready to confirm each word he said. In a very little while that village was astir. It was the seat of a mudîr who had two soldiers at his beck and call. The great man was aroused from sleep; he questioned us, and, as the result of the inquiry, sent the soldiers with us to survey the battlefield. A crowd of peasants, armed with quarter-staves and carrying lanterns, came with the party out of curiosity. Our horses having had enough of travel, we went back on foot amid the noisy crowd, who questioned us incessantly about the strange event. The murmur of our going filled the wood and echoed from the rocks above. By the time we reached the place where we had seen the human limbs, the dawn was up, to make our lanterns useless. Rashîd and I were certain of the spot. We came upon it with a thrill of apprehension. But there was nothing there. 'I seek refuge in Allah!' gasped Rashîd in pious awe. 'I swear by my salvation it was here we saw them. The name of God be round about us! It is devilry.' Our escort was divided in opinion, some thinking we had been indeed the sport of devils, others that we lied. But someone sniffed and said: 'There is a smell of death.' There was no doubt about the smell at any rate. Then one of the mudîr's two soldiers, searching in the brushwood, cried: 'I have the remnant of an arm.' And then an old man of the village smote his leg and cried: 'O my friends, I see it! Here is neither lies nor devilry.' Laughing, he seized me by the arm and bade me come with him. We went a little way into the wood, and there he showed me three Druze tombs deep in the shade of ilex trees--small buildings made of stone and mud, like little houses, each with an opening level with the ground, and a much smaller opening, like a window, at the height of a man's elbow. 'Thou seest?' cried my tutor. 'Those are graves. The openings on the ground were made too large, and jackals have got in and pulled the bodies out. The men who made those graves are foolish people, who have wandered from the truth. They think the spirits of the dead have need of food and light, and also of a hole for crawling in and out. I heard thee ask thy servant for a match just now. Come, I will show thee where to find one always.' He led me to the nearest tomb, and thrust my hand into the little hole which served as window. It touched a heap of matches which he bade me take and put into my pocket, saying: 'It is not a theft, for the matches have been thrown away, as you might say. Those foolish people will suppose the dead have struck them. They used to put wax candles and tinder-boxes with them in the niches, but when these sulphur matches came in fashion, they preferred them for economy. When I am working in this wood I take no fire with me, being quite sure to find the means of lighting one. Praise be to Allah for some people's folly!' I thanked him for the wrinkle, and went back to join Rashîd, who was exclaiming with the others over our deception. But everyone agreed that the mistake was natural for men bewildered in the darkness of the night. CHAPTER XXV MURDERERS Rashîd and I were riding down to Tripoli, and had long been looking for a certain 'kheymah' or refreshment booth beside the road, which an enterprising Christian of that town had opened in the summer months for the relief of travellers. When at length we came in sight of it, we saw a crowd of men reposing on the ground before its awning. We soon lost sight of them again in a ravine, and it was not till we were close upon them, climbing up the other bank, that I remarked that most of them were shackled and in charge of a small guard of Turkish soldiers. 'Criminals upon their way to the hard labour prison,' said Rashîd. 'What have they done?' I asked, as we dismounted. He strolled across and put a question to their escort, then returned and told me: 'They are murderers.' After that information it surprised me, while we ate our luncheon, to observe their open faces, and to hear them laugh and chatter with their guards. Already I had learnt that crime in Eastern countries is not regarded altogether as it is with us; that Orientals do not know that shrinking from contamination which marks the Englishman's behaviour towards a breaker of his country's law. But I was unprepared for this indulgence towards a gang of murderers. It interested me; and, seeing that Rashîd was talking with them in a friendly way, I gathered there was nothing to be feared from their proximity, and myself drew near when I had finished eating, and gave them cigarettes. They thanked me loudly. The smile of pleasure on each face expressed a childlike innocence. One only sat apart in gloom, conforming in some measure to my preconceived idea of what a murderer upon his way to prison ought to look like. I noticed with surprise that this one wore no chain. I went and touched him on the shoulder. It was only then that he looked up and saw that I was wishing him to take a cigarette. He did so quickly, and saluted me without a word. One of the others said in tender tones: 'Blame him not, O my lord, for he is mad with sorrow. He is more luckless than the rest of us--may Allah help him! He killed the person he loved best on earth--his only brother.' 'Then it is true that you are murderers?' I asked, still half-incredulous. 'By Allah, it is true, alas! and we are paying for it by a year's enslavement.' 'A year! No more than that,' I cried, 'for killing men?' 'And is it not enough, O lord of kindness? It is not as if we had killed men from malice or desire of gain. We killed in sudden anger, or, in the case of three among us, in a faction-fight. It is from Allah; and we ask forgiveness.' 'How did that man kill?' I questioned, pointing to the apathetic figure of the fratricide, which attracted my imagination by its loneliness. 'He suffered persecutions from a rich man of his village, who was his rival for the favour of a certain girl--so it is said. Those persecutions maddened him at times. One day when he was mad like that, his brother came to him and spoke some word of blame upon another matter. He killed him, as he might have killed his wife and children or himself, being in that state of mind devoid of reason. When he awoke and saw what he had done, he wished to kill himself.' 'It is from Allah! His remorse is punishment,' exclaimed Rashîd. 'Why should he go to prison? He has had enough.' 'Nobody of this country would have thought of punishment for him,' replied the spokesman of the murderers, with rueful smile. 'But his brother was the servant of a foreign merchant--a Greek from overseas, I think it was--who put the business in his Consul's hands, and so----' The speaker clicked his thumbnail on his white front teeth to signify finality. 'But the poor man himself does not object; it seems indeed that he is glad to go with us. Perhaps by labour and harsh treatment he may be relieved.' As there were still provisions in our saddle-bags, Rashîd, by my command, divided them among the company, the soldiers and the murderers alike, who were delighted. It was a merry party which we left behind, with the exception of the fratricide, who ate the food, when it was set before him, ravenously, but said not a word. 'May Allah heal him!' sighed the other murderers. 'Our Lord remove this shadow from his mind!' Rashîd and I pursued our way on an interminable path meandering in zig-zags down through brushwood, which smelt sweet of myrtle and wild incense. I tried to make him understand that he had quite misled me by the term he had applied to men who had been guilty of no more than manslaughter. The distinction had to be explained with much periphrasis, because the Arabic word 'Câtil' means a slayer, and is given indiscriminately to all who kill. He caught my meaning sooner than I had expected. 'Ah!' he said. 'Your Honour thought from what I said that they were "cutters of the road,"[7] or hired assassins, who kill men for gain. Those are the greater criminals, whose punishment is death. Few such exist among us. Here a robber will seldom kill a man unless that man kills him.' [I translate literally] 'when it is just retaliation; and as for hired assassins, I have known several of them in my time, and they are not bad people, but unfortunate, having fallen early in the power of cruel and ambitious men. Most of the killing in this country is done without a thought, in anger or mad jealousy.' 'Is it for man to judge them?' he exclaimed, with a high shrug, when I remarked upon their friendly treatment by the Turkish guards. 'They are punished by authority down here, so we are better; but afterwards, when comes the Judgment of the Lord, we may be worse. It is hard upon those men we met just now. They go to prison, most of them, because they were not rich enough to pay the sum demanded as the price of blood. For men of wealth, or who have rich relations, it is easy to compound the matter for a sum of money, in return for which the dead man's relatives regard his death as due to natural causes, and forswear revenge. It is hard, I say, upon those men we met just now; and especially upon the man who slew his brother--may Our Lord console him!' A few days later I was strolling in the town and happened to pass by the public gaol. In the middle of the gate, behind some iron bars, a wretched man stood shaking a tin can, in which some small coins rattled, and calling on the passers-by for alms for the poor prisoners. A little group of English tourists--a gentleman and two fair ladies--came that way, led on by a resplendent dragoman. They stared at the wild figure at the prison gate. 'You like to give a trifle to the brisoners?' inquired the guide. 'What are they in for?' asked the gentleman. 'Murders, I guess, mostly,' shrugged the dragoman. 'Certainly not,' replied the gentleman, with indignation. I ventured to approach and tell him that they were not murderers in our sense of the word, and that they depended for a bare subsistence upon public charity. The only thanks I got were a cold stare from the man, a fastidious grimace from the two ladies, and an 'Oh, indeed!' so arrogant in tone that I retired discomfited. My ill-success may be attributable to the fact that I was wearing a 'kufiyeh' and 'acâl' and so appeared to them as what is called a 'native.' I myself have always, since that day, felt it my duty to give alms to murderers in Eastern lands. FOOTNOTES: [7] _i.e._, Highwaymen. CHAPTER XXVI THE TREES ON THE LAND My search for an estate provided us with an excuse for visiting all sorts of out-of-the-way places, and scraping acquaintance with all sorts of curious people. In some villages we were greeted with unbounded glee; in others with a sullen, gruff endurance far from welcome. But, though the flavour of reception varied, we were everywhere received with some degree of hospitality, and shown what we desired to see. Thus we surveyed a great variety of properties, none of which fulfilled my chief requirements. I wanted both a house in which I should not feel ashamed to live, and cultivable land enough to yield a revenue; and the two together seemed impossible to find, at least for the sum of money which was placed at my disposal. One piece of land attracted us so much that we remained in the adjacent village a full week, returning every day to wander over it, trying to see if it could not be made to fit my needs. It consisted of a grove of fine old olive trees, with terraces of fig and mulberry trees and vegetables, spread out to catch the morning sun upon a mountain side sloping to a wooded valley walled by rocky heights. Water was there in plenty, but no house to speak of; the three small, cube-shaped houses on the property being in the occupation (which amounts to ownership) of workers of the land, who, according to the custom of the country, would become my partners. Upon the other hand, the land was fairly cheap, and after paying for it, I should have a balance with which I might begin to build a proper house; for, as Suleymân remarked, 'here all things are done gradually. No one will expect to see a palace all at once. Begin with two rooms and a stable, and add a fresh room every time that you have forty pounds to spare.' The price of building appeared fixed in all that countryside at forty pounds a vault, which in ordinary buildings means a room, since every room is vaulted. The trouble was to see just where to put the house without encroaching upon profitable land. At last I hit on a position in the middle of the highest terrace on which grew olive trees so very old that they could well be sacrificed. Having arrived at this decision I sat down among those trees and gazed in rapture at the view across the valley. It was indeed a grand position for a house. Rashîd exclaimed: 'Our dwelling will be seen afar. The traveller on distant roads will see its windows flashing, and will certainly inquire the owner's name. Yet would I rather it had faced the evening sun, because more people are abroad at sunset than at dawn.' 'The morning sun is better for the growth of plants, and it comports the evening shadow, which is most agreeable,' murmured Suleymân, who stretched his length upon the ground before us, chewing a flower-stem with an air of wisdom. As we were there conversing lazily, one of the peasant-partners in the land came through the trees, bringing a tray with cups of coffee, which he had prepared for our refreshment. 'The Lord preserve thy hands, O Câsim,' sighed Suleymân. 'Thou comest at the very moment when my soul said "coffee."' The peasant Câsim beamed with pleasure at the thanks we showered on him, and, squatting down, inquired if we had yet decided anything. 'Aye,' I replied. 'In sh'Allah we shall cut down these three olive trees and put the house instead of them.' At that his smile gave place to grave concern. He said: 'That may not be.' 'Why not?' I asked. 'Because we have no right to touch these trees.' 'But the Sheykh Ali told me that this terrace was his property.' 'That is so, as to the land. The trees are different.' 'To whom, then, do these trees belong?' 'To different people.' 'How can I know which trees are ours, which theirs?' 'Your Honour need not trouble. They are able to distinguish.' 'But they must walk upon our land to reach their trees!' 'Without a doubt.' 'But it is unheard of!' 'Perhaps; but it has been the way since Noah's flood.' 'If your Honour condescends to read the Bible he will notice that, in the bargain which our lord Abraham made for the cave of Machpelah, the trees upon the land are mentioned separately,' put in Suleymân, who had a well-stored mind. I took no notice, but continued my alarmed inquiries. 'How many people own these trees?' 'Twenty or thirty.' 'And they trample on our land?' 'The case is so.' 'Who is their chief?' 'I know not; but the largest share, they say, is vested in Muhammad abu Hasan. His share of all the trees is twelve kîrâts, as much as all the others put together. They say so. Only Allah knows the truth!' 'I should like to speak to this Muhammad abu Hasan.' 'Upon my head; I go to fetch him,' answered Câsim, touching his brow in token of obedience. When he was gone, Suleymân observed significantly: 'Have naught to do with all these fathers of kîrâts. When once the word "kîrât" is mentioned, flee the place, for you may be assured that it is the abode of all bedevilment. When once a man is father of but one or two kîrâts, he has the power of forty thousand for unreasoning annoyance.' 'And what, in mercy's name, is a kîrât?' I questioned. 'A kîrât,' replied Rashîd, as usual eager to explain, 'is that term into which all things visible and invisible are resolved and subdivided secretly, or may be subdivided at a person's pleasure. A kîrât is that which has no real existence unless a group of men agree together saying: "It is here or there." A kîrât----' Suleymân cut short his explanation, saying simply: 'A kîrât is the twenty-fourth part of anything. If my soul is sick, I ask the doctor: "How many kîrâts of hope?" and according to his answer "four" or "twenty" I feel gladness or despair. To own but one kîrât, in this concern of property, is sometimes better than to own all the remaining three-and-twenty, as witness the affair of Johha, the greatest wiseacre this country has produced. Johha owned a house, consisting of a single room. Wishing to make a little money, he let his house to people for a yearly rent (which they paid in advance), reserving to himself the use of only one kîrât of it. To show where his kîrât was situated Johha drove a peg into the wall inside. After the tenants had been in a week he brought a bag of beans and hung it on his peg. No one objected; he was exercising his free right. A few days later he removed the bag of beans and hung up garlic in its place. Again a few days and he came with an old cat which had been some time dead; and so on, bringing ever more offensive things, until the tenants were obliged to leave the house and forfeit their year's rent, without redress, since Johha was within his rights. Therefore I say to you, beware. These fathers of kîrâts will spoil the property.' Rashîd gave an appreciative chuckle, and was going to relate some story of his own; but just then Câsim reappeared, attended not by one man only but a score of men--the owners of the trees, as it immediately appeared, for they cried out, as they came up, that it would be a sin for us to cut them down. I asked them to elect a spokesman, as I could not deal with all at once, and Muhammad abu Hasan was pushed forward. He squatted, facing me, upon the ground, his men behind him. The twigs and leaves of olives overhead spread a filigree of moving shade upon their puckered faces. They were evidently much perturbed in mind. I asked them for how much they would consent to sell those trees--showing the three I wished to fell to clear a space for building. 'The freehold, meanest thou?' inquired their spokesman anxiously. 'Not for five hundred pounds. But we would sell a share.' 'I want no share. I want to cut them down.' At that there was a general outcry that it must not be. 'The trees would remain yours until the end,' I told them, 'for I would let you have the wood for your own purposes, and, in addition, you would have a pretty sum of money.' There ensued a long and whispered consultation before Muhammad abu Hasan answered me. At length he said: 'It may not be. Behold, we all are the descendants of one man who owned these trees in ancient days. But we are not brothers, nor yet uncles' children, and there is jealousy among us. We quarrel near to fighting every year about the produce of these trees, each man perceiving that he has been cheated of his proper share. But that is not so very serious, for each man hopes that next year he will get a larger share in compensation. Suppose, instead of trees which bear fruit every year, we had a sum of money. In that case the division would admit of no redress, and those who thought themselves defrauded would bear lifelong malice. Therefore I say: We will not have those trees cut down; but we are prepared, upon the other hand, to sell you all our trees upon this terrace if you, on your side, will assign to us but two kîrâts of all your trees, these trees included.' 'Allah destroy the dwelling of your two kîrâts,' I cried out angrily. 'I will have none of them. Nor will I make my dwelling in the neighbourhood of men so foolish. I shall seek elsewhere.' The peasants chuckled at my curse on the kîrâts. They murmured an apology, but seemed relieved, as they went off. Suleymân, who had to leave us on the following day, then gave me good advice. He said: 'It is no use for thee to deal with little people who wish to make the most of their small lands, who have mean, dirty houses. Thou hast a friend among the great sheykhs of the Drûz. Go to him in his castle and explain thy wish. He owns a score of noble houses which he does not use, and for the love of thee he will not count the price too closely. Moreover, he will think that, showing favour to an Englishman, he will earn the good opinion of the British Government. He has political ambitions. All great men are fools or malefactors.' 'That is the best of counsel,' said Rashîd. And, having nothing else in mind, we acted on it. CHAPTER XXVII BUYING A HOUSE Even great men in the East rise early; so, when I arrived before the castle of the great Druze chief at six o'clock of a summer's morning, I was not surprised to find a crowd of black-cloaked and white-turbaned mountaineers already waiting for an audience of his grace; nor yet, when I had gained admittance as a favoured person, to find the chief himself afoot and wide awake. What did surprise me was to see him clad in Stambûli frock-coat and all its stiff accompaniments at an hour when even the most civilised of Pashas still wears native dress. He heard of my desire to settle in his country with surprise and seeming pleasure, and made me sit beside him on a sofa in an upper chamber of magnificent proportions--spoilt, to my taste, by gaudy Frankish furniture and certain oleographs of the crowned heads of Europe which adorned its walls. He thought, as is the way of Orientals, visibly, with finger pressed to brow. Then he exclaimed: 'I have a house close by, across the glen--a little ruinous, perhaps, but we can soon repair it. Come to the window; you can see the place from here.' He pointed out a kind of thickset tower which crowned a pretty village set in orchards. 'If you care to see it we will go there when I have received my people.' He invited me to go with him to the reception; but, having seen the crowd outside, I thought it wisdom to go back rather to the village khan where I had left my horse, to warn Rashîd to have things ready for a start, and get some breakfast. I returned in two hours' time, to find the chief already mounted on a splendid charger, led by a no less splendid servant, setting forth in search of me, 'with half the world for tail,' as Rashîd put it. It was in truth a long procession which meandered down the steep and rocky pathway, deep in the shade of walls and overhanging trees, to the ravine, forded the stream, and climbed the other bank. The village, when we reached it, was in great commotion, all its people crowding to the wide meydân, or levelled ground for horsemanship, spread out before the house which might be mine. In the midst of this meydân there was a fine old carob tree, with a stone bench all round the foot of its enormous trunk. The house itself was an old fortress, built of solid stone, with arrow slits as well as modern windows, and an arched doorway at the top of wide stone steps. Against it nestled lesser houses of the village which seemed to climb up towards it for protection. Some men of consequence came forth to greet the chief, who then dismounted with their servile aid. He introduced me to a turbaned Druze of reverend appearance, who (he said) at present occupied the house, and also to the son of the said turbaned Druze, who knew a little French and longed to air it. The turbaned one, whose name was Sheykh Huseyn, was called on to refresh his chieftain's memory with regard to various details of the house and property and all the feudal rights and privileges appertaining thereunto. He did so, as in duty bound, but in a very mournful tone. His son explained: Tu fiens habiter, nous defons quitter. Mon bère n'aime bas quitter. Très bon marché'--from which I guessed that they had occupied the house rent-free till they had come to look upon it as their own. Leaving aside the land, which we should visit presently, the owner of the house, I was informed, had jurisdiction over the meydân, which was in times of peace the village square, and owned one-fifth part of the great tree in its midst. He also owned a fifth of all the water flowing or to flow from the great village spring; and had the right to call upon the fellâhîn for one day's work a year in return for his protection of their land from enemies. When I inquired by what means I could possibly secure my fifth share of the water from the spring, the chief informed me that the stipulation was in case the source diminished in dry seasons, which, thank the Lord, it never yet had done. We viewed the house, and I was pleased with the great vaulted rooms, in which the pots and pans and bedding of the Sheykh Huseyn appeared like nothing, and the women of the family of Sheykh Huseyn, close-veiled against our inroad, made themselves exceeding small; and then, remounting, we went off to view the land. This was scattered all about the mountain side--a terrace here, a terrace there. It took us a long while to see the whole of it. The chief, fatigued, alighted and sat down beneath some walnut trees. He ordered Sheykh Huseyn to cause refreshments to appear. The latter shouted, and a dozen villagers went tearing off. In a very little time a meal of honeyed cakes and fruit was set before us, and the ceremony of making coffee was in progress on a brazier near us in the shade. 'Allah! Allah!' sighed the Sheykh Huseyn, telling his beads. 'Mon bère est triste, tu vois. Il aime bas quitter,' murmured his hopeful son in tones of high delight, the feeling proper to express before a new acquaintance of my quality. 'Curse the religion of these flies! It is extremely hot!' exclaimed the chief in momentary irritation. The trees went with the land without exception, I was glad to hear. One-fifth of all the produce of that land of any kind whatever would be mine, the rest belonging to the husbandmen by immemorial right. There was never such a thing as wages for the cultivation of the land. The Sheykh Huseyn implored us to return to luncheon at his house, protesting that he had commanded a great feast to be prepared; but the chief declared we were too busy to allow ourselves that pleasure. As we were then some way below the village, we did not go back thither, but rode off along a path through orchards till we found the road to the ravine. At taking leave, the eyes of Sheykh Huseyn met mine a moment. They were large, benevolent, brown eyes, and they expressed much inward sorrow, while on his lips there broke the smile demanded of politeness. 'Au refoir, mon cher! Au blaisir!' cried his hopeful son. Rashîd came up behind me as we rode along, and poured into my ear a wondrous tale of how the Sheykh Huseyn was our ill-wisher and would do his best to make things lively for us if we took the place. He had conversed with people of the village while we viewed the house. 'But the majority are in our favour,' he assured me, with grave satisfaction. 'They do not love the Sheykh Huseyn, who is a miser and a hypocrite. They say, please God, we shall humiliate him to the very depth of shame.' He spoke as if we were at war, and within sight of victory, as if we were already settled in the place. And I was glad, because it augured well for my content if I should buy the place, which I was now resolved to do if I could anyhow afford it. 'The price will be too great, I fear,' was my reply; whereat he sighed, observing that the place was of a nature to exalt our honour. Returning to the castle of the chieftain, I was ushered to his private chamber, where I broached at once the burning question of the price. He said: 'God knows I wish to give thee house and land since thou desirest them. But I have a mortgage on some other lands of mine which vexes me, because, though I can find the interest--which is exorbitant--each year, I cannot in this country lay my hands upon the principal. Discharge that debt for me and, God reward thee, take the house and land.' He named a sum of money. I could not believe my ears, it was so little as compared with what I judged to be the value of the property. It was well within the sum at my disposal. I wished to write a cheque out there and then; but he forbade me, saying: 'Allah knows I might mislay the paper or destroy it in a moment of forgetfulness. Do thou in kindness pay my creditor and bring me the discharge.' He named an Armenian gentleman of my acquaintance--an amiable, learned man of modest means, the last person in the country whom I should have thought a usurer. Nor was he one habitually, for he himself informed me that this loan to the Druze chieftain was his sole investment of the kind. I called on him one afternoon in the city, and handed him my cheque, explaining how the matter stood. 'You do me a bad turn. Unlucky day!' he sighed as he received it. 'My little fortune was more safe with him than in a bank, and every year it brought me in a pretty income. Where can I find another such investment.' With groans he wrote out the receipt, which in due time I carried to the chief, who thanked me and assured me that the house was mine and should be made so formally. I then rode over to the house again, and with Rashîd planned out the changes we desired to make, the Sheykh Huseyn following us about gloomily, and his cheerful son bestowing on us his advice in broken French. They knew their tenancy was at an end. The Sheykh, resigned at length to the inevitable, sought to establish good relations with me; and he also gave us counsel, which Rashîd, who viewed him as our deadly foe, at once rejected. Under these rebuffs the old man became quite obsequious. His son exclaimed excitedly: 'Mon bère est heureux, tu vois. If feut bas quitter. Il feut rester afec toi comme chef de serfice.' CHAPTER XXVIII A DISAPPOINTMENT Considering that I had bought a house and land exactly to my taste, and likely, as Rashîd declared, to raise our honour in the country, I felt that I had earned the right to take a holiday. Whenever I have done anything decisive it is my instinct to withdraw myself a little from the scene of action and inure myself by contemplation to the new position of affairs. Accordingly, having surveyed the house and land as owner, I set off with Rashîd upon a ten days' journey beyond the reach of telegrams and letters. At the end of the ten days we rode into Beyrout, and put up at a little hostelry, which we frequented, built out on piers above the sea. There I found two letters waiting for me, one from the great Druze chief who sold to me my house and land. 'Never,' he wrote, 'have I had to endure such disrespect and ignominy. It is not at all what I expected from your friendship. In obedience to the Consul's order, I wrote express to the Khawâjah ----, my creditor, informing him that there had been some error and entreating him to send your cheque in to the British Consulate. I hope to God you have received it safely before this. My health has suffered from this huge indignity. I shall not long survive this cruel shame.' The second letter was from Her Britannic Majesty's Consul-General, enclosing my cheque written to the order of the Armenian gentleman for the amount of the mortgage which he held upon my Druze friend's property, and adjuring me to pay a visit to the Consulate without delay. I went that afternoon. The outer office was crowded with the usual set of English and would-be English persons who went there for gossip. My appearance called forth more or less derisive shouts. I was a nice young man to go and buy a village--from a native, too!--without the forethought to secure a title to the property! It was plain that they knew more about the matter than I did myself. I felt ashamed, and must have looked dejected, I suppose, for they changed their tone for one more genial, crying: 'Cheer up, man! We've all been through it. You know now what these devils really are. They'll always do you, if they can. It's no shame to you at your age. They're so devilish clever.' I did not know then, nor do I know to-day, that I had ever been defrauded seriously, or deceived, by any native of the country, but the legend ran, and doubtless runs, to that effect. Then I was called into the Consul's presence and strongly blamed by him for running off just at the moment when my presence was most needed. I had written joyously to tell him of my purchase. I now heard that I should have waited for his reply before concluding it. A man does not buy tracts of land like that, I was severely told. And as I was so very young and (he implied it) idiotic, he had intervened to stop the sale, pending inquiries and the discharge of certain formalities which were legally required. If the seller went into the court and had the transfer registered and a proper deed of sale made out, then well and good; but he understood that there was some objection on the seller's part. If not, then he advised me to give up the whole idea. Profoundly conscious of my youth, and mindful of past kindness on the Consul's part, I was, of course, impressed. I thought I had indeed been foolish, even mad; and promised to do all that he required of me. As I went through the outer office, looking more than ever downcast, I was hailed with further adjurations to cheer up, for they had all been through it. Rashîd was more depressed than even I was when I told him of the sudden downfall of our hopes. He cursed the Consul and the Druzes indiscriminately. But on our journey up into the mountains his reconstructive mind transfigured my misfortunes, making of them an event well calculated to 'exalt our honour.' So great was my consideration in my native country that the Queen herself had written to the Consul-General to take care of me and see that I was not defrauded when I bought my land. The Consul, who had been neglectful of me, and knew nothing of the land I wished to buy, had been afraid of the Queen's anger, hence his mad activity. I did not hear that version at the time, nor from Rashîd's own lips; but it came to my ears eventually, after its vogue was past. We both hoped, however, that the house and land would yet be ours. I found the Druze chief prostrate with humiliation and bewilderment. He greeted me with monstrous sighs, and told me how ashamed he was, how very ill. His eyes reproached me. What had he ever done to me that I should loose upon him such a swarm of ignominies. I felt humiliated and ashamed before him, an honourable man who had been treated like a rogue on my account. 'I shall not survive these insults, well I know it. I shall die,' he kept lamenting. 'All my people know the way I have been treated--like a dog.' I told him that there had been a misunderstanding, and that the shame which he had suffered had been all my fault, because I had been absent for my selfish pleasure at the moment when I might have saved him by a simple statement of the facts. 'I shall not easily recover,' the chief groaned. 'And then that debt which I was so delighted to pay off is once again upon my shoulders.' I explained then that the Consul's stopping of the sale was not conclusive, but provisional; his only stipulation being that, before I paid, all the legal formalities necessary to the transfer should have been fulfilled. 'He asks no more than that your Excellency will condescend to go before the Caïmmacâm with witnesses, and have a proper title-deed made out.' At those words, uttered in all innocence, the great man shuddered violently and his face went green. I feared that he would have a fit, but he recovered gradually; and at last he said: 'It is a cruel thought, and one which must have been suggested to him by my enemies. Know that the Caïmmacâm at present is my rival and most deadly foe. We have not met on terms of speech for many years; our servants fight at chance encounters on the road. It is but five years since I held the post of Governor which he now occupies. When, by means of calumny and foul intrigue against me at Stamboul, he managed to supplant me, I swore a solemn oath that I would never recognise the Government nor seek its sanction so long as he remained its representative. And now the Consul bids me have recourse to him. By Allah, I would sooner be impaled alive.' He paused a moment, swallowing his rage, then added: 'This, however, I will do. I will summon all the chiefs of all my people--every head of every family--hither to your presence and command them all to witness that the property is yours. I will make them swear to defend you and your successors in possession of it with their lives if need be, and to leave the obligation as a sacred charge to their descendants. That, I think, would be sufficient to assure you undisturbed possession if I die, as well I may, of this unheard-of treatment. And if I live till happier times--that is, to see the downfall of my enemy--then you shall have the Government certificate which the Consul deems of such immense importance.' I now know that the kind of treaty which he thus proposed, laying a solemn charge on all his people--who would have been, of course, my neighbours--to defend my right, would have been worth a good deal more than any legal document in that wild country. The Armenian gentleman, who was delighted that his mortgage still held good, told me as much when next I saw him in the city. He thought me foolish not to jump at it, particularly when the land was offered to me for a song. But the Consul's prohibition, and the warnings of the English colony, possessed more weight with me just then than his opinion, or, indeed, my own, for I was very young. I told the chieftain it was not enough. 'Then I am truly sorry,' he replied, with dignity; 'but there the matter ends. I have told your Honour the reason why I cannot go to court at present.' Rashîd was sad when I informed him of my failure. Once more he cursed the Druzes and all Consuls. And as we rode back through the mountains he was wrapped in thought. He came at length to the conclusion that this, too, redounded to our honour, since anybody less exalted than ourselves would certainly have jumped at such an offer as the chief had made to me. But everything, for us, must be performed in the most perfect manner. We were tremendous sticklers for formality. There was only one thing he could not get over. 'It is the triumph of our enemy, that Sheykh Huseyn,' he told me. 'I hate to think of him in comfort in our house.' CHAPTER XXIX CONCERNING CRIME AND PUNISHMENT If we wished to stay in any place for more than a day or two, Rashîd, upon arrival, wandered through the markets and inquired what dwellings were to let, while I sat down and waited in some coffee-house. Within an hour he would return with tidings of a decent lodging, whither we at once repaired with our belongings, stabling our horses at the nearest khan. My servant was an expert in the art of borrowing, so much so that no sound of disputation on that subject reached my ears. It seemed as if the neighbours came, delighted, of their own accord to lend us pots and pans and other necessaries. He also did the cooking and the marketing without a hitch, giving a taste of home to the small whitewashed chamber, which we had rented for a week, it might be, or a month at most. When obliged to go out upon any errand, Rashîd was always worried about leaving me alone, regarding me as careless of my property and so untrusty from the point of view of one who idolised it. 'If your Honour should be seized with a desire to smell the air when I am absent,' he would say, 'do not forget to lock the door and place the key in the appointed hiding-place where I can find it. There are wicked people in the world. And while you sit alone, keep our revolver handy.' He told me that in cities robberies of private dwellings are oftener committed at high noon, when many houses are left empty, than at night, when they are full of snoring folk. I did not doubt the truth of this assertion, but differed from him in believing that we harboured nothing likely to attract a thief. 'I would not lose the buckle of a strap, a single grain of sesame, by such foul means,' he would reply with vehemence. One morning--it was in Damascus--he went out, after imploring me as usual to take care of everything. The room we occupied was at the end of a blind alley, up a flight of nine stone steps. The alley led into a crowded, narrow street, bordered with shops of many-coloured wares, which at that point was partly shaded by a fine old ilex tree. From where I sprawled upon a bed of borrowed cushions in the room, reading a chap-book I had lately purchased--_The Rare Things of Abu Nawwâs_--I saw the colour and the movement of that street as at the far end of a dark kaleidoscope, for all the space between was in deep shadow. When a man turned up our alley--a most rare occurrence--I noticed his appearance. It was rather strange. He wore an old blue shirt, and on his head a kind of turban, but of many colours and, unlike any I had ever seen upon the natives of the country, with an end or streamer hanging loose upon one side. In complexion, too, he was a good deal darker than a Syrian, and yet had nothing of the negro in his looks. Something furtive in his manner of approach amused me, as suggestive of the thief of Rashîd's nightmares. I moved into the darkest corner of the room and lay quite still. He climbed our steps and filled the doorway, looking in. It happened that Rashîd had left a bag of lentils, bought that morning, just inside. The thief seized that and, thinking he was unobserved, was going to look round for other spoil, when I sat up and asked to know his business. He gave one jump, replied: 'It is no matter,' and was gone immediately. I watched him running till he vanished in the crowded street. Rashîd returned. I told him what had happened in his absence, but he did not smile. He asked me gravely to describe the man's appearance, and, when I did so, groaned: 'It is a Nûri (gipsy). Who knows their lurking-places? Had it been a townsman or a villager I might perhaps have caught him and obtained redress.' He said this in a manner of soliloquy before he turned to me, and, with reproachful face, exclaimed: 'He stole our bag of lentils and you watched him steal it! You had at hand our good revolver, yet you did not shoot!' 'Why should I shoot a man for such a trifle?' 'It is not the dimensions or the value of the object stolen that your Honour ought to have considered, but the crime! The man who steals a bag of lentils thus deliberately is a wicked man, and when a man is wicked he deserves to die; and he expects it.' I told him that the gipsy was quite welcome to the lentils, but he would not entertain that point of view. After trying vainly to convince me of my failure to perform a social duty, he went out to the establishment of a coffee-seller across the street, who kept his cups and brazier in the hollow trunk of the old ilex tree, and set stools for his customers beneath its shade, encroaching on the public street. Thither I followed after a few minutes, and found him telling everybody of the theft. Those idlers all agreed with him that it was right to shoot a thief. 'All for a bag of lentils!' I retorted loftily. 'God knows I do not grudge as much to any man.' At that there rose a general cry of 'God forbid!' while one explained: 'It were a sin to refuse such a thing to a poor man in need who came and begged for it in Allah's name. But men who take by stealth or force are different. Think if your Honour had destroyed that thief, the rascal would not now be robbing poorer folk, less able to sustain the loss! Suppose that bag of lentils had been all you had! There may be people in the world as poor as that.' 'Why should I kill a man who offered me no violence?' I asked defiantly. 'Why should you not do so, when the man is evidently wicked?' 'Why do the Franks object to killing wicked people?' asked the coffee-seller with a laugh. 'Why do they nourish good and bad in their society?' 'It is because they are without religion,' muttered one man in his beard. An elder of superior rank, who overheard, agreed with him, pronouncing in a tone of gentle pity: 'It is because they lose belief in Allah and the life to come. They deem this fleeting life the only one vouchsafed to man, and death the last and worst catastrophe that can befall him. When they have killed a man they think they have destroyed him quite; and, as each one of them fears such destruction for himself if it became the mode, they condemn killing in their laws and high assemblies. We, when we kill a person, know that it is not the end. Both killed and killer will be judged by One who knows the secrets of men's breasts. The killed is not deprived of every hope. For us, death is an incident: for them, the end. Moreover, they have no idea of sacrifice. Killing, with them, is always the result of hate.' 'What does your Honour mean by that last saying?' I inquired with warmth. The old man smiled on me indulgently as he made answer sadly: 'Be not offended if we speak our mind before you. We should not do so if we wished you ill. Here, among us, it is not an unheard-of thing for men to kill the creatures they love best on earth; nor do men blame them when, by so doing, they have served the cause of God, which is the welfare of mankind. Thus it was of old the rule, approved of all the world, that every Sultan of the line of Othman had to kill his brothers lest they should rise against him and disturb the peace of all the realm. Was it not like depriving life of all its sweetness thus to destroy their youth's companions and their nearest kin? Yet, though their hearts were in the bodies of their victims, they achieved it. And the victims met their death with the like fortitude, all save a few of less heroic mould. 'Now, I have read some histories written by the Europeans. They do not understand these things at all. They think us merely cruel--just as we, in the same unperceiving manner, think them merely covetous. Yet I disagree with your good servant in the present case. I think that you were right to spare that Nûri.' Rashîd, who, with the rest of the assembly, had listened to the old man's speech with reverence, exclaimed: 'It is not just this Nûri or that bag of lentils, O my lord! My master is thus careless always. He never locks the door when he goes out during my absence, though all that we possess is in that room.' 'Thy lord is young.' The old man smiled upon me kindly, and proceeded then to read me a mild lecture on my carelessness, detailing to me the precautions which he took himself, habitually, when shutting up his house or place of business, including pious formulas which he made me repeat after him. While he was thus instructing me, Rashîd went off, returning in about three minutes with a face of indignation strangely and incongruously mixed with triumph. Taking his stand before me in the very middle of the seated crowd, he said: 'You left the door wide open even after you had seen that Nûri steal the bag of lentils. I have this minute been to look and I have seen. With our revolver lying in the full light of the doorway! Merciful Allah! What is to be done with you?' The old man, my preceptor, laughed aloud; and at the sound Rashîd, whose desperation was not acted, wept real tears. The people round us tried in vain to comfort him. CHAPTER XXX THE UNWALLED VINEYARD One morning, as we rode along, we came to vineyards on a valley-side. Rashîd dismounted and began to pick the grapes. Suleymân dismounted likewise, and invited me to do the same. 'But it is stealing,' I objected. 'Allah! Allah!' moaned Suleymân, as one past patience. He hung his head a moment, limp all over, as if the spirit had been taken out of him; then called out to Rashîd, who was devouring grapes: 'Return, O malefactor, O most wicked robber! Thou art guilty of a fearful crime. Thy master says so.' Rashîd came back to us immediately, bringing a purple bunch, which he was going to give to me when Suleymân prevented him, exclaiming: 'Wouldst dishonour our good lord by placing in his hands the fruit of infamy, as if he were a vile accomplice of thy crime? For shame, O sinful depredator, O defrauder of the poor!' Rashîd gaped at him, and then looked at me. I held out my hand for the grapes. 'Touch them not, for they are stolen!' cried Suleymân. 'I know not what thou wouldst be at, O evil joker,' said Rashîd, with warmth; 'but if thou callest me a thief again, I'll break thy head.' '_I_ call thee thief? Thou art mistaken, O my soul! By Allah! I am but the mouthpiece of thy master here, who says that to pluck grapes out of this vineyard is to steal.' Rashîd looked towards me, half incredulous, and, seeing that I ate the grapes with gusto, answered with a laugh: 'He does not understand our customs, that is all. By Allah! there is no man in this land so churlish or so covetous as to begrudge to thirsty wayfarers a bunch of grapes out of his vineyard or figs or apricots from trees beside the road. To go into the middle of the vineyard and pick fruit there would be wrong, but to gather from the edge is quite allowable. If we were to come with sumpter-mules and load them with the grapes, that would be robbery; but who but the most miserly would blame us for picking for our own refreshment as we pass, any more than he would stop the needy from gleaning in the fields when corn is cut. What your Honour thinks a crime, with us is reckoned as a kindness done and taken.' 'Aye,' said Suleymân, whose gift was for interpretations, 'and in the same way other matters which your Honour blames in us as faults are in reality but laudable and pious uses. Thus, it is customary here among us to allow the servant to help himself a little to his master's plenty in so far as food and means of living are concerned. The servant, being wholly given to his master's service, having no other means of living, still must live; aye, and support a wife and children if he have them; and it is the custom of our great ones to pay little wages, because they have but little ready money. Upon the other hand, they have possessions and wide influence, in which each servant is their partner to a small extent. No one among them would object to such small profits as that cook of yours, whom you condemned so fiercely, made while in your service. If the master does not care to let the servant gain beyond his wages, he must pay him wages high enough for his existence--certainly higher wages than you paid that cook.' 'I paid him what he asked,' I said indignantly. 'And he asked what he thought sufficient in consideration of the profits he felt sure of making in your service--a foreigner and a young man of many wants.' 'I had told him that thou art of all men living the most generous!' put in Rashîd. My dismissal of that cook had long been rankling in his mind. 'It is the custom of the country,' he subjoined, defiantly. 'It is a custom which I very heartily dislike,' I answered. 'It seems to me that people here are always grasping. Look at the prices which the merchants ask, the way they bargain. They fight for each para as if it were their soul's salvation. They are mad for gain.' 'Again you are mistaken,' answered Suleymân. 'They do not ask too much from avarice, but for the sake of pastime. Indeed, you will find sometimes that the price they ask is less than the real value of the object, and still they let the buyer beat it down--for mere amusement of the argument and for the sake of seeing what devices he will use. In addition, they will give the buyer a nice cup of coffee--sometimes two cups of coffee if the argument is long--and as many glasses full of sherbet as he cares to drink.' 'And if the buyer will not pay the price, though much reduced, the merchant often will present the object to him, as happened to your Honour in Aleppo only the other day,' put in Rashîd. 'That was only a device to shame me into buying it.' 'No, by your Honour's leave!' 'Rashîd may well be right,' said Suleymân, 'although I cannot judge of the peculiar instance since I was not present.' Just then we came around a shoulder of the hill, and saw some people, men and women, harvesting the grapes in a much larger vineyard. 'Now you shall see!' exclaimed Rashîd exultantly. He got down off his horse and stooped over the nearest vines. The workers, seeing him, set up a shout of 'Itfaddalû!' (perform a kindness), the usual form of hospitable invitation. Since we refused to join them in the middle of the vineyard a man came wading towards us, bearing on his head a basket tray piled up with grapes. Suleymân picked out three monstrous clusters, one for each of us, with blessings on the giver. To my offer of payment the fellâh opposed a serious refusal, saying: 'It would be a shame for me.' 'You see now!' said Rashîd, as we resumed our way. 'It is not robbery for wayfarers to take refreshment.' 'And as for the custom of the merchants,' added Suleymân, 'in asking a much higher price than that which they at last accept, what would you have? Those merchants are rich men, who have enough for all their needs. Their aim is not that of the Frankish traders: to increase their wealth by all means and outdistance rivals. Their object is to pass the time agreeably and, to that end, detain the customer as long as possible, the more so if he be a person like your Honour, who loves jokes and laughter. The greatest disappointment to our merchants is for the customer to pay the price first asked and so depart immediately. I have a rare thing in my memory which hits the case. 'Everyone has heard of Abdu, the great Egyptian singer, who died recently. His only daughter met her death in a distressing way. It was her wedding night, and bride and bridegroom died of suffocation owing to the scent of flowers and perfumes in the bedroom where they lay. At sight of the two corpses Abdu broke his lute and swore a solemn oath never to sing again. 'He was rich--for he had earned much by his singing, often as much as a hundred pounds a night--and he sought some means to pass the time till death should come for him. He took a shop in Cairo, and hoped for pleasant conversation in the course of bargaining. But the Egyptians wished to hear him sing again, and men of wealth among them planned together to buy up his whole stock-in-trade immediately. This happened thrice, to the despair of Abdu, who saw his hope of pastime taken from him. In the end he was compelled to get the Câdi to release him from his vow, and sing again, although he would have much preferred to be a merchant. That shows the difference between a trader in our cities and one in any city of the Franks, whose sole desire is to sell quickly and repeatedly.' 'There is no accounting for tastes,' was my reply. 'For my part I detest this bargaining.' 'When that is understood by decent merchants they will not afflict thee. They will ask thee a fair price and let thee go--though with regret, for they would rather spend an hour in talk with thee,' said Suleymân indulgently. 'It is a game of wits which most men like.' He shrugged his shoulders. 'Your Honour was relating yesterday,' observed Rashîd, with grievance in his tone, 'how an Englishman of your acquaintance in our country accused his servants of dishonesty. Doubtless he distrusted them and locked things up, which is the same as saying to them: "It is my locks and my vigilance against your wits." Few men of spirit could resist a challenge such as that, which is indeed to urge men on to robbery. But where the master trusts his servants and leaves all things to their care, only a son of infamy would dream of robbing him.' 'Let me propound the matter otherwise for understanding. Seeing that open vineyard, with a wall but two stones high, no man would think of plundering the crop of grapes. But surround that vineyard with a high, strong wall, and every son of Adam will conceive the project of clearing it of every cluster.' 'I should never think of such a thing.' 'That is because your Honour is accustomed to restraints and barriers,' said Suleymân. 'We, in the Sultan's dominions, have more freedom, praise to Allah! For us a high wall is an insult, save in cities.' CHAPTER XXXI THE ATHEIST Though I had known Suleymân for nearly two years, and had had him with me for some six months of that time, I had never seen him in his function of a dragoman, by which he earned enough in two months of the year to keep a wife and children in a village of the coasts of Tyre and Sidon, of which he spoke with heart-moving affection, though he seldom went there. It was only after much insistence that he allowed us to conduct him thither on one memorable occasion, when I could not but admire his perfect manners as a despot. When first I met him he had been a gentleman at large, and it was as that, and a familiar friend, that he repaired to me whenever he had nothing else to do. Judging from his gifts of conversation, which we all admired, and his unbounded knowledge of the country, I thought that, as a guide for tourists, he would be invaluable. So, when I heard that English friends of mine were coming out to Palestine, I wrote advising them to ask for him, him only; and I was glad to hear soon afterwards that he was with them. When they came north, I joined the party at Damascus and travelled with them for their last fortnight. It did not take me many minutes in the camp to see that Suleymân was not himself, and that my friends were not so charmed with him as I had thought they would be. On the first evening in their tent I heard complaints. They told me he was most unconscionably lazy, and would not take them to the places they desired to visit. The trouble was, as I soon learnt, that they possessed a map and guidebook which they studied reverently every night, finding out places said therein to be of interest. Suleymân, on his side, had, at setting out, possessed a plan to make their tour the most delightful one imaginable. He hoped by visiting selected spots and people to give it sequence and significance. In a word, he was an artist in travel, wishing to provide them with delicious memories, while they were English and omnivorous of facts and scenes. When he learnt from various rebuffs that they would not confide themselves to him, he lost all pleasure in the tour. It was a listless and disgusted upper servant, most unlike the man I knew, whom I found in gorgeous raiment sitting by the cook's fire in the gardens of Damascus, which were then a wilderness of roses. He did not explain matters to me all at once. When I reproached him for neglecting friends of mine, he answered only: 'It is the will of Allah, who made men of different kinds, some sweet, some loathsome.' But my arrival mended things a little. At least, my English friends professed to see a great improvement in the conduct of Suleymân and all the servants. I think it was because the poor souls knew that they had someone now to whom they could express their grievances, someone who would condescend to talk with them; for nothing is more foreign to the Oriental scheme of life than the distance at which English people keep their servants. In the democratic East all men are equal, as far as rights of conversation are concerned. It is a hardship for the Oriental to serve Europeans, and only the much higher and more certain wages bring him to it. My English friends had few good words to say for any of their Arab servants; but I found they had conceived a perfect hatred for the cook, who had undoubtedly a villainous appearance. He was a one-eyed man with a strong cast in his surviving eye. A skull-cap, which had once been white, concealed his shaven poll, and his long pointed ears stood out upon it. He wore a shirt of indigo impaired by time, over which, when riding, he would throw an ancient Frankish coat, or, if it chanced to rain, a piece of sacking. His legs were bare, and he wore scarlet slippers. To see him riding on an ass hung round with cooking tins, at the head of the procession of the beasts of burden, suggested to the uninformed spectator that those beasts of burden and their loads had all been stolen. I spoke about him to Suleymân one day when in my company he had regained his wonted spirits, telling him of the extreme dislike my friends had taken to the man. 'They are foolish,' he replied, 'to grumble at the figure of a mill which grinds good flour. They profit by his cooking, which is excellent. Indeed, he is the best cook in the world, and most particular. I took great trouble to secure him for this expedition, knowing that the Khawâjât were friends of yours.' The tone of grievance in his voice became acute. I feared that he was going to cry, so answered quickly: 'It is not that. They like his cooking. But his manners----' 'What know they of his manners? Has he ever entered the saloon or bed-tent to defile them? Has he ever spoken insult in their hearing? Inform me of his crime, and I will beat him bloody. But well I know he has done nothing wrong, for I have kept him in the strictest order all these days. It is only his appearance they object to; and that is God's affair, not theirs. The Lord repay them!' 'You say that you have kept him in strict order? Is that necessary?' 'Of course it is, for the poor man is mad. I thought his madness would amuse them; it is very funny. But Allah knows that there is not a laugh in all their bodies. So I have kept him from approaching them.' The word 'majnûn,' which I have here translated 'mad,' has often, as I knew, a complimentary value; and I gathered from Suleymân's way of speaking that the cook was not a raving maniac, but rather what in English country-places we should call 'a character.' I cultivated his acquaintance after that, and was astonished by his powers of story-telling and of mimicry; still more, perhaps, by a curious, dry scepticism, expressed facetiously and sometimes with profanity, which was evident in almost everything he said. This it was which chiefly pleased the waiter and the muleteers, who were his usual listeners, since they were together on the road. They would laugh and curse him in religious terms for a blasphemer and a wicked atheist, reproofs which he received as high applause. It was his custom to salute his friends with insults, which they took kindly from him, being what he was. They told me in low tones of awe, yet with a chuckle, that he had even sold his father's grave in a facetious way. But I could never get them to relate that story clearly. I could understand then why Suleymân had kept him in strict order on the journey; for my English friends were quite incapable of seeing any fun in such a character. Nor did I ever tell them of the great adventure of that journey, in which their cook was very nearly done to death. It happened near the village of Mejdel esh-Shems, down in the valley underneath Mount Hermon. We remained in camp there over Sunday, and on Sunday afternoon my friends were resting in their tent. Suleymân and I had seized that opportunity to go off for a ramble by ourselves, which did us good. We were returning to the camp in time for tea, when a crowd of fellâhîn came hurrying from the direction of our tents, waving their arms and shouting, seeming very angry. Suleymân called out to them to learn the matter. 'Zandîq!' (an atheist) they cried. 'Zandîq! Zandîq!' 'Where?' I asked, eagerly. 'There, in yonder tent,' an old white-bearded man informed me, with wide eyes of horror. He pointed to the canvas windscreen against which our famous cook sat gazing at the kettle he had set to boil for tea. 'We go to fetch the wherewithal to kill him properly.' 'Stop!' said Suleymân peremptorily. 'You are mistaken. That is our cook--a good, religious man, but mad occasionally.' 'No, there is no mistake, O lords of honour,' cried a score of voices; while the old man who had pointed out the cook to me, explained: 'He said--may God protect us from the blame of it!--He said: "You see that mountain! It is I who made it. Prostrate yourselves before me for I made the world." We had been standing round him inoffensively, asking him questions, as the custom is, about his parentage, his trade, and so forth. But when we heard that awful blasphemy we rent our clothes, and ran in haste to fetch our weapons, as thou seest. Delay us not, for he must surely die.' 'Commit not such a wickedness! The man is mad.' 'No; he is sane.' 'Quite mad, I do assure you. Return with us, and I will prove it to your understanding,' cried Suleymân. I added my assurance. They came back with us, but murmuring, and in two minds. I could not but admire the simple piety which prompted them at once to kill a man whose speech betrayed him as an atheist. But I was very much afraid of what might happen, and of the sad impression it would make upon my English friends. And everything depended on the cook's behaviour. 'I tell you he is mad,' said Suleymân, advancing towards the fire. 'It were a sin for you to slay a fellow-creature thus afflicted. Come hither, O Mansûr,' he cried as to a dog. The cook rose up and came towards us with a foolish air. 'Lie down before my horse. I would ride over thee.' The cook fell prostrate, then turned over on his back. His mouth hung open idiotically; his tongue lolled out. 'Now rise and kiss my boot.' The cook obeyed. By that time there were murmurs of compassion from the would-be slayers. 'Spake I not truly?' asked Suleymân. 'Aye, O sun of verity! He is quite mad, the poor one,' said the old man who had acted spokesman. 'It were a sin for us to kill him, being in that state. His manner at the first deceived us. Allah heal him! How came the dreadful malady upon him?' 'It came upon him through the pangs of unrequited love.' 'Alas, the poor one! Ah, the misery of men! May Allah heal him!' cried the women, as the group of villagers moved off, contented. Just when the last of them passed out of sight the longest tongue I ever saw in man emerged from the cook's mouth, and the rascal put his finger to his nose in a derisive gesture. Those portents were succeeded by a realistic cock-crow. 'What makes the cook like that, devoid of reverence?' I asked of Suleymân. 'It is because he was born in Jerusalem,' was the astonishing reply. 'He is a Christian, and was born poor; and the quarrels of the missionaries over him, each striving to obtain his patronage for some absurd belief, have made him what he is--a kind of atheist.' Selîm, the waiter, who was near and overheard this ending, burst out laughing. 'An atheist!' he cried. 'Your Honour understands? It means a man who thinks there is no God. Just like a beetle!' and he held his quaking sides. Both he and Suleymân appeared to think that atheism was a subject to make angels laugh. And yet they were as staunch believers as those fellâhîn. CHAPTER XXXII THE SELLING OF OUR GUN I had been ill with typhoid fever. Just before my illness, the son of a sheykh in our neighbourhood had asked me to lend him my gun for a few days, since I never used it. There was nothing really which I cared to shoot. The village people rushed out in pursuit of every little bird whose tweet was heard, however distant, in the olive groves or up the mountain side. Jackals there were besides, and an occasional hyæna; and, in the higher mountains, tigers, so the people still persisted in declaring, meaning leopards, I suppose, or lynxes; for ignorant Arabs lump together a whole genus under one specific name, in the same way that they call all wild plants, which have neither scent nor market-value, grass. It was after we had sought those tigers vainly that I put away my gun. The sheykh's son asked me for the loan of it, and I consented in the absence of Rashîd; who, when he heard what I had done, defiled his face with dust and wailed aloud. Suleymân, who happened to be with us at the moment, also blamed me, looking as black as if I had committed some unheard-of sin. It is unlucky for a man to lend his gun to anybody, even to the greatest friend he has on earth, they told me sadly; and that for no superstitious reason, but because, according to the law, if murder be committed with that weapon, the owner of the gun will be considered guilty no matter by whose hand the shot was fired. 'How do they know the owner of the gun?' I answered, scoffing. 'For every gun there is a tezkereh,'[8] answered Rashîd; 'and he who holds the tezkereh is held responsible for every use to which that gun is put.' It was, in fact, a rough-and-ready way of saying that the gun licence was not transferable. I remarked with satisfaction that I had no tezkereh, but that did not appear to reassure them in the least. They still were of opinion harm might come of it. Then I fell ill and knew no more of daily life until I found myself in a hospital of the German Knights of St. John of Jerusalem, where the good sisters nursed me back to health. Among the Arab visitors from far and near who came to see me as I lay in bed, was the youth who had borrowed my gun, together with his father and his brethren, who wept real tears and prayed for my complete recovery, talking as if they were beholden to me in some signal way. Their manner puzzled me a little at the time; but I had quite forgotten that perplexity when, discharged at last from hospital, I travelled back into the mountains with Rashîd. On the very day of my return I got an invitation from that young man's father to dine with him at noon upon the morrow. Rashîd made a grimace at hearing of it and, when I asked him why, looked down his nose and said: 'He has our gun.' 'Aye, to be sure, and so he has!' I said. 'To-morrow I must not forget to ask him for it.' Rashîd looked big with tidings, but restrained himself and merely growled: 'You will not ask for it. I know your Honour! Nor will that rogue return it of his own accord.' At the sheykh's house next day I found a largeish company assembled in my honour, as it seemed. Innumerable were the compliments on my recovery, the pretty speeches and remarks, to which I made reply as best I could. The meal consisted of some thirty courses, and was set on trays upon the floor in the old, country fashion, everybody eating with his fingers from the dish. When it drew near an end, the son of the house glanced at his father meaningly, and getting in return a nod, rose up and left the room. He soon came back, carrying my gun, which he brought first to me as if for benediction, then handed round for the inspection of the other guests. There were cries of 'Ma sh'Allah!' while they all praised its workmanship, one man opining that it must have cost a mint of money, another wishing he possessed its brother, and so forth. These exclamations and asides were evidently aimed at me, and it was somehow carried to my understanding that this exhibition of the gun, and not the public joy on my recovery, was the true reason of the feast and all attending it; though why it should be so I could not think. 'One thing that is remarkable about this gun,' explained the master of the house, 'is that it cannot miss the object aimed at. We have tried it at a target nailed upon a tree--I and my sons--at fifty and a hundred paces--aye, and more! And, by the Lord, the bullet always strikes exactly on the spot at which the gun is pointed, even though that spot be not much bigger than a gnat.' And then, quite unaccountably, the whole assembly rose and tried to kiss my hands, as if the virtues of my gun were due to me. It was obviously not the moment to reclaim the weapon. When I got home after that strange ovation, Rashîd received me coldly and observed: 'You do not bring our gun! You feared to ask for it! Did not I know how it would be? Oh, Allah, Allah!' 'I had no opportunity,' I told him; 'but I am going now to write and ask him to return it. Be ready for the letter. You will have to take it.' 'Upon my head and eye, with all alacrity,' Rashîd replied. 'Never did I rejoice so much in any errand. That rascal has been telling everybody that it is your gift to him, and boasting of his gun through all the mountains. No doubt, he counts upon your illness having dimmed remembrance, and hopes that you yourself may be deluded into thinking that it was a gift and not a loan.' 'Why did you not tell me this before?' I asked. 'Was it my business, till the question rose?' I wrote a civil note to the young man, asking him to let me have the gun in a few days, as I was collecting my belongings for the journey back to England. I thanked him for the care which he had taken of my property, which was much better kept than when I lent it to him, as I had remarked that day. Rashîd received the missive and went off exulting. Within an hour that young man came to me, without the gun, and in a state of most profound affliction and despair. Having shut the door with great precaution to make sure we were alone, he fell upon the ground and burst out crying, confessing that his passion for the gun had made him dream that it was his each night as he lay thinking ere he fell asleep. 'But I did not tell a soul that it was mine--did but dream it--until I knew your Honour was abed and like to die,' he told me naively, as something which might make his fault seem natural. 'I thought that you would die and leave it with me.' So, thinking me as good as dead, he had told his father and his brothers that it was a gift from me, or, as it were, a legacy; and now the fame of my munificence, my love for him, had gone abroad. An hour ago, when he received my letter, he had confessed the truth at last and privately to his beloved father, who, while strongly blaming him for his deceit, was willing to pay any price I chose to put upon the weapon to save him from the horrid scandal of exposure. If the story became public in the country he would die of grief. The honour of a noble house was at my mercy. The gun, so much admired, was quite a cheap one in reality. I had bought it for ten pounds three years before, in London, on the advice of an uncle skilled in all such matters. After a moment's thought, I said: 'Eight English pounds.' Never in my life before or since have I beheld such transports of relief and gratitude, nor heard such heartfelt praises of my generosity. He told the money out before me there and then, insisted on embracing me repeatedly, and then rushed out, intent to tell his father. When he had gone, Rashîd appeared before me, stern and aloof as the Recording Angel. 'It is a crime you have committed,' he exclaimed indignantly. 'That rascal told me as we came along together that his father was prepared to pay a hundred pounds to save their honour. He had sinned; it is but right his house should bear the punishment.' 'You would have done as I have done, in my position,' I assured him, laughing. 'In the position of your Honour,' was the dignified reply, 'I should either have made him pay a hundred pounds for our gun, or else persuaded him that it was worth a hundred pounds, and then presented it. In either case I should have crushed those people utterly. But, for a man in your position to accept eight pounds for such a weapon--and proclaim it worth no more--that is a shame! If your desire was money, you should not have touched the matter personally, but have left it altogether in the hands of me, your servant, who am always careful of your honour, which is mine as well.' He sulked with me thereafter for two days. FOOTNOTES: [8] Licence. CHAPTER XXXIII MY BENEFACTOR When I knew at length that I was going to leave Syria, I was seized with a desire to buy all kinds of notions of the country to show to my people at home--a very foolish way of spending money, I am now aware, for such things lose significance when taken from their proper setting. In after days, when leaving Syria for England, the one thing I would purchase for myself was a supply of reed pens for Arabic writing. But on that first occasion I wished to carry the whole country with me. There was an old, learned Christian of Beyrout, who had given me lessons in Arabic at various times, and always waited on me honourably whenever I alighted in that loveliest and most detestable of seaport towns. He wore the baggiest of baggy trousers, looking just like petticoats, a short fez with enormous hanging tassel, a black alpaca coat of French design, a crimson vest, white cotton stockings, and elastic-sided boots, convenient to pull off ere entering a room. He always carried in the street a silver-headed cane, which he would lean with care against the wall of any room he chanced to enter, never laying it upon the ground, or on a chair or table. In all the time of my acquaintance with him I never, that I can remember, saw him really smile, though something like a twinkle would occasionally touch his eyes beneath great bushy eyebrows, between black and grey. An extraordinarily strong and heavy grey moustache, with drooping ends, gave him a half-pathetic, half-imposing likeness to some aged walrus; so that some of the common people actually called him 'Sheykh el Bahr' (the old man of the sea)--which is the proper Arabic designation of a walrus. He came to see me after I had left the hospital and was staying with some English friends for a few days before returning to the wilds for a farewell; and repeatedly praised Allah for my safe recovery. There never was a man more thoroughly respectable, more perfectly correct in every word and movement. He disapproved of poor Rashîd as a companion for me, because the latter dealt in vulgar language; and I feel certain that he would have disapproved of Suleymân, if he had ever seen that Sun of Wisdom in my company, for pandering to my desire for foolish stories. He was known as the Mu'allim Costantîn, a worthy man. With his usual ceremonious salutation, suggestive of his high position as a representative of learning, he placed himself at my command for any purchases I wished to make; knowing, he said, that I was likely to be busy in the weeks before departure. And his offer was extremely welcome to me at the time. I wished, as I have said already, to buy lots of things; among others--why, I cannot now imagine--the whole costume of natives of the country. The Mu'allim Costantîn praised my intention, gravely declaring that it could not fail to interest my honoured relatives and lovers, and enlarge their minds, to know the details of a dress the most becoming in the world. In order that a full idea of Syrian raiment might be given, two suits and two long garments (corresponding to two other suits) were necessary, he pronounced. These, with the various articles of clothing which I then possessed and had grown used to wearing in the country, would be sufficient for the purposes of exhibition. Upon the following day, as I was dressing, about ten o'clock (for I was still to some extent an invalid), there came a light knock at the door, and the Mu'allim Costantîn appeared, ushering in a friend of his, who was a tailor--a man as grave and worthy as himself, who there and then proceeded to take measurements, praising the proportions with which nature had endowed me, and asking Allah to fill out those parts which now were lean through illness. The moment of a man's uprising is--or was at that time, for old customs are now dying out--the one which servants, tradesmen, pedlars, and all who wished to ask a favour chose for visiting. On the morning after my arrival in an Eastern city where I happened to be known I have had as many as twelve persons squatting round upon the floor, watching a barber shave me, while a little boy, the barber's 'prentice, bearing towels, jug, and basin, waited upon him like an acolyte. The tailor, having made the necessary notes, withdrew with many compliments. The Mu'allim Costantîn remained behind a moment, to assure me, in a loud stage-whisper, that the said tailor was a man whom I could trust to do the best for me, and that I might think myself extremely fortunate to have secured his services, as, being much sought after by the fashionables, he generally had more work than he could really do; but that, having taken, as he said, a fancy to me, he would certainly turn out a set of garments to enslave the heart. Having said this in the finest classic phraseology, he went out to rejoin the tailor in the passage; nor did I see him any more until the very day of my departure, when, at the English Consul-General's hospitable house, I was waiting for the carriage which would take me to the quay. I was told that someone wished to see me upon urgent business, and, going to the great Liwân or entrance-hall, I found my friend, his silver-headed cane leaned carefully against the wall as usual. He carried underneath his arm a number of large books. These he presented to me with a solemn bow. 'It occurred to me,' he said, 'that as your Honour has a predilection for all those curious and often foolish tales which circulate among the common people, you might not perhaps disdain these four poor volumes which I chance to have in my possession. Deign to accept them as a parting gift from me.' I thanked him kindly, though in truth I was embarrassed, not knowing where to stow the books, since all my things were packed. And then he handed me the tailor's bill, which, with the clothes which I had ordered, had escaped my memory. 'Where are the clothes?' I asked, 'I had forgotten them.' He pointed to a bundle pinned up honourably in a silken wrapper, reposing on the floor hard by the silver-handled cane. I tore the envelope and opened out the bill. It came to twenty pounds. And I had got my money ready for my journey. I was going to visit some of the Greek Islands, Smyrna, and Constantinople, on my way to England, and had hoped, besides, to see a little of the Balkan States. To pay out twenty pounds was to reduce that journey by at least a fortnight. And, as I said, I had forgotten all about the clothes, regarding all my Syrian debts as fully paid. The hall was empty; we were quite alone. I fear I stormed at the Mu'allim Costantîn, reminding him that he had promised that the clothes should not be dear. 'But,' he persisted, 'they are very cheap for the materials. If your Honour's wish was to pay less, you ought not to have chosen fabrics three parts silk. I did not know that you were counting money.' He was right. Throughout my stay in Syria, until that moment, I had never counted money. Compared with England, living in the country was absurdly cheap, and on my small allowance I had lived at ease. He might quite reasonably have supposed me to be very wealthy. But I was not in reasonable mood just then. I paid the bill, but in an angry manner; and while I was still talking to him, the Cawwâs arrived, and, close upon his heels, Rashîd in tears, to tell me that the carriage was in waiting. The grief I felt at leaving Syria, at parting from Rashîd and our Sheytân and many friends took hold of me. Hurriedly I said goodbye to the Mu'allim Costantîn, and I am glad to say I changed my tone at that last moment, and had the grace to bid him think no more of the whole matter. But I shall carry to my grave the recollection of his face of horror while I scolded, the look that told his grief that he had been deceived in me. I went and shoved the books into my luggage here and there, gave Rashîd orders to send on the clothes, took leave of my kind hosts, and drove down in a hurry to the quay. It was not till some time after I arrived in England that I realised that the volumes which he had presented to me were a complete Bûlâc Edition of the _Thousand and One Nights_--a valuable book--which is my greatest treasure. Nor have I ever had the chance of thanking the giver in a manner worthy of the gift, and wiping out the bad impression left by my ill-temper, for a letter which I wrote from England never reached him I am told, and when I next was in his country the Mu'allim Costantîn had gone where kindness, patience, courtesy, and all his other virtues are, I hope, rewarded. GLASGOW: W. COLLIN'S SONS AND CO. LTD. * * * * * +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | Typographical errors corrected in text: | | | | Page 212: Yusûf replaced with Yûsuf | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ 
44122	----	SILVER CHIMES IN SYRIA [Illustration: HENRY A. NELSON MEMORIAL _Tripoli Boys' School_] SILVER CHIMES IN SYRIA GLIMPSES OF A MISSIONARY'S EXPERIENCES BY W. S. NELSON, D.D., AUTHOR OF "HABEEB THE BELOVED" [Illustration: Logo] PHILADELPHIA THE WESTMINSTER PRESS 1914 COPYRIGHT, 1914 BY F. M. BRASELMANN DEDICATION JULY 17, 1888. CINCINNATI, OHIO. _This book is affectionately inscribed to her who has been the companion of my life for twenty-five years; my helper in all my work; my cheer and comfort in all circumstances; the maker of my home; the source of all that is silvery in the chimes that ring to-day._ HOMS, SYRIA, JULY 17, 1913. PREFACE When a tourist is seated on the deck of a steamer, waiting to leave the country in which he has enjoyed an outing, his eyes do not seek the low-lying shore of the sea, for the memories he would retain hereafter. He lifts his eyes to the overhanging mountains. Nor is it the whole massive range that holds his vision. He looks instinctively to the scattered, lofty summits which stand aloof as it were from the monotony of the lower range. Especially as the sun sinks below the western horizon do his eyes dwell lovingly on those highest peaks which are colored with the light of the setting sun. My purpose in sending out this collection of sketches is somewhat the same. I have not attempted a continuous narrative, with all the monotony of repeated acts, but have sought to make vivid to the reader some of the more conspicuous features of missionary life, in the hope of deepening sympathy with the workers and increasing zeal in the work. That is my excuse for the free use of the personal pronoun, not to make prominent the person, but to emphasize the reality. May the volume be enjoyed by our fellow workers in America, and blessed by Him whom we all serve. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. ARRIVAL IN SYRIA 3 II. LANGUAGE STUDY 14 III. TRAVEL AND COMMUNICATION 19 IV. EVANGELISTIC TRIPS 34 V. ALEPPO 53 VI. NEW STATIONS AND BUILDINGS 65 VII. CAMPING LIFE 75 VIII. PERSECUTION 87 IX. EMIGRATION 94 X. SYRIAN ENTERPRISES 104 XI. INTERRUPTIONS 111 XII. OUR SUPPORTERS 127 XIII. PERSONAL FRIENDS 136 XIV. TRIPOLI BOYS' SCHOOL 150 XV. MOVING 164 XVI. THE MUEZZIN OR THE BELL 169 ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE Henry A. Nelson Memorial--_Tripoli Boys' School_ _Frontispiece_ Latakia Boys' School _Facing Page_ 34 Tartoose--_Crusaders' Church_ 34 Aleppo Minaret 53 Hadeth Summer Home 75 Abu Maroon, the Hadeth Carpenter 75 Homs--_Boys' School_ 104 Tripoli Boys' School--_First Home_ 150 Tripoli Boys' School--_Second Home_ 150 Homs 164 Heathen Temple and Mount Hermon 164 Hamidiyeh Mosque--_Tripoli_ 169 Old City Gate--_Tripoli_ 169 SILVER CHIMES IN SYRIA CHAPTER I ARRIVAL IN SYRIA Every individual makes a new personal discovery, as with the passage of years, he realizes the difference between the long look forward over a given period, and the look backward over the same period, when it is completed. To the new arrival on the field the veteran of twenty-five years' experience appears to have spent a very long time in the service; but as he looks back over his own life, at the end of a similar period, he wonders that he ever entertained such an opinion. Looking back to the year 1888, the events of that time do not seem at all remote, and it is hard to realize that to anyone that year can appear a very long way in the past. On the last day of October, in the early morning, a steamer of the Austrian-Lloyd Line cast anchor in front of Beirut. That was long before the building of the harbor, and all vessels tossed in the open roadstead, at the mercy of wind and wave, only slightly sheltered by the long headland of Ras Beirut, where the tall lighthouse rears its slender shaft, and where the Syrian Protestant College stands, as a more important symbol of light-giving. The anchor was scarcely dropped before the little boats from the shore crowded about the ladders and the boatmen came swarming over the sides of the vessel, to take possession of the passengers and carry them ashore. It is always a perplexing but interesting scene to the newcomer. The curious costumes of many colors give an appearance of gayety to the crowd; the shouting of the guttural Arabic makes one think of Babel; the wild gesticulating of the excited people suggests the possibility of a riot; the seizing of baggage and pulling of passengers by eager boatmen make one think that the day of personal liberty and private property is passed. As a rule, however, it is all good-natured, and the noise is more bantering than quarreling. In fact, one soon becomes accustomed to the turmoil as an indication of lack of orderly proceeding in the Orient. Among the first figures to appear on deck that October morning was one quieter but no less eager than the Arab boatmen. He quickly made his way to the room of the new missionaries, just arriving from America, prepared to take them ashore, and even to escort them at once to his own home in Sidon. It was a most welcome, homelike experience to the tired travelers, and the cheery voice and cordial welcome of Mr. W. K. Eddy will never be forgotten. There were many things in the journey, thus ended, that had made it trying. The young couple had crossed the Atlantic entirely among strangers and the ocean had not been kind to them. Seasickness is never a happy experience, and when it becomes a continuous performance, in connection with a wedding journey, it seems most inappropriate. Pleasant visits with family friends and relatives in Scotland effaced the memories of the Atlantic. Visiting new scenes and beautiful places in Switzerland gave much pleasure by the way, but in an unfortunate day the germs of malaria had been absorbed and southern Italy was reached with fever and weakness that made sightseeing a burden. Who can forget his first glimpse of the real Orient, at Port Said? The noise and the dirt; the squalor and the glaring sun; the rush of the crowd and the utter lonesomeness of the stranger, make a contrast and mixture that are not easily matched in life's ordinary experiences. Four days were to pass before a steamer went to Beirut. It was not a pleasant prospect for travelers homesick and weak from fever to have to tarry for four days in a dismal hotel, with nothing attractive in the way of companionship or occupation. Besides this, our trunks had not been sent forward as promised, and we were obliged to depend upon the limited hand baggage with which we had crossed the Continent. It is easy to imagine the sensations with which the young bride looked forward to making her first appearance among strangers, with a face pale from fever and an outfit so unexpectedly limited. The hearty welcome of Mr. Eddy on the deck of that Austrian steamer in Beirut harbor was a needed tonic, and his skill and experience readily passed us through the intricacies of the customhouse and brought us to the hospitable home of his father. Of the friends who conspired to make those first days bright, many have been called away to the other shore, though others are still our associates in the service of Syria. Dr. and Mrs. W. W. Eddy, with whom we spent our first ten days in Syria, left us many years ago. Dr. Samuel Jessup was always thoughtful, bringing bright flowers from his garden to continue the impression of his bright face and cheery words, when he called upon the strangers. He and Mrs. Jessup, whose home was one of the brightest spots of those early years, have also gone on before to their well-earned reward. Mr. March, coming down from the mountains on his way to Tripoli, was especially ready in his plans for the comfort of his new associates in Tripoli Station. But it is not necessary to mention each one. The beauty of missionary life is the unity of fellowship and the completeness with which every newcomer is received into the intimacy and love of the circle, which is only less close and intimate than that of the family itself. After ten days spent in Beirut in trying to get rid of the malaria and in acquiring some knowledge of the Arabic alphabet, we went on to Tripoli, our future home. It was a cold, windy Saturday afternoon. We were taken out to the steamer in a small boat, which tossed on the restless waves in a way which we supposed to be normal. The steamer was small and crowded with a miscellaneous company, most of whom were not happy, to say the least. Fortunately it is only a four hours' ride, for the wind increased in violence as we proceeded, and when the anchor was dropped at sundown off Tripoli, it seemed doubtful whether any boats could come out to meet us. In due time, however, a boat pulled alongside, and there was Mr. March, who had come out over that rough sea to welcome us to our new home, though he did not think we would venture to start from Beirut in such a storm. The steamer was rolling so badly that the ladder could not be lowered at all, and we crept out on it as it lay horizontally along the ship's side, and then, when the tip was lowest, simply dropped into the arms of the boatmen below. Then began the laborious pull for the shore. We were two hours reaching land, our clothes soaked, our spirits at zero, but most happy to reach the warm, cozy haven of the March home in the Mina of Tripoli. It was the beginning of a most beautiful fellowship with Mr. and Mrs. March and their children, whose sweet introduction of themselves won our hearts at once and who, though now grown to maturity, still call us by the old, affectionate titles of uncle and aunt. Thus, for the second time in our short missionary experience, we were made to feel the comfort and peace of being taken into the warmth and love of a Christian home, no longer as strangers, but as brethren. We wished to take possession of our own home as soon as possible. Our household goods were in the customhouse, and another first experience was before us. Everything had to be examined and its purpose explained to the satisfaction of the Turkish inspector. To him it seemed a wholly unnecessary amount of furniture for one person, for of course he could not recognize that the wife's existence made any difference. A box of class photographs was examined in detail, and great surprise manifested that one person should have so many friends. A small vase for flowers in the shape of a kettle resting on five legs puzzled the examiner, until he picked up the perforated piece of a soap dish, and decided that he had found the appropriate adaptation of the two pieces. It did not seem necessary to explain, so long as he was satisfied, and no harm was done. We had many things to learn besides the language. Our home belonged to a man whose name was translated to us as Mr. Victory-of-God Brass. In an arch under the parlor windows he had hung a donkey's skull and some beads, to keep off the evil eye of jealousy from his fine house. It was a pleasant house, well located near the city gate which had been known in former days as Donkey Gate, only a few minutes' walk from the girls' school and just at the end of the tram line connecting the city with the harbor, two miles distant. In planning for our new home we had indulged in the luxury of two pairs of simple lace curtains for our parlor windows. When we entered the house, our amazement can hardly be exaggerated at the discovery that the parlor had not two but eight windows, each calling for curtains twelve feet long. Our lace curtains were relegated to service elsewhere. Mr. Eddy had kindly arranged to come up from Sidon to help us in this first settling of our new home, and his help and companionship were invaluable. He went with me to the shops to purchase such things as were needed, and the shopkeepers recognized at once his fluent Arabic and his companion's ignorance of the language. More than one shopkeeper called him aside and asked him to bring the stranger to them for his purchases, promising him a handsome commission for his services. The house was soon made habitable and just three weeks after our first landing in Syria we slept under our own roof, with our own possessions about us, and were ready to begin our own independent home life in the land of our adoption. We had made our beginning, and a bright, happy beginning it was, notwithstanding the difficulties and drawbacks inevitable in such conditions. CHAPTER II LANGUAGE STUDY Whatever differences there may be in experiences in missionary life, all missionaries are faced with a most troublesome experience in learning a new language. It is more or less natural for everyone to magnify what concerns himself. "Our children" are always a little better than our neighbors'. "Our cook" makes better bread than anyone else. And "mother's pies"--well, that calls for no argument. It is much the same way among missionaries. It is probable that there are just about as many "hardest languages" in the world as there are distinct mission fields. But, then, there must be one that is really the hardest, and we in Syria think we come pretty well up on the list, even though we do not claim absolute preëminence. The Arabic, though rich and beautiful, is certainly a difficult language, and I am sure the Syria Mission would give a unanimous vote on the resolution that it is the toughest linguistic proposition we have ever attacked. It was one of the terse and suggestive remarks of Dr. Henry Jessup that at the end of the first year the new missionary thought he knew the Arabic; at the end of the second year he thought he knew nothing; and at the end of the third year he wondered how he got hold of it. The isolation of a new missionary is at times appalling. No matter how kind and helpful the older missionaries may be, they are strangers, after all, with whom one must get acquainted. The houses are strange, and not adapted to make one feel at home readily. Servants with their very imperfect knowledge of English must be directed mainly by signs. Everything seems unbearably dirty; the sun is unaccountably hot, even in winter; the food is strange and does not appeal to a Westerner's appetite. But, worst of all, among the babel of noises, there is not a familiar sound, and with the best intentions of friendliness, one cannot reveal the intention, except by the perpetual, inane grin. We began the study of the language, as everyone does, almost at the wharf. Even before recovering from the effects of the voyage, the Arabic primer, with its alphabet, was brought to the bedside. At one of the earliest lessons in Tripoli, the old, gray-bearded teacher wished to impress a new word, "Milh." He repeated the difficult combination, and then inquired in some way whether we knew what the word meant. The look of blank ignorance on our faces gave him the answer, and he rose and stepped with dignity, in his flowing robes, to the door. Opening this, he called in a loud voice across the open court to the cook, "Peter, bring me some salt." Then with a little of this household necessity in his palm, he came back to his stupid pupils, and, pointing at the salt, said emphatically, "Milh." That word was permanently fixed in our vocabulary. In less than two months after our arrival in Syria, and forty days after taking possession of our own home, came New Year's Day. With the self-confidence of youth and ignorance, we decided to keep open house on our own account. In the forenoon we had our language teacher with us to steer us through the intricacies of oriental etiquette, and to tell us what to say, in the varying circumstances, and all went well. After dinner, however, we excused him, as we did not expect many more calls, and waited our fate. After a time, when the parlor was well filled with a mixed company of men and women, among whom was the old teacher who had taught us the word for salt, I used the wrong pronominal termination, probably the masculine where I should have used the feminine. The old gentleman rose from his place with great impressiveness and started round the entire circle, pointing his finger at each person, and pronouncing distinctly to every man, "tak" and to every woman, "tik." It created a laugh, of course, but it is needless to say that whatever mistakes I have made in Arabic since, it has never been because I did not know the difference between the masculine and feminine form of the second person pronominal affix. CHAPTER III TRAVEL AND COMMUNICATION In preparing for the active service of a missionary, it was necessary to have a horse and a touring outfit. Our servant was told that we wanted to buy a horse, and if he heard of any good chance, to let us know. In a few days a man came to the house with a large gray mare for me to try. I rode on her a little and examined her so far as I was capable of doing, and was greatly pleased with her. I knew enough, however, of oriental methods, to show no particular zeal over the matter, and left the owner without any indication of my pleasure. In my own mind, I decided that I should like to own that mare, and that I would be willing to pay as much as twenty pounds for her, though I hoped to secure a horse for half that amount. As I came in I told the servant to make inquiry about the price of the mare. He returned soon, saying the owner would sacrifice his own interests so far as to let me have her for seventy-five pounds. I did not buy that mare, but waited several months until I found a sturdy gray horse, which I bought for less than ten pounds. He served me well for five years, when I sold him for little less than the original cost. Tripoli field was rejoicing and congratulating itself in those days over the macadamized road recently opened between Tripoli at the coast and Homs and Hamath in the interior. It was sixty-five miles to Homs and thirty-five more to Hamath. A cumbersome diligence made the trip to Homs in eleven hours, going one day and returning the next, and a lighter vehicle made the round trip between Homs and Hamath every day. This was a great advance in rapid transit and a great convenience in all lines of work. In all Syria there was not a mile of railroad, and in northern Syria there was no carriage road besides the one line just mentioned. All traveling had to be done on horseback or afoot. Horses, donkeys, mules and camels were the universal means of travel and transportation. Every day caravans of camels came into Tripoli by the hundred, bringing grain, olive oil and Syrian butter from the interior. They returned loaded with sugar, rice, kerosene oil, and English yarn and cloth. The first railroad was built in the early nineties from Jaffa to Jerusalem. Later came the line from Beirut to Damascus; then the line from Haifa through Galilee to Damascus, the line from Damascus to the south, and the line from Damascus to Medina. Then came the branch line, from the Beirut-Damascus line, to Homs, Hamath and Aleppo, and finally the Tripoli Homs line and the German Bagdad line, passing through Aleppo from east to west. With many other lines and extensions under consideration, it is evident that railroad communication is fairly started in Syria and that this part of the East has begun to feel the influence of steam. During our first year in Tripoli, before I was at all familiar with the various places, I overheard a conversation between two of our associates about a recent trip to Beirut by land. The remark was made, "I suppose you took a carriage from Junieh to Beirut." This is about one fourth of the distance and was considered a great gain in the facilities of transportation. The answer came, with even greater evidence of satisfaction, "No, I rode in a carriage from Jebail." This meant a doubling of the advantage, as Jebail is halfway between Tripoli and Beirut. That was in 1889 and it was not until 1912 that this carriage road was completed, so that one could make the whole distance on wheels. The tramway connecting Tripoli City and the Mina, or harbor, was the only tramway in Syria and was an object of great pride. It had a single track about two miles long, with a switch in the middle for the passing of cars from the opposite ends. A car started from each terminus about once in twenty minutes and made the trip in about the same length of time, the fare being four cents and the motor power horses or mules. The cars were originally imported from Birmingham, of the double-decker type. They are still in daily service, receiving a fresh coat of paint and necessary repairs every year. This line continues to run, though with somewhat more frequent service and with a reduced fare of two cents, since public carriages now run on a road alongside the tram. Carriage roads now extend in several directions from Tripoli, and there are many public carriages to hire; even an automobile is occasionally seen and several bicycles have made their appearance. The postal system is a curiosity to those who are accustomed to free delivery several times a day. It would be supposed that the Turkish post would carry all letters for people in Turkey, since Turkey is a member of the International Postal Union. At all the seaports, however, one finds foreign post offices, which do a large business in receiving and forwarding mail by all the steamers. To points in the interior they cannot deliver mail. In Tripoli we had the French, and later the Austrian service. In 1890 cholera appeared in Tripoli and all steamers stopped calling at the port, to avoid quarantine. We were confined to the use of the Turkish mail. Two messengers brought the mail by land from Beirut each week. It was Tripoli which was infected with cholera, and yet the incoming mail was stopped outside the city and drenched with carbolic acid, while the outgoing mail was not touched. The mail distributor in Tripoli could not read any language, not even Arabic, and so he used to bring the bag directly to our house and empty it on the floor, in order to get my help in assorting the letters for him. We were glad to have the first pick of the mail, as it assured our receiving all our own mail, and that promptly. At the last conference of the International Postal Union there was a general reduction of postage and an increase in the unit of weight. Turkey has given her adherence to this international arrangement, but maintains her old internal rates so that we have the present absurd condition, that a piaster stamp will carry twenty grams to any place abroad, while it will carry only fifteen grams from one town to its next neighbor. Additional weight abroad requires three quarters of a piaster for each additional twenty grams, while for internal use every additional fifteen grams requires a full piaster. Thus a letter weighing sixty grams will go from an interior town like Homs to San Francisco for two piasters and a half, while the same letter, if sent from Homs to Tripoli, would cost four piasters. It might be supposed that there would be good caravan roads, at least, in a country where all produce must be carried on quadrupeds, and all travelers must ride or walk. The reverse was true, and though the past twenty-five years have witnessed great improvement in this respect, there is still much to be desired in most localities. Many of the roads cannot be described as anything but trails through the rocky ground. The chief consideration in locating a road seems to be to have it run through ground which is fit for nothing else, for it would be a pity to waste arable ground, and so a road must go around, no matter what the distance. Whatever stones are gathered from the fields are thrown into the highway, making it rougher than ever. In some parts of the mountains, the road will lie along the top of a solid stone dike, ten to fifteen feet wide, from which the traveler looks down to a depth of eight or ten feet upon the fields and mulberry patches on each side. It has been said that a road, in Syria, is that part of the country to be avoided in traveling, so far as possible. This inference is easy to understand when you notice that all the trodden paths are in the fields at either side, and that people travel in the rough roads, only when there is no escape. While the grain is growing the farmers will do their best, by building up stone walls, to keep the animals out of their fields, but just as soon as the harvest is gathered these obstructions go down and the current of traffic resumes the easier course until the winter rains make the mud a worse enemy than the rough stones. In other places it is often an interesting study to try to decide whether the water flows in the road, or whether people travel in the watercourses. It is something like the insolvable question as to which came first, the hen or the egg. The fact remains that, as a rule, in wet weather and rough country, the traveler will find his horse splashing through a stream of water flowing down the road. The explanation is simple. There is nowhere any system of drainage, and every man's purpose is to turn the streams of rain water away from his own land. Useful land cannot be wasted for watercourses any more than for roads, and hence the waste lands are devoted to the double purpose, with the resulting confusion as to which is the intruder. The obscurity of the roads leads to many more or less unpleasant experiences. There are roads so steep and difficult that it is no unusual experience to see a muleteer take hold of his mule's tail as he goes down the mountain path, and by a judicious holding back, help the animal to steady himself under a heavy, awkward load. On the other hand, when he is going up the mountain, the tired muleteer will take hold of the same convenient handle to get a little help for himself in the ascent. One summer night, Mrs. Nelson and I were belated on the higher slopes of Mount Lebanon. The trail was little more than a path for goats, and was quite unfamiliar to us. In the dark night, we lost the way more than once, and we were becoming quite exhausted in repeated efforts to regain the path, when, at last, we seemed to have strayed completely, and I could not locate the road at all. We had to take a little rest, and wait for the moon to rise. We sat upon the mountain side, under the shade of fragrant cedars, tired, hungry and thirsty. The surroundings were charming and the dim outlines of forest and mountain beautiful. The night air was refreshing, after an exceptionally hot day; but when one has lost his way, he is not in a condition to appreciate fully the beauties of nature or the charms of his surroundings. As we sat there, gaining some rest, I began to study the outline of the hills, and concluded that the road must lie in a certain curve of the mountains not far away. On investigating I found my impression correct, and we resumed our journey, reaching our destination just as the moon appeared over the highest ridge of the mountains. On another occasion it was the intelligence of my horse rather than my own which saved me considerable inconvenience. I was belated upon the mountain and overtaken by sunset, some eight miles from my destination. Confident in my horse as well as in myself, I pushed on as rapidly as possible over the rough path. To add to my difficulty, a thick mountain fog settled about me until it was impossible to see the path ten feet ahead. In descending a steep slope, leading my horse, I missed the trail and found myself in the vineyards. I knew that the village was close at hand and anticipated no difficulty in working down to the road. At any rate, it seemed likely that we should arouse the night watchman in the vineyard and it would be his duty to turn us out of the vineyard, exactly what we wished for. We stumbled along, over grapevines and stones, but came no nearer to the road, nor did we disturb the sleeping watchman. After what seemed like endless wandering, though the distance was not far nor the time long, I came up against a stone wall and could see a path beyond. Getting over this wall was simple, but which way to turn in the road was not clear. I tried the turn to the right, tentatively, not fully convinced myself. My horse yielded reluctantly and walked very slowly indeed over the rough stones. After a few minutes my own doubts increased and I determined to test the horse. Dropping the reins loosely on his neck, I gave him no sign of guidance at all. As soon as he felt the relaxing of pressure on the bits, his head rose, his ears stood erect and he seemed to cast an inquiring glance out of the corner of his eye. When convinced that he was free to choose for himself, he immediately swung around and started at a rapid walk in the opposite direction. In a very few minutes I could see the village lights struggling through the mists, and was soon at my own door. This same horse gave me another illustration of his intelligence. I was riding along the carriage road, on the seashore, intending to turn up to one of the mountain villages. There were two roads to this village, and when we came to the first my horse tried to turn up, but was easily held back and started briskly along, as if fully understanding my purpose. When we came to the second road we found that it had been plowed under and that grain several inches high was growing where the path had been. I knew that the road had been moved a short distance so as to pass a khan recently erected. The horse had not yet gone over this altered road and so was puzzled. I left him to his own guidance. When he came to the point where the road had divided, he stopped and looked at the grain, and then went slowly on, looking constantly at the field, until, after about twenty or thirty feet, he decided to make a plunge, and struck directly through the growing grain to where the old road had been at the other edge of the field. The introduction of railroads and carriages throughout the country facilitates travel and business a great deal, but it takes away much of the interest and diversion of getting about from place to place. CHAPTER IV EVANGELISTIC TRIPS It was a practice with us for many years to arrange a special evangelistic medical trip in the spring of the year. Sometimes Mrs. Nelson and I would join Dr. Harris in a journey of two or three weeks, and sometimes the doctor and I would go alone. One of the most memorable of these journeys was in the spring of 1893, in the month of May. We had our tent and camp outfit and the large chests of medical supplies carried on mules and were accompanied by our cook, with his portable kitchen packed away under him, and the Syrian assistant of the doctor, so that we made quite a party altogether. We started along the shore north from Tripoli, making our first camp about ten miles out of the city. The next day's journey brought us to Tartoose on the shore opposite the island of Arvad. Ezek. 27:8. This island lies only a short distance from the shore, but I have never yet been able to reach it because of the violent west wind on each occasion of a visit to Tartoose. The island is wholly covered by the town, which is occupied by sturdy sailors and fishermen. There are many interesting relics of ancient times in Tartoose, though it is possible that many of the coins offered to the credulous public may have been produced recently in the place itself. [Illustration: LATAKIA BOYS' SCHOOL] [Illustration: TARTOOSE _Crusaders' Church_] At the edge of the town stands a fine Gothic church, whose substantial walls and graceful arches are a pleasure to the eye. The empty windows make one feel lonesome as he approaches the building, and the bare interior speaks of a decadent Christianity that adds to the sadness. But, worst of all, is the minaret crudely built on the corner of the roof, for this is another of the many Christian churches in Turkey which have been transformed into mosques. At another of our camping places we found, near at hand, an old Roman amphitheater, where it was not difficult to imagine a concourse of pleasure seekers seated on the stone benches watching some exhibition of strength or skill in the arena below. Wherever one goes in Syria, he is reminded of an ancient glory and power, in close and vivid contrast to a present state of decay and weakness. Our first Sabbath, on this journey, found us at Latakia, where we spent the day with our neighbors and fellow workers of the Reformed Presbyterian mission. This mission was started especially to reach the Nusairiyeh people of north Syria. Because of the persistent interference of the Turkish Government, their work has been greatly hampered and their efforts largely restricted to the training of boys and girls in the boarding institutions in the city, and ministration to the sick in the hospital. It was a great pleasure to have this break in our journey and the pleasant intercourse with those engaged in the same kind of service as our own, and to have the privilege of speaking to the young people in their schools. On Monday we went a short distance from the city, pitching our tent near a village of considerable size on the plain some miles back from the sea. As I sat in the moonlight at the door of the tent, a man wearing the white turban of a Moslem scholar approached me. He seated himself near me after a pleasant greeting and we fell into agreeable conversation. After some time, this man took the opportunity, when no one was near enough to overhear him, to ask most earnestly that we should send them a teacher for their children. I was surprised at the request from such a source and turned the conversation so as to make sure that he understood who we were and what kind of schools we conducted. He showed that he understood the matter fully, and that he really desired a Protestant Christian teacher for his town. I then asked him directly, "Are you not a Moslem?" Looking about again, to make sure no one should hear him, he said, "Yes, I am a Moslem now," with an emphasis on the last word which revealed the facts in the case. He was of a Nusairiyeh family but had yielded to the persistent pressure of the government so far as to accept the form of adherence to Islam, though in his heart he hated the system and its followers most cordially. A long day's ride brought us through the wild and tortuous valley of the Nahr-ul-Kandil, up the slope of Mount Cassius to the town of Kessab, some four thousand feet above the sea, where the Latakia missionaries have their summer homes. It was a most beautiful though rugged ride, and would have been thoroughly enjoyable in good weather. The wild flowers were in full bloom, and every turn in the road brought into view a new combination of varied and bright colors, where the little blossoms clustered amid the green foliage, among the gray rocks. The great drawback to our enjoyment lay in the fact that for a large part of the distance we rode in a heavy and most unexpected rainfall. We were not prepared for such an experience in the month of May, and so reached our destination soaked and cold. We had been directed to take possession of one of the cottages belonging to the missionaries in Latakia, and it was certainly a most welcome haven. We were able to light a fire in the kitchen stove and spread out our wet garments to dry, while we warmed ourselves in the grateful heat. It was a disappointment the next day that the top of Cassius was enveloped in heavy cloud, forbidding an ascent. This mountain is about five thousand feet in height, rising directly from the sea, and so is a conspicuous object from every direction and gives an extensive view from its summit. We could tarry but one day, and descended to the old site of Seleucia, at the mouth of the Orontes, and saw some remnants of the old harbor from which Paul set sail more than once. The Orontes is quite wide and deep near its mouth and we crossed it on just such a wire ferry as I had seen many years before on the Connecticut River in Massachusetts. The gardens of Swadia were most refreshing with their green verdure, cool shade and rich fruit, after a long day's ride in the heat, and again we had the pleasure of missionary fellowship, for our friends of the Reformed Presbyterian mission have a station here also. Another easy stage brought us to old Antioch, so closely associated with the beginning of Christian history. It is not an attractive city in outward appearance and has suffered much at different times from earthquake. From Antioch we followed the Orontes Valley up to Hamath, where we were once more among our own organized stations. Such journeys give us an acquaintance with the country and the people, which is of the most vital importance in planning for the proper expansion of the work. Once, on a pleasant summer evening, we were encamped near a Nusairiyeh village. Among those gathered about us were an elderly peasant and his son, a well-built, sturdy youth of seventeen or eighteen years. As he sat before us this young man appeared to be in perfect health and vigor, but when he rose to walk, his awkward gait revealed his misfortune, for both feet were so badly deformed that he walked on his ankles and not on the soles of his feet. The doctor was asked whether this defect could be remedied. After a careful examination the lad was told that the operation would be painful, and that some time would be required, but that if he would come to the hospital, prepared to stay as long as should be necessary, he would be able to come away, walking erect, like other people. The faces brightened at once, and we shared in their pleasure at the prospect of this deliverance. The next morning, however, we were told that the family had talked over the matter and decided not to have the operation performed. We assured them there should be no expense, but they said it was not the matter of expense. Then we told them of similar cases which had been successfully treated, but they assured us they had no doubt of the doctor's skill. We encouraged the young man to bear the pain for the sake of increased enjoyment in life afterwards, but he said he was not afraid of the pain. What then was the trouble? At last we learned the truth. So long as the lad could show two such clubbed feet, he would be excused from military service; but if they were made straight he would be called to the army; and he would rather go through life a cripple than to give several years of his vigor to service in the Turkish army. And he is no exception. We were approaching a large town of bigoted people, wondering how we should secure an opening for our message. I was riding slightly in front of the doctor, occupied with plans for securing access to the people. Suddenly I heard the doctor's voice behind me saying, "Boy, do you want your eye straightened?" On looking back I saw a lad of about fifteen years, with a decidedly crossed eye, beside the doctor's horse. He promptly accepted the offer, and we hastened to dismount and tie our horses. A table in the little roadside café was quickly cleared, while the doctor got out his case of instruments from his saddlebags. The boy was placed on the table and in an incredibly short time the cords were severed so that the eyeball took its proper position, and we were thoroughly advertised. By the time our camp equipage came up, we had been provided with an excellent place to camp, and had nothing to complain of in the reception of the people. A memorable experience was in the neighborhood of a large village whose gardens are said to be watered by three hundred springs. Whatever the correct number may be, there is no question about the abundance of water and the luxuriance of the gardens. We had three tents, one for medical clinics and one apiece for our two households, and settled down for a fortnight's work. Every day we had crowds about the tent for medical attention and for religious services. The evenings gave abundant opportunity for work among those who gathered about us after their day's work was done. They were glad to join in the hymns of praise, and listened earnestly to the spoken message and read word. One evening, the boys who gathered about the tent told me that the superintendent of their school was in town and had begun an examination, to be finished the next day. I decided to go to the school the next morning to make the acquaintance of the superintendent and to see what the school was doing. When I arose the following day, I found many of the boys about the tent, and asked them why they were not at school for the examination. "Oh," they said, "there is no examination to-day. Early this morning, the superintendent, the teachers and the headman of the village took their horses, a large bottle of spirits and a young kid, and went up to the top of the mountain to a famous spring to spend the day in a drinking spree." One of the pleasantest evenings I remember in my regular routine touring was spent in this same village. We had brought our party to a garden, owned by one of our friends who was always glad to have us make it our headquarters. We had eaten our supper and were seated on the ground, under a high, branching tree into which was trained a huge grapevine. Behind us was a little hut, in which the caretaker slept in stormy weather. At one side was a rude booth where the owner slept during the summer. An oil lantern gave some light. One by one quite a group of neighbors and friends assembled and, after some general conversation, we sang some hymns. Then I opened the Bible for a little reading, with simple exposition. As I read and talked to them, the row of dark faces was turned toward me with an intentness and eagerness to hear that made me hope they might not see me or hear my words, but hear those words of life spoken so many years ago in Palestine, and see that Face from which alone shines the true light. We are not always left to do as we please on these trips, for the paternal Turkish Government sometimes takes an unnecessary interest in our plans and shows an excessive concern for our safety. We had crossed a rugged section of the mountains and come down to a walled town, which is a government center. Here we camped near the town and were promptly favored with a call from officials, sent by the governor to find out who we were. We paid a formal call on his Excellency and were allowed to remain quietly as long as we desired. When we broke camp a polite message came from the governor, asking where we were going and offering a guard and escort. We returned a grateful acknowledgment of his courtesy, but assured him that we were familiar with the roads and would not trouble him to send an escort. It was only after some difficulty that we succeeded in getting away alone. We learned afterwards that we were followed, and that, in accordance with instructions from headquarters, word was sent from place to place to keep watch of us. At one large town we had large crowds about our camp and large audiences for evening services for several days, when suddenly there was a change and no one came near us. Apparently the sick were all healed and all interest in singing and conversation had ceased. It developed that word had been sent to the nearest government center, and orders had come back at once, not to interfere with our comfort but to notify the people to have nothing to do with us. At one of these places, which were all occupied by Nusairiyeh and Ismaeliyeh people, Mrs. Nelson was talking with some of the women about religion. They said, "Do Christian women have any religion?" When assured that we believe religion to be for everyone, whether male or female, rich or poor, wise or ignorant, they replied: "It is not so with us. A woman with us can have no share in religion. If one of us should accidentally overhear the men talking about religious beliefs, so that she unintentionally learned some religious doctrine, she ought to acknowledge it and be put to death. And it is right to be so, for a woman must know nothing of religion." On another occasion, quite a party of us stopped to spend the night in one of these towns. While I was busy with arrangements for the night other members of the party went to look about the little castle at the edge of the town. Our presence was reported to the acting governor. Unfortunately he was a man of surly disposition and anxious to magnify his office. He demanded our Turkish passports, which he had a technical right to do. Unfortunately some of the party had failed to provide themselves with these documents as they were seldom called for. It gave our little governor a chance and he used it, insisting that he must send us to Hamath, practically under guard, but nominally under military protection. We were intending to go to Hamath, but not directly, and so it was finally agreed that the horseman go with us to Mahardeh where we were to lodge, and accompany us the following day to Hamath. When we started out the next morning, it was ludicrous to see the haughty airs of this soldier who was sent with us. He acted as if he really believed these foreigners were committed to his absolute control and carried his head very high. Before going many miles we had succeeded, by pleasant conversation, in limbering him up considerably, and by noon, when we stopped for luncheon, he displayed his power in our behalf by ordering the villagers to serve us in every way possible. By evening, when we entered Mahardeh, he was quite cringing in his servility, for now he realized that he was alone and we were among friends, so it was worth while to be genial and submissive. When I informed him that I was not going with the party the next day, he claimed to be greatly terrified and begged me most humbly not to subject him to such peril. "For," said he, "the number of foreigners is mentioned in the governor's letter, and if I do not produce the full number, I shall be held responsible." I said, "Be that as it may, I must stay here over Sunday and on Monday morning I will follow and report myself to his Excellency if necessary." He went away, apparently in much uncertainty. I knew, however, that the matter was a mere formality and would bring no risk either to him or to me; and so it proved, for the governor took no interest in the matter at all. On a warm summer evening, Dr. Harris and I rode up to the sheik's house in a village I have never visited before or since. As strangers we were welcomed to the public room. It was soon discovered that a doctor was present, and immediately all who were diseased came about us. It was a marvel to see men lie down before this stranger with perfect confidence and allow him to cut about their eyes or put drops in them. It does happen, alas, too often, that this credulity costs them dear, for many an eye has been ruined by conscienceless quacks who trade on the simplicity of the people. It is a pleasure, however, to see them place themselves in the hands of the skillful and honest missionary physician, who will help them, if possible, or tell them truthfully if there is no remedy. At sunset a large dish of wheat, boiled with some meat, was brought out, and cakes of barley bread placed about it. All who were present were bidden to partake, and we did the best we could to satisfy our hunger. After a social evening we spread our beds and made ready for sleep, if possible. As I lay on my bed, I could hear those who sat about discussing us. They told of the doctor's famous skill and what he had done there before them. I was glad to find that I held the humble position of doctor's assistant in their estimation. But I could not help wondering then and since about that village. So far as I know that is the only missionary visit ever made there. Is it enough? [Illustration: ALEPPO MINARET] CHAPTER V ALEPPO In 1893 a plan was developed in the mission to extend our sphere of labor so as to include the city of Aleppo, which had been occupied many years before by the mission and then left because of the exigencies of the work and lack of forces. It was a four days' journey from our nearest outstation, and hence not easy to care for; but as Tripoli Station was the nearest part of the mission, Aleppo was placed under our direction. Aleppo is one of the largest cities in Syria, and a most important commercial center. It is nearly the most northern point for the use of the Arabic language, as Turkish becomes the general medium of communication one day's journey farther north. Being so near the Turkish district, there are many Turkish-speaking people in Aleppo, but the city as a whole is essentially an Arabic-speaking place. The American Board had a Turkish congregation connected with their mission and maintained church and school work in Aleppo for the Turkish-speaking strangers resident in the city. There was the most cordial welcome from these missionaries to our proposal to organize work for the Arabic-speaking population. Before making my first visit of supervision to Aleppo it was arranged by correspondence that Mr. Sanders of Aintab, the missionary in charge of that district, should meet me and spend several days in conference as to the arrangement of details of our interlocking work. It had been proposed most kindly that we should hold our Arabic services in the premises of the Turkish congregation. In many ways that first journey to Aleppo was a unique experience. It was a venture into a region of country wholly new to me, and involved planning for a new department of service. There were two ways to reach Aleppo, one wholly by land, involving a somewhat dangerous ride from Hamath for four days; the other by sea to Alexandretta, and thence by horseback over a carriage road to Aleppo. It was decided to take this latter course, though all subsequent visits were made the other way. After gaining all the information I could before leaving home, I took the steamer to Alexandretta, where I landed on Monday morning. At once I began my search for a riding animal, and at length secured a horse guaranteed to be swift and of easy gait, whose owner promised to see me in Aleppo by the evening of the third day. Delayed by those who wished to accompany us, it was past noon before we set out on the road. It was not long before I discovered that the ease had been left out in the structure of my horse, and that any speed he may have had once was well-nigh worn out. It was clear that I should have to work my passage, but my courage held out. We pressed up the mountain slope and crossed the ridge in good time, having many beautiful views back over the dark blue Mediterranean. Mount Cassius lifted its rocky head five thousand feet, directly out of the sea, to the south, showing where the Orontes empties into the sea at old Seleucia. After passing the summit of the range we dropped down rapidly to the Antioch plain, having the lake of Antioch in full view before us. By sunset we had reached the place intended as our first halt, thirty-seven kilometers from the shore. I found no place of entertainment but a bare inn where I could set up my camp bed and sleep. There was no food to be had for love or money and so I had to depend on the scant supplies I had brought with me in my saddlebags. The second day's ride was much longer than the first, as we kept to the saddle for twelve hours, notwithstanding the entreaty of my companions to break the journey earlier. I reminded them of the pledge to reach Aleppo on the third day, and so kept on until dusk. We had left the carriage road for a more direct trail and stopped for the night in a small, desolate village. There was no decent shelter to be found and so I gladly set up my bed on the threshing floor, and slept under the starry sky. I inquired for milk, eggs, bread, cheese, anything in the way of food, offering ample pay for anything edible. After much persuasion the people were induced to burrow in the straw pile on the threshing floor from which they produced a watermelon. This was refreshing at least, and helped to wash down my bread, which was getting rather dry, as I did not like to use much water in this swampy region. Long before dawn we were again on the road and pushed steadily ahead over ridge after ridge, until, in the middle of the afternoon, the city of Aleppo broke on our sight, a most refreshing vision. In one of the valleys near Aleppo the traveler cannot fail to notice many heaps of small stones, evidently placed there to mark certain spots. The place is called the valley of the slain, and each pile indicates where some victim has fallen. The appearance of Aleppo as one approaches it from the west is not unpleasing, for it is the first well-built town seen after leaving the coast. The houses are built of white limestone and the gardens about the city lend a touch of green, most refreshing after the barren country left behind. At first sight the designation of Aleppo as Halch-es-Shahba--Aleppo the Gray--seems most appropriate. It is a pity to detract from the more poetic explanation of the title. Old tradition says that Abraham had his encampment at the site of Aleppo for a long time, and was recognized throughout the region for his wealth and generosity. He had set apart for the use of the poor the milk from a certain gray cow in his herd, and hence some one was always on the watch at evening. As soon as the gray cow came forward, this watchman would shout at the top of his voice, "Haleb es Shahba," which means, "He has milked the gray cow." Hence the city, which later grew up at this spot, was called Haleb-es-Shahba, or Aleppo. I shall never forget a conversation connected with that journey. My comrades were all Moslems, and as we jogged on, hour after hour, during those three days, there were opportunities for conversation on many topics. One day I asked one of them who was a religious teacher, what his doctrine had to say as to the fate of non-Moslem infants who died in infancy. I was surprised to find how closely his view parallels our own Christian view of infant salvation. He answered at once that they are all saved through the intercession of Mohammed. On reaching the city I sought a hotel, in order to remove the soil of travel before hunting up our friends in this strange city. I was in the midst of making myself presentable when a loud knock at my door was followed immediately by its opening, and a rough Turkish police officer made his appearance. Without a word or suggestion of apology, he began a series of questions as to my name, residence and occupation. I let him exhaust his list of questions and then asked, as quietly as possible, whether he would like to look over my Turkish passport, which was required of all in those days. He seemed to be so completely taken aback at my evident lack of awe for himself, and surprised to meet a person who was prepared in accordance with the law, that he could scarcely stammer out in reply, "Why, have you a passport?" "Certainly," I replied. "Here it is, with all the information you need." He sat down most meekly and copied off the items he needed and took his departure in a really polite manner. As this was my first visit to Aleppo, everything seemed strange to me, except in so far as all oriental cities have a measure of resemblance. As I was met also by Mr. Sanders, a missionary in charge of established work, I found it natural to expect to be dependent on him for everything. It came thus as a surprise to have him turn to me, in the street, to act as interpreter. He spoke Turkish, but my Arabic was far more necessary and serviceable in general intercourse. These experiences impressed it upon me most vividly that Aleppo is thoroughly an Arabic-speaking city, and that the work should be in organic connection with the evangelical work in other parts of Syria. The Turkish congregation is a natural member of the Cilicia Union and should affiliate with the churches of the north, but the Arabic evangelical work belongs with the organizations under the care of our mission in Syria. For four years this arrangement was continued and we maintained Arabic services with a Syrian preacher and a day school with a Syrian teacher. Each year two missionary visits were made, the missionaries in Tripoli alternating in this duty. It was difficult to carry on the work at such long range. In 1897 a heavy cut in our appropriations made it necessary to consider every possible method of retrenchment. At the same time the English Presbyterians were opening a station in Aleppo for work among the Jews, and it seemed best, all things considered, to ask our English friends to relieve us of this responsibility, and assume the care of the work for the Gentiles as well as for the Jews through the medium of Arabic, in Aleppo. Thus our official connection with the work in Aleppo ceased, but it has never passed from our minds that some day an Arabic-speaking evangelical church in Aleppo should become a member of our Syrian Presbyterian organization. Now that the railroad has brought Aleppo within six hours' ride from Hamath, the problem has assumed a new form and we may hope for a renewal of friendly affiliation. Such a city as Aleppo, with about two hundred and fifty thousand people and increasing commercial importance, demands much of the missionary organizations. The famous Constantinople Bagdad railway of the Germans passes through Aleppo. A branch line connects with the Mediterranean at Alexandretta. The French system from Beirut ends in Aleppo, giving direct connection with Damascus, Beirut and Tripoli. The work of the American Board, being at present in Turkish, reaches only a small part of the population. The English mission places its emphasis on work for the Jews and has ample scope in that part of the population. There remains the vast bulk of the whole population, with Arabic as their language, looking naturally to the American mission in Syria for help and guidance. The large Moslem population and the numerous nominal Christians deserve the attention of a resident American missionary to organize aggressive and effective work. Shall we wait longer before pressing on in this direction? Aleppo has been chosen by the International Committee of the Y.M.C.A. as a place where a building should be erected and a permanent secretary established. Should we fall behind the Y.M.C.A.? Whenever the American Presbyterian Church says the word and furnishes the men and the money, I am sure the Syrian mission will be ready to send one of its members forward to this new frontier. God forbid that another quarter century should pass before this is fulfilled. CHAPTER VI NEW STATIONS AND BUILDINGS It has been my privilege to watch from the beginning the growth and development of three prosperous churches in the territory of Tripoli Presbytery. Each one has been marked by peculiarities that render it especially interesting. In the early years of my acquaintance with the church in Homs, I heard frequently of evangelistic visits on the part of the young men of the church to various villages in the plain east of the city--especially to one large village about two miles southeast of us. The people of this village are of the Syrian or Jacobite church, and have no little familiarity with the Bible and a really religious disposition. Our young men from Homs used to go out in small bands of two or more, with their gospels and hymn books in their pockets. If they met a friendly reception, they would go into some house, where those who were interested would gather together and a simple service or friendly discussion would be held. If no one asked them to come in, they would seek a place in the public square where people were gathered together, and sing a hymn or read a passage to open the way for discussion. In such cases there was danger of an exhibition of hostility on the part of those who were unfriendly to the evangelical doctrine. It happened more than once that these faithful messengers were driven out of town, pursued with stones as well as reviling. Such treatment, however, could not suppress the truth, and a strong church has grown up from the seed thus sown amid hostile persecution. There was a most interesting old priest in this town of Feiruzeh who received the truth into his heart, but never had the courage to leave the old church, though he was known to be at heart an evangelical believer. He sought books on the evangelical doctrine and studied them earnestly, and sometimes attended the Protestant service, being present at least once on a sacramental occasion. He openly taught his people the folly of auricular confession and priestly absolution, saying to them: "If you wish to come to me and tell me of your sins, so that I may help you and pray with you to God for forgiveness, I am at your service; but I am a sinner like you and we all have access to one Saviour. I cannot forgive your sins, but will gladly pray for you and with you." There had been some inquiry about the truth on the part of a few people in the village of El Yazidiyeh. In my first visit to the place we pitched a tent on the threshing floor outside the village. Much curiosity in our coming was shown, and some opportunity given to strengthen the purpose of those who were inclined to the truth. At length a teacher was stationed there and a simple school opened. One or two of the people had joined the church in a neighboring village, but the sacrament had never been administered in the town itself. Several were ready to make a public profession of their faith in Christ, and it seemed that the time had come to begin the full life of the little church, by administering the sacrament on the spot. Plans were arranged for an evening service in the schoolroom, and a good company was gathered in the rudely furnished, dark little room. There was much disturbance outside when it was known what was in progress. One zealous defender of the truth sprang from his seat and rushed out in a most militant manner to disperse the noisy crowd without. While the little service was in progress, it was not always easy to keep the attention of all, on account of the noisy beating of tin cans near by; and some pebbles were thrown in at the windows. The service was completed, however, and this was the beginning of what has proved to be one of our most vigorous churches. There is now a simple church building, which is always well filled at regular services, and new members are ready to come forward at almost every communion service. The village of Hakoor is memorable, not so much because of hostile opposition to the work as because of the apparently feeble instrument used of God for the establishment of the church. A blind man, of keen and inquiring mind, lived in this village and made a precarious living by keeping a little shop. He was respected by his neighbors for his integrity of character, and trusted by the church authorities for his fidelity to church duties. He began to hear something of the new evangelical doctrine and though ready to investigate, was strong in his opposition and slow to yield to the new faith. When once thoroughly convinced, however, his very honesty of nature made him accept the truth and declare himself for the Protestant view. The bishop sent for him, in order to recall him from his error. He told the bishop that he was convinced that the teaching and practice of the Greek Church were not in harmony with the gospel, and that he had decided to follow the teaching of God rather than that of men, but that he was ready to hear anything the bishop had to say to convince him that he was mistaken. The bishop began to read him a controversial tract recently prepared against the Protestant doctrine. Our blind friend interrupted him, saying: "I have heard all that and can give you an outline of the whole argument. It does not convince me and so, if you have nothing stronger, it will do no good." The bishop then reviled him, comparing his course to that of Judas toward Christ, and so cast him off. The blind man went home, glad to suffer abuse for the truth. He gathered around him a group of neighbors who studied the gospel under his guidance, and a little church has grown up in that village, to which he ministered regularly for a year, when no other preacher could be found. The little band has been full of zeal and has raised the money to build a little chapel in which they worship and in which their children are taught. By means which are insufficient in the sight of men, in spite of opposition from those who are hostile to the truth, God's word continues to bear fruit and the gospel light continues to spread throughout the world. The missionary is met, in his periodic visitation of the outstations, with every conceivable request and complaint. I am often asked to mend a clock or a watch. I have been appealed to to adjust a coffee mill which did not work right. Matrimonial and family difficulties must often be arranged. I have told the people that there is one complaint I am always glad to hear, and that is to the effect that the place of worship is too small for the regular attendants. When I first went to the village of Minyara, the services were held in a small room about twenty by twenty-five feet. There was room to spare, though not a great deal. In a few years it became necessary to plan for enlargement. This was accomplished by securing a piece of land adjacent to the building, taking out the end wall and extending the room so as to increase its capacity about two thirds. The growth of the congregation was so rapid and steady that this enlargement was not completed before the room was again inadequate. An appeal was made to a generous friend in St. Louis, and five hundred dollars were sent for the Minyara chapel. A further piece of land was secured, and plans made for an entirely new and larger building. The outline is rectangular, and the flat roof is supported by three rows of arches, resting on six pillars. This building has been ample for the accommodation of this growing church for many years, though it is often well filled and would be far from sufficient, were not half the members in America. In the city of Homs the old church had a flat dirt roof supported by two heavy arches, which made the room seem dark and contracted. The regular congregations taxed the capacity of the building, and the roof timbers were showing signs of weakness which would necessitate an early renewal. The pastor of the church began to work earnestly for a reconstruction of the roof, with an enlargement of the audience room. There was a little vacant space at one end of the building which if it were inclosed would increase the capacity about forty per cent. At the same time the heavy arches could be removed and a galvanized iron roof placed over the enlarged building. But this would cost a considerable sum, and how was that to be raised? The people thought they could not raise more than two hundred dollars. The same friend in St. Louis, who had provided for the Minyara chapel, sent another five hundred dollars, and we made this proposition to the church: "After the church spends two hundred and fifty dollars, the mission will put in five hundred, but if any more is needed the church must provide it." They went to work with a will. When the dirt from the old roof was to be carried out they organized a regular church bee. All the men of the church came together, the pastor, the doctor, the teacher, the merchant, each one taking one of the rough baskets in which they carry dirt, and all together got the whole pile removed at a considerable saving to the building fund. Before the work was finished the church had raised and expended quite as much money as they had received from outside. This enlarged place of worship has again become too small, and its further enlargement is a pressing problem. [Illustration: HADETH SUMMER HOME] [Illustration: ABU MAROON, THE HADETH CARPENTER] CHAPTER VII CAMPING LIFE At the close of a tour one spring, Mrs. Nelson and I were compelled to reach home on a fixed date, because of the expected arrival of guests. The weather had been unpropitious and the rains heavy for the season of the year. At one point we had been shut in for several days by a snowstorm, and all the rivers were unusually high. We had a broad plain to cross, intersected by three rivers which must be forded. The rain had been persistent, but ceased on the day we were obliged to start for home. We reached the first river after about an hour's ride, and crossed it successfully, the water coming near to the girths of the saddles. The second river was reached and crossed without serious difficulty, but from there onward the entire plain seemed to be under water, and our horses splashed along through water and mud without interruption. Toward sundown we neared the last stream, and congratulated ourselves that just beyond it we should find the carriage road and a dry place for the night. Our road lay through a wretched little Nusairiyeh village, just before reaching the river, and as we passed the houses we were hailed by many voices assuring us that the river could not be forded with safety. I did not believe this at first, thinking it merely a ruse to compel us to spend the night in their village. Such an event would be more or less profitable to the people who would provide our necessities for a consideration, even if there was no thought of robbery, which was quite possible also. We waited for our muleteers, as they were familiar with the stream and would be able to decide whether we could cross or not. Their verdict agreed with the statement of the villagers and so we were obliged to negotiate for a lodging place. After some parley we were allowed to stop in the sheik's public room. There was not a dry spot about the town, but by riding up close to the door, we were able to dismount on a large log, and then jump across a mud puddle to the doorsill, and so enter the room assigned to us. It would be hard to make anyone who has not seen such houses realize what this room was like. It was about twenty feet square, with one door and no window. The lack of this latter was partly supplied by the fact that the wall of the house had tumbled in at one corner, leaving a ragged hole through which light and air entered freely. The floor was of dirt and at two levels. One half, which was used to accommodate people, was reached by a high step and was comparatively dry. In the middle of this higher floor was a smoldering wood fire, from which the smoke had colored the roof timbers a shiny black. The lower half of the floor was on a level with the ground outside or even a little lower, and was decidedly muddy. This section was for the accommodation of horses and cattle. When our party was all inside, so that we could take a census, we found that the occupants of the room for the night were to be, besides myself and my wife, the three muleteers, a cook and a Syrian maid accompanying us to the city. We were in the higher part of the room. In the other part were two horses, four mules, a goat and a calf. These were the visible animals, and anyone who has traveled under similar conditions will appreciate what is meant when I say there were myriads of other creatures which made themselves known through other senses than sight. The sheik was seated by the fire, warming himself, and gave us a scant welcome. We took such a supper as we were able to provide in the circumstances, and prepared to be as comfortable as possible for the night. One of the men had been suffering from malaria and so I prepared for him, and others in the party, a dose of quinine, after the fatigue and exposure of the day. The sheik immediately asked what it was, and desired a dose for himself and the other men present. It was the same principle as that which makes bargain sales attractive. Something is going cheap or gratis, and so I must have it, whether I need it or not. Doses were given out to all who wished for it, for a few grains of quinine seldom go amiss in this country. Conversation was not very lively, about that smoky fire, as we were tired and there were not many topics of common interest. At length our cook thought he would facilitate matters a little. He had lived with foreigners long enough to know the advantage of appealing to the gallantry of men toward the ladies, so he said in his most ingratiating tone to the sheik, "The lady is tired and would like to go to sleep." "Well, let her do so, there is no objection." With a scarcely restrained chuckle, the cook subsided for a time and then tried again, saying this time, "The Effendi (gentleman) is tired and would be much obliged if you would leave so that he may sleep." This was a different proposition and seemed to meet something of a response. Shortly, one of those present got up and went over into the corner of the room where he spread out his cloak and proceeded to his Moslem devotions. When he was through, another followed him with equal deliberation, and we began to doubt whether we should sleep before morning. At length the last one withdrew and we were left to ourselves, including the attendants and animals mentioned before. We spread our camp bedsteads in the driest part of the room and made ready to sleep. It was not long, however, before the rain began to fall, and very soon the roof began to leak over our heads. We spread rubber coats over ourselves and raised our umbrellas over our heads and tried to see the humor of the situation. At early dawn we were up and packed our goods for a new start. The river had fallen sufficiently in the night to permit our crossing, though with some difficulty. On the farther bank we found a party of people waiting until the stream should subside sufficiently to allow them to cross with their small donkeys. Every summer it is necessary to make a change from the heat of the plain to the more bracing air of the mountains. This is not a vacation, for the missionary's work goes on with little variation, wherever he may be, but it involves a change of base and the setting up of a simple household in different surroundings. In those earlier years the mountain life was exceedingly simple and the means of transportation most crude. The village of Hadeth is accessible from Tripoli and in a beautiful situation, directly opposite the famous grove of Cedars of Lebanon. It lies on a ridge in the mountains at an elevation of some forty-five hundred feet above the sea. More than one season have we spent in the house of old Abu Maroon, the village carpenter. The house consisted of four large rooms, opening on a long, arched porch which extended the full length of the house. The floors were of dirt and the walls roughly plastered with mud. We rented three of these rooms, the owners occupying the fourth. The partitions between the rooms were made of brushwood, plastered on both sides with mud. These partitions extended only about three fourths of the way to the roof, leaving ample space above for ventilation and conversation. The uncovered twigs and small branches at the top of these partitions made an attractive, artistic feature, very pleasing to many of our visitors. One of the regular household duties in those mountain houses was the renewing of the mud on the floors. Every week or two it was necessary to remove everything from the rooms, spread a fresh coat of watery mud over the floor, and polish it off with a smooth, round stone kept for the purpose. We could then anticipate reasonable freedom from fleas for another period. The only way to reach a summer resort was on horseback, over very rough bridle paths. All furniture had to be transported by mules in like manner; folding chairs and tables, camping utensils and necessary bedding had to be made into suitable bundles; indispensable supplies had to be provided and mules secured to carry all to the mountains. It was a long, hard day's ride and the party was sure to be pretty tired the first night of arrival, but the renewed vigor in the fresh mountain air gave new strength for the resumption of life on the hotter plain in the fall and it was well worth all the trouble it cost. When it is possible to secure a week or two for real rest, there is no more delightful way to accomplish the purpose than to make a camp in the cedar grove. This clump of trees lies in a basin in the higher mountains, about six thousand feet above sea level. On the east and north, and somewhat on the south, the mountains rise about this great amphitheater to about four thousand feet more, being the highest mountains anywhere in Syria. Large patches of snow lie perpetually on these highest mountains, but the slopes are bare, having no trees nor shrubs beyond clumps of thorns and scanty grass where the melting snows afford some moisture. Flocks of goats range over these barren slopes, gaining a scanty subsistence. In the days of Solomon and Hiram of Tyre these mountains were probably covered with cedar forests. Nowadays only small sections are so covered, though on many of the bare heights the people still dig up the old stumps of great cedar trees, which they sell for fuel in the cities. On the entire mountain range there is left no single grove of really ancient cedars, except the one of which I have spoken, known among the people as the "Cedars of the Lord" or simply as "The Cedars." It is impossible to speak with certainty of the age of these great trees, but from what we know of their slow growth and the size of many of the trunks, it is safe to place their age in the thousands of years. There are more than four hundred trees in the grove and their reputed sanctity has protected them from destruction. Some forty years ago one of the governors of Mount Lebanon had a wall built inclosing the grove and a guardian appointed. This affords protection from goats, and now a number of small trees are growing up to perpetuate the grove in generations to come. If proper steps were taken for reforesting the whole of Lebanon, there would be a great improvement in many ways, and the agricultural wealth of the country would be greatly increased. To establish a camp among these grand old trees is a most delightful way to spend a short vacation. The silence of the nights under the spreading branches; the fragrance of the foliage; the soothing sigh of the breeze among the tree tops; the beautiful and ever-changing colors on the higher mountain slopes; the beautiful outlook to the west over the narrow valley out to the distant Mediterranean; all these influences tend to quiet the tired nerves, refresh the exhausted brain and draw the discouraged heart back to quiet and rest in the hand of the Master. CHAPTER VIII PERSECUTION Late one afternoon as I was sitting in my study, the doorbell rang and a young man from Hamath entered, showing every token of great excitement and fatigue. He had just arrived on the diligence from Homs. As soon as he was sufficiently composed to give me a clear story, he told me that the preacher in Hamath had been suddenly arrested by the local authorities, and after somewhat rough treatment, had been sent under guard to Damascus, a journey of five days on horseback, as it was before the era of railroads. So far as I could learn from my informant, the case was one of flagrant persecution, with no culpable occasion behind it. The first thing to be done was to quiet the excitement of our friend, who had brought the word himself rather than trust a written message. Giving him a chance to rest, I made hasty arrangements for a night ride to Beirut. The moon would rise about ten o'clock and I arranged for two riding horses to be ready for us before midnight. We set out together through the olive orchards under the witchery of the moonlight. It would have been a pleasant experience under other circumstances. The road follows the general line of the seashore, at times close to the breaking waves, and again rising on a rocky bluff at whose base the blue sea keeps up an incessant murmur. In the silent night the play of advancing and retreating waves gives a constantly varied effect of light and sound. Before noon we reached Beirut and consulted with various missionary friends and the consuls of America, England and Germany, who take an interest in matters affecting the Protestants in Turkey. It was decided that our Hamath friend should go at once to Damascus, while I awaited word from him whether my presence was needed. The following day a telegram agreed upon between us brought the brief message, "Better come." The old French diligence in those days made the trip across Mount Lebanon to Damascus in something over thirteen hours, a rather fatiguing day. On the evening of my arrival we had a conference of the immediate circle of friends, and the arrested man himself was among us. This was a thoroughly characteristic incident, under Turkish administration, and so merits a word of explanation. During the journey from Hamath to Damascus, friendly relations had been established between the prisoner and his escort, so that the latter were willing to accommodate their prisoner in any reasonable measure. It was agreed upon that they should not announce their arrival nor report to their superiors for a few days until the prisoner secured a little rest and made arrangements for his defense. Hence I was informed by our friend himself that he would not arrive in Damascus "officially" for several days. It is needless to go into all the details of this event but the animating cause of the incident has its humorous as well as its enlightening side. Some time before, our friend had wished to compliment the man who was at the time governor of Hamath. Being of a literary turn he wrote a flattering poem to present on a suitable occasion. Indiscreetly he worked into his poem serious reflections on another man who was the governor's enemy and who held a similar post at a distance. The governor was so pleased that the poem was printed for distribution and a copy reached the hands of the other man, who was naturally not pleased with it. In the subsequent shifting of appointments this very man became governor of Hamath, and found a way to vent his spite at the poet. When looked at from a safe perspective, most of the so-called persecution in Syria has a predominant touch of humor in it. The most convenient and suitable place for Tripoli missionary families to spend their summers is in the village of Hadeth close to the summer seat of the Maronite patriarch. The whole valley is considered sacred, and hence strongly guarded against the pollution of any heretical evangelical influences. For a number of years the ecclesiastics tried, in every way they could devise, to make us trouble and to prevent our securing houses in the town, or finding any comfort when we did so. During one summer they were especially aggressive and seemed determined to be rid of us. The priests warned everyone against serving us in any way, and against selling us anything to eat. For a few days our servant had to go to a neighboring town to buy supplies. The woman who had been doing our washing sent word she could not come. A special conclave assembled and summoned our landlord, threatening all sorts of vengeance if he did not turn us out. They said that a mob would destroy his house over our heads. The poor old man came to me in great fear, knowing the unscrupulousness of his opponents, and thinking they might get up some false accusation against him in the government and cast him into prison or subject him to needless loss or expense. I assured him they would not dare touch us or attack his property and that the whole plan was to frighten us into leaving town, if possible. I told him that we were to leave on a certain day in October. When the hostile party learned this, they drew up a pledge that the Americans were to be expelled from town on the day I had indicated, under a forfeit of fifty pounds from the landlord to the local church. He was also required to go to the church and apologize publicly to the people, kiss the floor of the church in front of the picture of the Virgin, and pay a pound into the treasury. He was then accepted as in good and regular standing, and all waited for the appointed day. Unfortunately I did not know of this until it was too late to change our plans. On the day appointed we left town with our household goods and as we rode away we heard the church bells ringing out a peal of rejoicing to celebrate the cleansing of the town. Times have changed now, and the same priest who led in the opposition then will call upon us and crack jokes about the times gone by. CHAPTER IX EMIGRATION The period of my life in Syria has witnessed the rapid development of emigration. In former days there was very little travel among the people, the marriage of a girl to a man in a neighboring village being a notable and rather rare occurrence. It was no unusual thing for a person to spend his whole life without ever going so much as ten miles from his birthplace. I was entertained for supper one night at the home of a wealthy Moslem in Homs. The old father of our host was present and I entered into conversation with him as to the experiences of his long life. He told me that he had taken four wives, as permitted by Moslem law. He had twenty sons who had all grown up and married in Homs. He said that his grandsons numbered about a hundred, all of whom he knew by face, though he might not be able to fit the right name to each, at first sight. Knowing him to be quite wealthy, I asked whether he had traveled much. My first question was whether he had been to the seashore, some sixty-five miles away at Tripoli. He had never seen the sea. "Have you been to Damascus?" This would appeal more to a devout Moslem, since the sea is always associated more or less with the unholy foreigners of Christian faith, while Damascus is an ancient seat of Moslem power and glory. "No, I have never seen Damascus," was his answer. "Well, surely you have been to Hamath?" This is only thirty miles distant. "No," he said, "I never went to Hamath." "Have you passed your whole life right here in Homs?" "Once," he said, "I made a journey out among the Arabs of the desert, to buy sheep." That was the extent of traveling by an intelligent, well-to-do Moslem of the old school. Some thirty or forty years ago a change began among the people and a few enterprising men sought more favorable opportunities for making a living in foreign lands. Many of them were successful and encouraged others to follow them, until now the most profitable business of the steamships calling at Syrian ports is the carrying of emigrants back and forth. The weekly exit is numbered by the hundreds, and large numbers also return from time to time. Few of those who return to Syria remain for any length of time, for, having once tasted the liberty and experienced the opportunities of life in western lands, they are no longer content to fall back into the old, slow, unprofitable methods of the Orient. A notable change has also come over the character of the emigration in another respect. At first it was only the more enterprising, vigorous young men who went abroad to seek their fortunes. Now whole families go together. Women and girls emigrate as freely as men. At first it was only Christians who sought to improve their condition in Christian lands; now Moslems and Nusairiyeh go as freely as do the Christians. At first this emigration was a blind flight from poverty and oppressive conditions at home, with little understanding of the places to which the emigrants were going. They placed themselves literally in the hands of the steamship agents in Marseilles. Taking passage from Syria to Marseilles, they were shipped on from there in bunches, according to the advantage of the agent into whose hands they fell. They might be sent to Argentine, while the friends to whom they were going were in Massachusetts. They might be sent to Sierra Leone or to Capetown, but it was all America in their minds. The simple idea of geography in those days seemed to divide the world into two parts, Syria and America. The common people know far better now, for they discuss intelligently the conditions of life and business in the various parts of the world. Syrians are to be found in every one of the United States, from Maine to Florida, and from the Atlantic to the Pacific. They are in Alaska, the Sandwich Islands and the Philippines. They are in every country of Central and South America, in the West Indies and in all parts of Africa. In many places they have bought property and made permanent business arrangements. In the early years there were many indications of their lack of experience in money matters and general business methods. One man in Brazil had accumulated quite a sum of money and wished to return home. He did not understand the simplicity of taking a draft on London from the bank, and was averse to parting with good gold for a mere slip of paper. He changed all his money into English sovereigns and put the whole nine hundred into a belt, which he secured around his body under his clothes. He did not dare remove his treasure day or night during the weeks of journey, enduring the weight and pressure until he reached home. He was then taken sick and nearly lost his life from kidney trouble induced by this folly. Another young man in Mexico started home by way of New York. He knew that English and French gold are current in Syria, and was sure that American gold was every bit as good. So he exchanged his money for American gold coin. It came to my attention through a man who came to me with a twenty-dollar gold piece, and asked what it was worth. When I told him its real value, he showed such surprise as to arouse my curiosity. It appeared that this coin, with one like it, had been given as betrothal token for his daughter. Subsequently the engagement was broken by the young man and so, in accordance with oriental custom, the token was forfeited. The father, wishing to realize on the coin, took it to a local goldsmith who pretended to examine it carefully and then offered three dollars for it. The father was disappointed at this appraisal and indignant that his daughter should have been rated so low. The reaction, when he found the coin to be worth nearly seven times as much as he had been informed, was almost too much for him. One matter connected incidentally with the emigration has been the call for assistance in handling money for those abroad. In the earlier years there were no adequate banking facilities outside of Beirut and so the people began to send back money to their families through the hands of friends who were merchants living in the various seaport towns. In several cases unscrupulous men took advantage of the general ignorance in money matters to secure abnormal profits to themselves, and in more than one instance, through fraudulent bankruptcy, cheated the people out of hundreds of pounds. Those who were in any way connected with the American missionaries began sending their money to us, and at last we were obliged to conduct quite an extensive banking business. In some years drafts for several thousand pounds would come to me in sums ranging from two or three pounds to several hundred at a time. These were to be paid out to various relatives or to be held on deposit until the owners' return. On one occasion I opened a registered letter from Brazil and found in it a draft on London for ten pounds. On reading the letter I found it to be written by a man I did not know, in behalf of another stranger, and that the money was to be paid to an entire stranger in a village I had never seen. It was enough for the sender to know that his money was in the hands of an American missionary. On one occasion a returned emigrant came to my associate with a kerchief full of silver and gold coins. He asked the privilege of depositing this with the mission until he needed it. As it was evidently a considerable sum, he was advised to put it in the bank so as to secure some interest, but he preferred to feel sure that his money was safe, even though it earned nothing. Neither did he see any necessity of waiting until the money should be counted and a regular entry made of it in the books. It was enough that the missionary had charge of it. This open account remained with us a number of years and sometimes amounted to two thousand dollars. A man sent me from Venezuela a draft for a hundred pounds, charging me to let no one know of it, but to hold the money until he should come. After a long interval I learned that his wife was thinking of going to join him, since no word had been received. I succeeded in dissuading her, as I knew he was planning to come home and they might miss each other in mid-ocean. The return was delayed, and before he arrived his funds in my hands amounted to six or seven hundred pounds. The volume of emigration is growing every year and is taking away the strength of the land, but better banking facilities have relieved us of the financial cares formerly carried. The director of the Ottoman Bank in Tripoli estimates the annual amount of money passing through this one port in drafts from Syrians abroad as not less than seven hundred thousand pounds sterling. CHAPTER X SYRIAN ENTERPRISES The final aim of mission work is the development of a self-supporting, self-propagating Christian community, and hence the happiest experience of a missionary's life is connected with the first independent undertakings of the people whom he serves. In this connection there are two interesting incidents connected with the life of the evangelical church in Homs. There are men still living who remember when the gates in the old city walls were closed every night at sunset, and a belated traveler had to make himself as safe and comfortable as he could on the outside until sunrise the next morning. When this old custom passed into disuse, the city gradually outgrew the old limits and new sections began to appear outside the old walls. When I first visited Homs, there was already a large settlement on the north side of the old city, known as the Hamidiyeh in honor of the reigning sovereign Abd-ul-Hamid. In this section of the city were a number of evangelicals and it was most desirable that there should be regular services in that section. Much difficulty was found in renting suitable quarters, and a change was necessary every year or two. At length one of the most prosperous men in the church decided that a permanent chapel must be secured. The people in that part of the city were poor and could not raise money to buy property. He decided to set aside a certain sum, and let it accumulate in his own business until he should have sufficient for the purpose. He did so, and after some years was able to purchase and remodel a house in the Hamidiyeh. That little chapel has been in constant use now for many years for public service on the Sabbath and school during the week, and is all the result of the generous thought of this one man. [Illustration: HOMS Boys' School] Early in the present century a zealous young man became the acting pastor of the Homs church. He was constantly seeking for means to strengthen the position of the evangelical church in the community and was soon convinced of the importance of improving the schools, so as to make them more effective and more attractive. He urged the church forward in support of his plans, and raised the standard of work in the schools. He himself was an indefatigable worker and inspired others with the spirit of service. He gained the confidence of the man referred to above and secured his help financially when needed. At length it seemed to this pastor that all their efforts would be in vain unless he could establish a boarding school for boys. It was not possible for the mission to help in these plans at that time, and our earnest friend decided to push ahead alone. A bequest was made to the evangelical church in Homs by one of her members who died in Egypt. This was a nucleus, and others were induced to contribute larger and smaller sums. A beginning was made in temporary quarters in the city itself, while a fine site was purchased outside for the permanent building. The school was popular from the start, and, considering the cramped and unsuitable quarters in which it was conducted, did admirable work. Syrians in Egypt and America responded well to the appeal to their patriotism. A plain but commodious building was erected on the new site and the school was moved to its new home. The school has about four or five acres of land, lying higher than any other plot near the city. This tract is inclosed by a simple wall. Within is the two-story stone school building, with accommodation for something over a hundred boarders, and a schoolroom which might accommodate nearly twice that number. The kitchen and dining room are in a simpler building adjacent. Thus has been provided a convenient, healthful home for the school, with ample playground and suitable surroundings. A Christian community which shows the strength and ability to organize and conduct such enterprises as these has certainly a degree of vitality which gives us every confidence in its growth and advance in the future. One of the greatest misfortunes, as it appears to me, in the situation of the subject races in Turkey, is their inability to appreciate the value and meaning of the word "loyalty." I have failed to find an Arabic word in common use which conveys the fullness of what we mean by that word "loyalty," and it seems to be because the people have had no occasion to express the idea. It is an inestimable loss to a people to live in such conditions, for there is an inevitable reaction upon character and a blighting effect on all the relations of life. This condition of things has grown rapidly in recent years, and most evidently during the reverses of the Balkan war. It is an everyday experience, in passing along the street, to hear people exclaiming against the oppression and injustice of Turkish rule, with the expression, "Anything would be better than the present condition." Nor are such expressions any more frequent from Christians than from Moslems. A member of one of the leading Mohammedan families was recently quoted to me as saying: "We want an end of this business. We want the English to come and take charge of us." One day as a merchant was taking a bag of small coins from his safe to make a payment, he was warned not to accumulate any large amount of these small coins, as they would depreciate in value, if anything serious should happen to the Turkish Government. With a look of disgust, he said, "I would gladly lose them all and the silver coins, too, to be wholly rid of Turkey, once for all." On another occasion a simple carriage driver expressed his views in rough style, by saying, "Sir, the Devil himself would be an improvement on the present state of things." Then more seriously, he said, "We know we are not fitted for self-government, and what we want most of all is England, or if that is impossible, then France." On a railroad train there was one other passenger in the compartment with me. While stopping at a station, something occurred to excite my companion to violent abuse of the government. When he paused I said to him, "Sir, how is it that you speak so, although you wear the fez?" He turned to me and spoke most earnestly, but with no trace of excitement, saying, "Yes, I am a Turk, and I am a Mohammedan, and nevertheless, I have no words strong enough to express my contempt for the Turkish Government." All these things are exceedingly sad, for it is an immeasurable loss to a people if they cannot love and respect those whom they must obey. CHAPTER XI INTERRUPTIONS Our life in Syria has been, on the whole, quiet, but it has not been without its shadows. There is no life without its sorrows and unexpected experiences. The comparative isolation of missionary life brings into very close fellowship those who are cut off from the closer relationship to friends in the homeland. One Sunday afternoon in the fall of 1906, I was standing in the back of our chapel, awaiting the closing exercises of the Sunday school. The telegraph messenger appeared at the door and handed me a telegram, for which I signed without serious thought. When I opened the paper and read the wholly unexpected message, all strength seemed to leave me, and I hastened to a seat, lest I fall to the floor. The message told of the sudden death of my brother-in-law, Rev. W. K. Eddy of Sidon, while away from home on a tour. We had considered him one of the most vigorous men in the mission, for whom years of active service might be expected, and now in a moment he had been called away, leaving his family and his work to others. It took time to realize the situation but some things had to be done at once. I called my servant and sent him to secure an animal, as I had to start at once for Sidon. Arrangements had to be made for my absence, and the sad news had to be broken to the Tripoli circle of friends. By five o'clock I was ready to start, and I shall never forget that night's ride. The first twenty miles were covered in the early evening hours, on horseback over a rough, stony road, while the question kept ringing through my mind, "Why should this be?" About ten o'clock I reached the carriage road where I could take a more comfortable and speedy conveyance. All through the dark night, as I jolted over the road, trying to get a little rest in preparation for the hard day before me, I could not turn my mind from the many problems connected with this sad experience. Who would take up the work thus suddenly dropped? What plan would be made for the family of growing children? The night was dark, but the dawn was approaching. The way seemed dark, but the Father's love had brought us to this point and he would not leave us to walk alone. In the early dawn, I reached Beirut and found the missionary friends there ready to start for Sidon, and so we all went on together, reaching the darkened home about noon. The large assembly hall was filled in the afternoon for the funeral services, and a great crowd of all classes of people marched out to the cemetery, where the mortal remains of our loved brother and fellow worker were laid away. Those are precious spots where we do the last service on earth for those we have loved, but they are doubly precious on the mission field where the distance from the great body of family friends and relatives is so deeply felt. But these occasions strengthen the ties that bind us to the hearts and lives of those among whom we live and whom we serve. We had scarcely adjusted ourselves to this sorrow when another of the hard experiences of life came upon us. The season had been one of exceptionally heavy work and continuous strain, which showed in a decided break in health. The doctors said work must be dropped at once and the winter be spent in Egypt, if a more serious break were to be avoided. It was not exactly a pleasure excursion on which we started during the Christmas holidays. There was no time to write ahead and make inquiries or arrangements, so we set out to a strange land among strangers, in search of health. Finding no place which seemed suitable in lower Egypt, we decided to go up the river to Assiyut, and wrote a letter to Dr. Alexander, president of the United Presbyterian College at that place. We had no personal acquaintance and no claim upon him, but he was a missionary, and that was enough. It was a long ride and Egyptian railroads are nothing if not dusty. Our spirits had not begun to rise yet, and we felt rather tired and wholly disreputable in appearance, when we left the train at Assiyut, ready to ask our way to the Greek hotel. But before we had a chance to do anything, we saw a bright, cheery face, bearing an evident welcome, and a hearty voice assuring us that the owner was Dr. Alexander and that he had come to take us in charge. It was the first encouraging incident, and lifted a weight from us at once. As we walked along he told us they had held a conference over our case, and, having decided that we could not be comfortable in the hotel, had placed at our disposal a rest room provided in the hospital for members of their own mission or other foreigners who needed rest and medical attention. A more perfect provision for our need could not have been devised. We enjoyed the companionship of the corps of foreign nurses, sharing their table and home life. We had the constant companionship as well as the professional services of the four medical missionaries. Is it a wonder that I began to gain at once? After nine weeks we returned to our work, made over and with a new lease of life, a new sense of the solidarity of Christian fellowship, and a new realization of the heavenly Father's tender care. Such experiences as that winter at Assiyut show how entirely denominational differences are forgotten on the mission field. In social intercourse, in the prayer circle, in discussion of mission problems, in the church service, in the pulpit, there was never anything to remind us that we were only Presbyterians while our kind hosts were United Presbyterians. It was a delightful opportunity for the cultivation of fellowship, and for the observation of other forms and methods of mission work, under conditions very different from ours in Syria. The work in Egypt is relieved from many of the problems so insistent in Turkey. There is no hostile government, always suspicious of every move made by a foreigner. There is no such inefficiency in the government as makes the lives of Turkish subjects always insecure and travel dangerous. But, on the other hand, the climatic conditions in Egypt are far more trying than in Syria, as the heat is extremely enervating for most of the year. These climatic conditions undoubtedly account to some extent for the less virile, independent character of the people. But whatever the differences in climate, whatever the differences in the character of the people, whatever the differences in governmental relations, we came back from Egypt more than ever impressed with the fact that the conflict is one, the object aimed at is one, and the body of workers is one, under the direction of our one Lord and Master. In 1911 there came another break in the routine life of the field, but with no such sorrow in it as in the former incidents. The second Conference for Workers in Moslem Lands met in Lucknow in January 1911 and our mission chose me as its delegate to that conference. The journey through the Suez Canal and down the Red Sea and across the Arabian Sea to Bombay was one of the experiences of life never to be forgotten. There were enough of us going on the same journey to form a little group of sympathetic companions and we had many an opportunity at table and on deck to talk over the matters connected with our life work. The contrasts in the streets of Bombay are similar to those seen in all the changing Orient, but with characteristic differences calculated to catch the eye of one accustomed to the nearer East. Nowhere in Turkey do you find such broad, magnificent, paved thoroughfares as those in Bombay, and yet, beside the track of the electric trolley, you see a crude cart jogging along behind the humpbacked bullock. On the pavements you see elaborately dressed ladies from Europe, or from the wealthy Parsee families, with their Paris gowns and modern hats, and almost at their elbows the dark-skinned members of the sweeper caste, clad in a simple loin cloth. You step out of the finely appointed barber shop in your modern hotel, with its polite, English-speaking attendant, to see by the roadside a group of swarthy Indians, crouching on the ground, as one of their number shaves the crowns of their heads. The tourist in Galilee in the spring of the year is impressed by the variety and brilliancy of color all about him in the wild flowers of the fields. As we walked the streets of Bombay, the same impression was made upon us by the brightness and variety in the headdress of the men. If there is any color known to the dyers' art not found among the turbans of Bombay it is merely because no samples have as yet been sent there. Every shape as well as every shade is found, and it would almost seem as if the excessive attention paid to the head covering had exhausted the energy of the people, leaving no desire or ability to devise any covering for the rest of the body. A stranger may wonder also at first why everyone seems to have forgotten to wash his face. Those curious blotches of varicolored clay on the forehead are not accidental nor an indication of carelessness to one's personal appearance. On the contrary, they indicate fidelity to religious duty and reveal to the initiated the special temple most recently visited by the devout worshiper. For a transient visitor, this variety and intricacy are puzzling, but to the initiated everything has its meaning and the varieties of headdress tell the tale of religious affiliation and caste gradation. Comfortable train service carried us quickly to the north, giving us glimpses of Delhi, the ancient Mogul capital, with its reminders of the mutiny; and Agra with its matchless architectural gem, the Taj Mahal. We reached Agra at the close of the day, and after locating ourselves at the hotel, set out on foot to have our first glimpse of the Taj by moonlight. No matter what one may have read of this wonderful building, no matter what pictures or models one may have seen, I have yet to meet a person who has not been most deeply impressed by the first vision of the reality. The approach through the dark foliage of the quiet garden gives a chance for the impressive grandeur of the marble structure to fix itself in the visitor's mind. By the time he enters the spacious archway, he has begun to appreciate the perfection of the curves, the nobility of the dimensions, the purity of the white marble and the graceful dignity of the whole combination. The beautifully inlaid black lettering from the Koran follows the curves of the lofty arch overhead, adding a sense of sacredness to the entrance. And yet, when one is inside, he almost forgets the impressions received without. In place of stateliness and grandeur, we find here a beauty of finish and exactness of detail which surpass all the more massive qualities of the exterior. The central tomb is surrounded by a marble screen carved with a delicacy that makes one forget the marble and think he sees before him the most perfect and delicate lace veil. The pillars and panels of the screen, the inner walls of the building, as well as the sides of the tomb itself, are decorated with the most beautifully inlaid work of vines and wreaths of flowers represented in their natural colors, in the most delicate shades of precious stone. One wonders to find such exquisite work anywhere and the wonder increases when one realizes that this is not the product of modern skill and patience, but that it has stood here, from the days of the Mogul Empire, when we consider that India was a land of barbarians. And more than this is to follow, for this wonderful mausoleum was erected at fabulous cost by a Moslem ruler, in memory of his wife. We were not in India merely as sightseers. After a night ride on the train we reached Lahore in the early morning and at the station received the hearty welcome of J. C. R. Ewing, D.D., president of Forman Christian College. Again in northern India we had the loving handclasp of a fellow missionary and the cordial welcome to a missionary home. The short visit there could give us but a faint impression of what that college is doing for the Punjab and what a position and influence the missionaries have among the people of every class, whether Indian or British. Never did I have such a vivid impression of the awful experiences of the mutiny, or the wonderful changes wrought by British rule in India, as when I stood on some of the memorable spots at Cawnpore and Lucknow, and reviewed the record of treachery and loyalty, cowardice and bravery, cruelty and gallantry, which were developed in the awful experiences of the Mutiny. To-day, no matter what may be the restlessness and uncertainty of the situation, India is a united country, and not a medley of hostile principalities and warring kingdoms. Railroads cover the land in every direction with an efficient service. Perfect carriage roads make the land a paradise for motor cars and bicycles. Military encampments near all the large cities assure security of life and property. Schools and colleges are extending knowledge in every direction. Wealth is taking place of poverty, knowledge of ignorance, light of darkness, and religion is coming into its own as a real force in human life and no longer as merely a badge of faction or clan. The gathering at Lucknow was notable. Delegates of many nationalities gathered in that hall. Workers in many lands and in widely differing conditions, we came together for a common purpose. Members of many Christian denominations, we united in the worship of one Master. Differences were forgotten in a deeper union. Whatever allegiance we owed to earthly sovereigns, we met as children of the heavenly King. Whatever may have been the language of our ordinary service, here we had but one language--that of loving fellowship. We were members of separate bands of commissioners, coming together at the feet of our Leader to ask for fuller instructions in the pursuit of his work. The keynote of the Lucknow Conference was to win the Moslem world by love, the love of Christ incarnate in his messenger. It is one of the most hopeful signs in the advancement of the kingdom that the attractive power of love is more prominent than the overwhelming power of argument. It is a great help to the right placing of this emphasis that workers in many lands, of many nations, of many denominations, are drawing nearer together and working more in harmony. I returned from India, rejoicing in all I had seen of God's power and blessing in that land, but with a deeper conviction that the work in India, in China, in Africa, in Syria is all one work, under one Master. CHAPTER XII OUR SUPPORTERS One of the brightest things in the missionary's happy lot is the beautiful relation existing between those on the field and those whom they represent in the homeland. Many years ago we were calling, one evening, upon our landlord in Tripoli. The eldest son had recently returned from America, and in the course of conversation the father asked from what part of the United States we came, in order to see whether his son had been in the same vicinity. The son at once replied: "I know the name of the place, but I do not know in what state it is. They come from Private Funds." We could not think at first what he meant, but then discovered that he had found a missionary report among some old magazines thrown out from the house. In this he had seen our names in a list of missionaries, giving the name of the society by which each was supported. Seeing "Private Funds" opposite our names, he thought it must be the name of the town from which we came, though, as he said, he did not know in what state it was located. A little knowledge is truly a dangerous thing. The relation indicated by those words, which has subsisted for twenty-five years, has been most happy. When I was a senior in the seminary and had already made my application to the Foreign Board, I received a letter from Mr. George D. Dayton of Minnesota. He was the son of an elder in my father's old church in Geneva, only a few years older than I, but already a prosperous business man whose generosity in the Lord's work was becoming well known. He urged upon me the need and opportunity in the home mission field of the growing northwest. I answered him, explaining as fully as I could, the reasons that had led me to decide that my life should be devoted to another field, realizing that my answer would be a disappointment to him and might cause some weakening of the ties of friendship already strong between us. The next that I heard of the subject was that Mr. Dayton had written to the Foreign Board, assuming our support as the personal representatives of his family in the foreign field. Thus, instead of weakening our friendship, my choice was the beginning of a closer and warmer relation than ever. It has always been recognized as a family matter, and I shall never forget the comfort and strength that came to us in one of the early years through a letter from Mr. Dayton. It was written on Sunday afternoon, and contained words to this effect: "To-day was the time appointed for the annual offering for foreign missions in our church. Before going to church I gathered the family together and talked to the children about you as our representatives in Syria. Then we united in prayer at the family altar for God's blessing on you. At church I placed in the collection my check for the amount I have pledged to the Board for your support." Through letters and visits in the home when on furlough, this delightful relation has grown more and more precious as the years have passed, and it has been a pleasure to acknowledge that we come from Private Funds, which, we are sure, is situated in the State of Felicity, in the United States of Brotherly Love. It has been said that a missionary furlough is an excellent thing if it is not needed too urgently. We have had two most thoroughly enjoyable furloughs in the homeland, during our missionary life. Each visit to America has tended to refresh and invigorate us most admirably for a new period of service and we have added many to the circle of friends who encourage us in our work and keep vigorous the connecting link with the workers at home. The periods of our absence from America have had a curious coincidence with the change in methods of locomotion in America. When we first came to Syria in 1888, the horse car was still supreme in American cities. Experimental lines of electric trolleys were being tried in certain places, but I had never seen an electric car. When we returned to America in 1897, we found the trolley in all the cities, and I remember being disturbed, the first Sunday in Philadelphia, by a strange whirring sound during the morning service. I could think of no explanation except the weird creaking of the great water wheels in Hamath, but there were no such waterworks in Philadelphia. I soon became familiar with the hum of the trolley. During that first furlough, there was much written in the magazines about automobiles, and people were wondering whether the auto would really be practicable, but I did not see a machine. Our first sight of an auto was in Cairo, in Egypt. We reached America on our second furlough in 1908, and the first day on shore gave us our first ride in an auto, which we found rapidly taking a recognized place in American everyday life. Again the magazines had much to say about the aëroplane, but we did not see one while in America. My first sight of a human flyer was at Allahabad, in India. It looks now as if a ride in an aëroplane might not be a strange experience in our third furlough. The meeting of earnest Christian workers all over the land, in conventions and missionary meetings, is a real refreshment physically and spiritually. So long as the missionary's health is good, he finds it a joy to speak for the cause and mingle with the workers at home. I traveled a good many miles to meet appointments on each furlough. I spoke on many platforms, and the cordial welcome extended and the close attention paid to the message were an ample reward for whatever there was of fatigue in the service. Many times I felt humiliated by what seemed to me the extreme and unmerited deference paid to us, simply because we were foreign missionaries. So far as Syria is concerned, the missionary of to-day asks for no sympathy on the score of physical privations. We are in close touch with European and American civilization. We can obtain whatever is necessary for physical wellbeing and comfort. The climate is not excessively enervating and we can have good homes. There are many things that are trying in the life of a missionary, but no more so than in the lives of many workers in the homeland. The isolation from friends and relatives is often one of the most trying features of missionary life. When sickness or death enter the family circle far away, it is not easy to think of the miles of restless ocean that lie between us and them. The whole unchristian, unsympathetic atmosphere makes life hard at times, but the compensations are so many that it makes one ashamed to be held up as a model of self-sacrifice. The missionary feels, as the earnest worker at home feels, and as Paul felt years ago, when he said, "The love of Christ constraineth us." The first home-going was peculiarly happy, for in neither of the two family circles had there been any break. The only changes had come by marriage and birth. The circles were expanding, and there was no place vacated during the period of our absence. The second going was very different in this respect. Many who had been vigorous were feeble. Many who had bidden us a bright farewell were not present to welcome us on our return. Children had become men and women. There were wrinkles on the faces and gray hair on the heads of those whom we had expected to find still as young as we were. But, somehow, it began to dawn on us that we ourselves were no longer counted among the young folks in the church. The general recollection of those two furloughs is one of bright smiles and cheery welcomes, helpful handclasps and a joyous fellowship. CHAPTER XIII PERSONAL FRIENDS It was one of the most delightful phases of our experience in charge of the boys' school to find how closely the ties of love to the boys bound them to our hearts, and to realize that with many of them it was no mere oriental compliment when they called us their father and mother. There are many of those lads, now growing to manhood, in whose successes we take a parental pride, and for whose growth in all that is good and true we pray, with parental earnestness. Among the many preachers and teachers in all the churches and schools, we count many as most truly our brethren and fellow workers for the Master. There are very many Syrians in all parts of America, as well as in this land, of whom we think in terms of truest brotherhood. It is with no sense of disparagement to the multitude that I have selected three of the elders in our churches for special mention. It has seemed to me, as I look back over their lives, that there are some specially suggestive elements in the way the Lord has led them and blessed them, which are worthy of special note. At the same time these experiences have brought all three into specially close relations with myself personally. I shall mention them in the order of the commencement of my acquaintance with them. In 1885, before I entered the mission, I was for a few months in Syria, merely as a visitor. It happened that the College in Beirut was short-handed that year, and in need of an additional teacher. Dr. Bliss asked me to help them out and so I became for two months a member of the teaching force in the preparatory department. During this time I made the acquaintance of a lad in the senior class of that department, named Towfik Sallum. He was a quiet, studious lad, who made no trouble and was always busy with his books or seeking to increase his English vocabulary. In the brief time of my remaining in the college, my acquaintance was slight and the memory of this boy would have passed from my mind, had there been no subsequent association. When I became a member of the Tripoli Station and made the acquaintance of the various workers in the field, I found that this lad was the brother of the preacher in Hamath. Their father had been the first preacher in that church, and upon his death the eldest son had succeeded to his father's position in the church, as well as to the parental responsibility for the care and training of his younger brothers. Towfik spent some years in the service of the mission as teacher, in intervals of his college course. In 1892 he was graduated with honor, and in 1896 took his degree in medicine also. He settled at once in Hamath, where he was well known personally, and where his family associations made a valuable professional asset. The conditions of life in ancient Hamath are exceedingly primitive and only a small portion of the population have any intelligent appreciation of the value of modern medicine. Perseverance and tact won their way and a valuable practice was built up. With increasing years and widening acquaintance, the doctor became generally known, universally trusted, and highly respected in government circles as well as among the people. In case the governor wished a reliable report on any case of attack or murder, he was sure to send Dr. Sallum to investigate. He was to be trusted to tell the truth. When the new constitution was promulgated in 1908, it was provided that all religious sects were to be entitled to representation in the local administrative courts in rotation, irrespective of the size of those bodies. Formerly only the largest of the Christian sects had been allowed representation. This provision gave the Protestants a right to civil equality and they put forward Dr. Sallum as their representative. He was accepted, and served most creditably for the term of two years. It was then the turn of the Catholic sect to have a representative, and the heads of the various bodies were summoned by the governor to arrange for the choice of the new member. The governor explained the situation and said that as the Protestants had held the office for two years, it was now the right of the Catholics to choose a representative to succeed the Protestant member. Then, turning to the Catholic priest, he said, "If you have a candidate who is more capable than Dr. Sallum or who is his equal, we shall be glad to welcome him, but if not, I should advise you to ask him to continue in office, acting now as representative of the Catholics." The priest replied most cordially that his sect would be delighted to be represented by Dr. Sallum, if he would consent. In this way the doctor has become practically a permanent member of the governor's council, acting alternately for the Protestants and the Catholics. At the same time the proud member of the large Greek Orthodox sect has to give place every two years to the member chosen by the Jacobite church. In 1892 I was in Homs for the administration of the sacraments. Among those who came in on Saturday evening was Mr. Rafool Nasser, a young man who had not been long identified with the Protestant church. He told me that he wished to have his little girl baptized the next day. He had been married for several years and this was the first child, so the occasion was one of more than usual joy. The next morning, before the service began, I saw Mr. Nasser come in and take a seat quite at the back of the church, contrary to his usual custom. He seemed depressed and I wondered what had occurred. When the time came for baptisms he made no move to come forward and so I proceeded with the children who were presented. At the close of the service I inquired into the matter, and learned that Mr. Nasser had informed his wife the evening before that the little girl was to be baptized the next day. His wife then informed him that she had already had the child baptized secretly by the priest. This explained the depression I had noticed in the father's face. Two years later the parents stood together while I baptized the second child, and all the others have been presented without question for the rite of baptism. This was the beginning of my acquaintance with Mr. Nasser, with whom I have been somewhat intimate in recent years. He was a man of prominent family in Homs and has been highly prospered in business, having become one of the most substantial men of the city. Most of the successful men of Homs owe their prosperity to business conducted in Egypt. They spend the winters in Egypt, advancing money to the peasants on their cotton crops and also furnishing them certain classes of imported goods on credit. It has been a profitable business, even to those who have not been led away by the temptation of avarice to impose on the simplicity of the Egyptian peasant. On one occasion I was talking to Mr. Nasser about the high standards of morality obligatory on the true Christian merchant. He then told me the following incident in the simplest manner. As a young man he started with his cousin on a very small capital. They invested their cash capital in stock for their little store, purchasing so far as they could on credit. Mr. Nasser returned to Homs, leaving his cousin in charge of the business in Egypt. Scarcely had he reached home when word came of the complete destruction of their store and all its contents by fire. It was a heavy blow for the young men, and the first impulse was to go through bankruptcy, settle up as well as they could and give up the enterprise. Friends and creditors came to their help and volunteered to scale down their claims and furnish new capital for the two men to start again. They were prospered from the beginning. After some years Mr. Rafool Nasser decided that he was unwilling to have the friends who were so kind to him suffer from the old loss. He wrote to his cousin, saying that he had no wish to control his partner's action, but asking him to pay off his share of those old losses carried by their friends after the fire, and charge the amount against his personal account. The cousin wrote back, "Whatever you do, I shall do also." In the light of this incident, will anyone say that commercial honor is confined to the West? There was a long period of hesitation, after Mr. Nasser was convinced intellectually of the truth of the evangelical faith, before he joined the Church. He has explained this to me in the following way: He knew that if he gave in his adherence to the Protestant doctrine, his conscience would require him to give far more of his possessions than he had been accustomed to do in the Greek church. It took a long time to bring his will to yield. In fact, his head was reached before his purse was opened. He gave up the conflict at last and then said, in closing the account of his experience, "I've gotten way beyond that now, for I have learned the joy of giving." He is not a millionaire, but the Lord has blessed him with considerable property, and he recognizes his position as that of steward. He has been the leading spirit in the enterprises of the Homs church, spoken of in another place. About the end of the year 1895, I was sitting one evening in my study when the bell rang, and one of my neighbors, Mr. Yusuf Faris, entered. He laid on my desk a bundle of Turkish silver dollars, amounting to some thirty dollars American money. He said he had been looking over his accounts for the year and found this balance in his tithe account, and so he wished me to use it for him in a way that he indicated, in the furtherance of the Lord's business. This was a little matter, but it was a true index to the man. A few years previous to this he had moved to the city from a neighboring village. Among his motives for this move was to avoid being forced into a political position he felt to be inconsistent with his new position as a Protestant Christian. He decided to open a dry-goods store in the city, but was unwilling to conduct business in the ordinary way of the country. He rented a very small shop and brought his stock of goods from Beirut. He decided upon a fair profit, and set his price on the goods. People were not accustomed to this method and so were slow to buy from the new shop. When they found him unvarying in his prices, they went away to buy elsewhere, getting, perhaps, an inferior article at a slightly lower price. Mr. Faris had his full share of determination and was not to be turned back from the course upon which he had decided. He had an unfailingly pleasant manner with everyone, and showed no resentment at those who bought elsewhere. For months the sales in this little shop were not enough to pay the rent, but there was no change of policy. Gradually people began to compare more carefully and discovered that in no case were they able to buy the same quality of goods elsewhere for less than Mr. Faris' first price. They began to realize that it was a distinct saving of time and temper to avoid the long haggling over prices to which they had been accustomed. By degrees they began to buy from Mr. Faris, and it was not long before some of the country shopkeepers would come to him with a list of goods and ask to have them put up without even asking the prices. Business grew, a larger shop was necessary, two shops, three shops, until at present his goods fill three large storerooms, while a fourth is necessary for his office and bookkeeping. Two months seldom pass, and often less than a month, between trips to Beirut for fresh goods, and he and his three grown sons are kept busy handling the undertaking. In every good enterprise, in Tripoli, or in presbytery, Mr. Yusuf Faris is a leader, with clear advice and generous subscriptions. When the home mission work of the presbytery was organized, he was one of the leaders, and has continued to be the main support of the work. When the plans for the Tripoli Boys' School were under consideration and there was some danger that lack of money and other considerations might necessitate the removal of the school from Tripoli, Mr. Faris and his sons came forward with a generous offer of financial help, during a period of years aggregating nearly eighteen hundred dollars. This made him the third largest individual donor and we were glad to place his picture among those on the wall of the school reception room. In all the intercourse of these years, while watching the growth and development of character in this man, there has grown in my own heart a strength of personal attachment such as I have seldom felt for any other in America or in Syria. CHAPTER XIV TRIPOLI BOYS' SCHOOL The one enterprise which stands out most conspicuously in our life in Syria and which has absorbed more of our thought and activity than any other, is the boarding school for boys in Tripoli. In the earlier years of our work in Tripoli field, I found an important item to be the selection of promising candidates from the pupils in the village schools for further education in one of the mission boarding schools. We were anxious to encourage the higher education of boys, for in this respect as in many others, north Syria is more backward than other parts of the country. Means of communication were poor and it was not an easy thing for people to send their children to a distance of four or five days' travel. We used every means at our disposal to persuade reluctant parents, offering free tuition and sometimes traveling expenses and help with clothing. By all these means we could gather, from the whole territory, a dozen, or fifteen, or, at most, twenty boys, whose parents were willing to send them to school. [Illustration: TRIPOLI BOYS' SCHOOL _First Home_] [Illustration: TRIPOLI BOYS' SCHOOL _Second Home_] But emigration to America gradually opened the eyes of the people to the commercial advantages of education. Ignorant parents who had gone abroad began to send back money, with urgent instructions to put their boys in the American schools. We found the number of applicants increasing and a new willingness to pay, in part at least, for the education. Instead of a dozen, we had sixty or more to provide for and the tide was rising. Conditions were the same elsewhere and it was not easy for the other schools to receive this larger number from our district. Why, then, should our boys go so far from home? The eagerness of some of these lads to gain an education went to our hearts, and the hardest thing we had to do was to refuse an earnest pleader for whom we had no place left. One day in Homs a young man came to me, pleading for a place in Sidon. He was making his own living as an artisan, and had only a simple education. I wished to test his pluck and pointed out all the difficulties in the way of one in his circumstances. He had thought it all out and said he could work at his trade in the summer vacations and earn enough for his clothing. But it was a five days' journey to Sidon, and the cost of the journey must be provided for in some way. There was not a moment's hesitation as he said, "I'll walk." And he did walk, showing a manly contempt for obstacles in the way of gaining an education. This growing demand for an education such as our American schools give, with the increasing ability of many to pay the cost, seemed a clear call for action. Our mission had been criticized for putting too much energy and money into education, so it seemed a chance at the same time to take a step in advance in the line of self-support. I did not wish to go before the mission with my proposition until I had it well supported. For this reason I wrote to Mr. George D. Dayton who has supported us through all our missionary life, and laid the matter before him, making two distinct requests. If such a school were to be a success, it must have its own permanent premises, especially adapted to its use, and I asked whether he would help us to secure this for the school. It did not seem wise to wait however for the accomplishment of this purpose to open the school. I was confident, myself, that the school could be made self-supporting if the premises were provided, but I wished a guarantee to lay before the mission, and so asked Mr. Dayton to underwrite the enterprise to the extent of three hundred dollars a year, in case of a deficit. He responded promptly, acceding to both requests. I was ready then to go before the mission. Our proposition called for two things from the Board, the addition of a missionary to our Tripoli station and provision of rent for premises in which to open the school temporarily. Both requests were granted and we were authorized to go ahead, even before receiving our additional missionary. Ten years after opening the school, owing to removals and delay for language study, the whole work of the station, with the addition of the school, still rests on the shoulders of two men, who live in hope of having their new associate, promised ten years ago. It has been like the pursuit of a mirage or the fatuous end of the rainbow. More than once we have given a sigh of satisfaction and said, "Well, next year, or at latest, the year after, we shall be able to settle down to normal lines and really do our work right." An emergency has always arisen somewhere, our pleasant dreams have faded away, and we have settled down again to try to carry the extra load; but each time this is done, the weight seems to press more heavily and a sense of discouragement steals into the tired heart. We were ready to begin school in 1903 and had laid in some supplies for the coming year, when cholera appeared in the land, interfering with all lines of travel and communication. It was decided to postpone the opening until the next year and special plans for temporary work were made for the various teachers. In October 1904 the Tripoli Boys' School opened its doors, and there was every indication of hearty support. We had planned to begin on a very small scale with only twenty boarders. We had rented a house in which the boys were to sleep and study, the kitchen and dining room being in the basement. Before the day of opening we had thirty-two insistent applicants and wanted very much to receive them all. Rooms were rented across the street for study and recitation purposes, releasing for a dormitory the large room before assigned to study. This, with extra crowding of the beds, made room, and the whole number were admitted. The beds were very crude, being merely boards laid across rude iron supports. Everything was as simple as possible. We were all inexperienced in school administration and had about as much to learn as did the boys, but that first year was a year of real delight. The school was small and the family feeling was encouraged in every way. Every Sunday evening the boys came to our home for a social sing, and we learned that the neighbors looked forward to the enjoyment of the volume of boyish voices that rang out on the evening air. In the middle of the year it was possible to transfer the school to much more commodious quarters, where all school and household functions could be under one roof. The most satisfactory feature, perhaps, was the financial outcome. When the books were closed, at the end of the year, there was no deficit to be provided for, and so our highest anticipations seemed to be justified. This has continued to be the normal record of the school, the current income providing for the current expense, excepting the item of rent. The second year we were able to start in with American desks, and iron beds in the dormitories, and had an enrollment of sixty pupils. A detailed history of the school would make this chapter too long, but its growth and success have meant a great deal to us in our missionary life. In 1909, when we returned from our second furlough, we had a sufficient building fund to justify definite plans for the permanent home of the school. It was not easy to decide on the best location. Every place suggested had advantages and disadvantages. We could not visit any locality in the most casual way without very largely increasing the value of land in the vicinity. We looked at land near the sea, in the gardens, on each side of the city, but gradually all minds turned to an olive orchard on the brow of the hill just north of the city. It might not be possible to purchase it, but we all agreed that it was the place we wanted, if it could be obtained. Inquiry revealed the fact that this piece of property belonged to a family of brothers and sisters who held it as joint heritage from their father. One of the brothers got the whole into his possession, excepting the share of one sister, whose claim was something less than one-twelfth. Her husband was an avaricious fellow who thought he could hold us up for whatever he might demand. We purchased the remainder of the property, but could do nothing toward building until our partner's share should be set off and a legal division made. We proposed every possible division but nothing was acceptable. We tried the courts and found it almost as hopeless as Dickens' picture of chancery. Finally an amicable adjudication and division out of court was arranged by common friends. We went to the hill with professional measurers and proceeded to lay off our partner's portion. When he was convinced that we would prefer to give him at the north end, he promptly announced that he would take the south part, which was after all much to our advantage. Then the boundary was laid out very exactly, giving him his full share. After the peg had been carefully set, his son petulantly moved it a foot or more farther on our side, evidently intending to irritate us into a refusal of the division. We consented, however, the division wall was erected, the legal papers drawn up and our property was secured. The next step was to obtain a building permit from the government. Every official is suspicious of every other, and each is watching for a chance to enter a complaint against the other. From one office we went to another, with favorable reports from the city engineer, but nothing was accomplished. There seemed to be no valid objection anywhere, and we were assured that the permit would be sent back as soon as our petition reached Constantinople. After long waiting, instead of the permit there came back another series of inquiries on points already fully explained. Preliminary work on cisterns, foundations and preparation of stone was in full progress, but the winter passed and no permit was received. At last a new governor came to Tripoli who for some reason took a personal interest in bringing the matter to a conclusion. He sent vigorous letters and telegrams to Constantinople and in due time the permit was issued, and at the end of May 1912, work was begun on the building proper. Every means was used to push work forward as fast as possible, through the summer and fall, so as to have the roof on before the rains came. The walls were completed, the roof timbers in place, but where were the tiles? These had been ordered long in advance, and were known to be on the way. Just at this unfortunate moment war between Turkey and Greece was declared and it appeared that our tiles were coming in a Greek steamer, which could not now approach a Turkish port. The fall rains came down on our roofless building and it was not until January that the tiles were received. When they arrived, there was great rejoicing. The workmen all left their tools to help unload the wagons. The schoolboys went up on the hill and, forming lines from the ground to the roof of the building, passed up the tiles from hand to hand with shouts and songs of joy. No damage had been done the building, since the rains tended to set the stone walls and cement flooring more perfectly, but the plastering and carpenter work for the interior were delayed, and the precious rain water for the cisterns was lost. After the roof was finished, work progressed rapidly and the utility and beauty of the building developed every day more and more clearly. When Easter vacation came everything was ready, and in the absence of the boys, the school furniture was moved up to the new building so that all was in good order when vacation was over. The new term opened in the new home. On May 21, 1913, the day was given over to the dedication of the new building, and a happier day than that has not come in the history of the school. In the forenoon, there were races and athletic sports, with a football game on the playground behind the building. In the afternoon, hosts of friends and neighbors inspected the building and grounds, and at four o'clock the Assembly Hall was crowded with the pupils and their friends. On the platform sat the governor and president of the municipality, with the missionaries and teachers. The boys sang heartily their songs of welcome and a special dedication hymn written for the occasion from the text, "Except Jehovah build the house, they labor in vain that build it." Their voices rang out especially as their handkerchiefs waved in their own school song in honor of T. B. S. This building is rich in significance, for it is a memorial throughout. The main fund was raised in honor of my father, and so the building is to be known as the Henry A. Nelson Memorial. Smaller sums were given as special memorials to relatives of the givers, and the bell in the tower was given by parents of a young man, their only son, who was called to the heavenly home just before his twenty-first birthday. Those parents have the comfort of feeling that their son's voice is still calling in the tones of that bell to the lads of Syria, and so still serving the Master. Our rejoicing in the new building was great, but not complete. With all our efforts it was not possible to finish the top story of the building, and the friends of the school will have plenty of opportunity to help us improve and increase our facilities in the service of the youth of north Syria. CHAPTER XV MOVING In 1910 the Syria mission decided upon an advance. The constitution had been declared in Turkey and everyone hoped that a new era had really begun for the people of the empire. Whatever might be the political results, there were clear signs of industrial improvement. The German railroad was being pushed toward Bagdad. Work was progressing rapidly on the line from Tripoli to Homs. There could be but little doubt that the importance of Homs as a commercial center would be greatly enhanced in the near future. The strong evangelical community had been urgent for years that a missionary family live in Homs. This was finally decided upon and the choice of the mission fell on us. There are very few houses for rent in Homs, and hence it seemed necessary to plan for a missionary residence as soon as possible. An appropriation was made from the Kennedy bequest for this purpose, and a piece of land was acquired from the management of the Syrian Evangelical Boarding School. [Illustration: HOMS] [Illustration: HEATHEN TEMPLE AND MOUNT HERMON] Moving in Syria is a different proposition from what it is in America. There are no professional packers. The missionary must do his own packing, if he would avoid excessive breakage. He must keep an eye on the porters as they put his goods in the wagons. He must oversee the freight men as they stow away the goods in the cars. At the Homs end of the line every piece had to be carried to its destination on the back of a donkey or a mule. It was no easy matter to balance some of the large boxes on the insecure saddles, but it was all accomplished with time and patience, with very little injury. We secured a little house in the city for six months, which could be occupied while the new house was in process of erection. It was a curious little place but the owner was very proud of it. There was a minaret directly across the narrow street, so we had the call to prayer almost over our heads five times a day. The section of the city was known as the Grass Market, because it was occupied largely by greengrocers. We were awakened early every morning by the merchants calling their wares and all day long could hear cries like this: "Oh, plums, O generous one, a penny a pound: health and strength come from God, Oh, plums, Oh, plums." The woodwork and windows of this little house were so poorly constructed that it was impossible to keep anything clean. The strong wind, which gathered up straw and dirt, seemed to discharge its load all day long in the various rooms of that little house. In October the new mission house was ready for occupancy and we gladly made the transfer to this permanent home. The city of Homs is perfectly flat and quite compact. The streets are narrow and crooked, the houses low, usually but one story high. The better houses are built of black volcanic stone and the poorer houses of sun-dried brick. As a rule the street wall is a dead blank surface, with merely a doorway admitting to the inclosed courtyard. All this gives the city a dull, depressing appearance. The old city was surrounded by a wall and a deep moat, and at the south side, on a high hill, was the ancient castle faced with black stone. This castle has been a complete ruin for over seventy years and the city has outgrown its walls and spread across the moat. The Evangelical School and the American mission house lie to the south of the castle hill, on a rise of ground among the vineyards. Many houses are being built near us, but we are still the vanguard to the south. Directly opposite to us on the north side of the city is the great mosque of Sayid Khalid, said to have cost sixteen thousand pounds. It is a beautiful building, but recently completed. Between us and it lies the old city, with its seventy thousand plain people. At present a vast majority of the population look to the north rather than to the south, but it is our strong hope that the more vital strength represented by Christian education and Christian homes will win the victory over this great city and the surrounding country, so that all shall be won for Christ. [Illustration: HAMIDIYEH MOSQUE _Tripoli_] [Illustration: OLD CITY GATE _Tripoli_] CHAPTER XVI THE MUEZZIN OR THE BELL As the close of this little record comes near, there appears before me a contrast or a conflict. Shall Syria continue, as in the past, dominated by the minaret and all it signifies, or shall the church bell be heard more clearly and more truly than it has been in the past? Many years ago, in the city of Homs, the large and influential Orthodox Greek community wished to put up a bell in their church. This was found to be wholly impossible because of the unyielding bigotry and hostility of the Moslem community and the government. Finally the bishop consented to hang up a slab of hard, thoroughly seasoned wood, and this was struck with a mallet at the time of worship, to call the people together. After quite a long interval, when the controversy was largely forgotten, this wooden slab was quietly exchanged for one of steel, and a clearer sound was obtained. This created a little disturbance, but was quickly accepted as an accomplished fact, for it is a common saying in Turkey: "Whatever is done is permitted. Whatever is requested is forbidden." After another long interval a large bell was sent from Russia for this Homs Church of the Forty Martyrs. In view of the relations of Turkey to Russia, no open opposition could be shown, and the bell was brought with great demonstrations of joy and put in its place where it rings to call the people to worship. Following the lead of this strongest of the Christian communities, all the others have brought bells since, and they are in regular use. But the near city of Hamath waited some years longer before hearing its first regular church bell. Many years ago an old sheik in Tripoli was calling on me. He was intelligent and friendly and I felt that I could speak with him somewhat freely. When I said to him that the voice of the muezzin in the neighboring mosque was not so clear as it might be, he told me the following incident in his father's life: The French consul in Tripoli lived near a mosque. The muezzin had a musical voice, and the consul enjoyed hearing the call to prayer in the summer evenings. For some reason this man was removed and another put in his place, whose voice was harsh and unpleasant. A few days later the consul arrayed himself in official style, and with the attendance of his cavasses in full regalia, he went to call on the old sheik, the father of my informant. It was not a feast day nor time for official calls, so his coming in this manner created some astonishment and a little uneasiness. After the ordinary salutations had been exchanged, the consul addressed the sheik in formal manner, to this effect: "I have come to-day, officially to convey to you my own personal thanks and that of the government I represent for the great favor you have done me." The sheik was even more astonished at this opening, and protested that nothing worthy of such recognition had been done. "Yes," said the consul, "you may not have been aware of the great kindness done, but it is no less worthy of note. In the mosque near my house there was a muezzin who gave the daily call to prayer in a voice that went to the heart of the hearer, and it would not have been strange if he had won my allegiance to Islam. Now, however, he has been removed and a man with a harsh, repellant voice put in his place, so there is no longer any danger that the representative of a Christian nation should deny his faith and follow Islam. For this reason, I convey to you officially and personally my most profound thanks." No sooner had the caller taken his leave than orders were sent to have the sweet-voiced muezzin restored to his former position in the vicinity of the consulate. The keen consul had gained what he wanted and what a direct request might not have accomplished. No offense was given and all were pleased. After he had told me this story, I said, "Sheik Ali, there are two things which I grudge to you Mohammedans; one is the custom of summoning people to divine worship by the call of the human voice rather than by a metallic bell; and the other is the exclusive use among yourselves of the salutation, 'Peace be to you.'" When one Moslem meets another, he salutes him, "Peace be to you," and the other responds, "And on you be the peace of God." A Moslem will never intentionally give this salutation to a Christian. I continued, "That salutation belongs to the Christians more than to you, for it was the farewell message from our Master to his disciples, when he said, 'Peace I leave with you; my peace I give unto you.'" Which is it to be in Syria? Shall the separation continue, and one large part of the population heed the call to prayer by the human voice from the minaret, while another part worship the same God in the churches in answer to the summons of a bell? This unfortunate state of affairs will never cease until the heart of the Christian Church is so full of the love of Christ and his perfect peace that the Moslem population shall hear through them a louder cry than the voice of the muezzin, calling them to worship the one living God, and to know him through the perfect life of his only Son, our Lord. "Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." 
38319	----	BY DESERT WAYS TO BAGHDAD _UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME._ THE GREAT BOER WAR. _Arthur Conan Doyle._ COLLECTIONS AND RECOLLECTIONS. _G. W. E. Russell._ REMINISCENCES. _Sir Henry Hawkins._ LIFE OF LORD RUSSELL OF KILLOWEN. _R. Barry O'Brien._ FROM THE CAPE TO CAIRO. _E. S. Grogan._ A BOOK ABOUT THE GARDEN. _Dean Hole._ LIFE OF FRANK BUCKLAND. _George C. Bompas._ A MODERN UTOPIA. _H. G. Wells._ WITH KITCHENER TO KHARTUM. _G. W. Steevens._ THE UNVEILING OF LHASA. _Edmund Candler._ LIFE OF LORD DUFFERIN. _Sir A. Lyall._ ROUND THE WORLD ON A WHEEL. _John Foster Fraser._ LITERATURE AND DOGMA. _Matthew Arnold._ SPURGEON'S SERMONS. _Sir W. Robertson Nicoll, LL.D._ MY CONFIDENCES. _Frederick Locker-Lampson._ SIR FRANK LOCKWOOD. _Augustine Birrell, K.C., M.P._ THE MAKING OF A FRONTIER. _Colonel Durand._ LIFE OF GENERAL GORDON. _Demetrius C. Boulger._ POT-POURRI FROM A SURREY GARDEN. _Mrs. Earle._ THE RING AND THE BOOK. _Robert Browning._ THE ALPS FROM END TO END. _Sir W. Martin Conway._ THE ENGLISH CONSTITUTION. _Walter Bagehot._ LIFE OF RICHARD COBDEN. _Lord Morley._ LIFE OF PARNELL. _R. Barry O'Brien._ HAVELOCK'S MARCH. _J. W. Sherer._ UP FROM SLAVERY. _Booker Washington._ WHERE BLACK RULES WHITE. _H. Hesketh Prichard._ HISTORICAL MYSTERIES. _Andrew Lang._ THE STRENUOUS LIFE. _Theodore Roosevelt._ MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY. _Dr. John Kerr._ LIFE OF DANTON. _Hilaire Belloc._ A POCKETFUL OF SIXPENCES. _G. W. E. Russell._ THE ROMANCE OF A PRO-CONSUL. _James Milne._ A BOOK ABOUT ROSES. _S. Reynolds Hole._ RANDOM REMINISCENCES. _Charles Brookfield._ THE LONDON POLICE COURTS. _Thomas Holmes._ THE AMATEUR POACHER. _Richard Jefferies._ THE BANCROFTS. _Sir Squire Bancroft._ AT THE WORKS. _Lady Bell._ MEXICO AS I SAW IT. _Mrs. Alec Tweedie._ EIGHTEENTH CENTURY VIGNETTES. _Austin Dobson._ GREAT ANDES OF THE EQUATOR. _Edward Whymper._ THE EARLY HISTORY OF C. J. FOX. _Sir G. O. Trevelyan._ THROUGH THE HEART OF PATAGONIA. _H. Hesketh Prichard._ BROWNING AS A PHILOSOPHICAL AND RELIGIOUS TEACHER. _Professor Henry Jones._ LIFE OF TOLSTOY. _Charles Sarolea._ PARIS TO NEW YORK BY LAND. _Harry de Windt._ LIFE OF LEWIS CARROLL. _Stuart Dodgson Collingwood._ A NATURALIST IN THE GUIANAS. _Eugène André._ THE MANTLE OF THE EAST. _Edmund Candler._ LETTERS OF DR. JOHN BROWN. JUBILEE BOOK OF CRICKET. _Prince Ranjitsinhji._ _Etc., etc._ _Others to follow._ [Illustration: SKETCH MAP OF AUTHOR'S ROUTE] BY DESERT WAYS TO BAGHDAD BY LOUISA JEBB (MRS. ROLAND WILKINS) THOMAS NELSON & SONS LONDON, EDINBURGH, DUBLIN AND NEW YORK "Oft have I said, I say it once more, I, a wanderer, do not stray from myself; I am a kind of parrot; the mirror is holden to me; What the Eternal says, I, stammering, say again." CONTENTS PAGE PART I BRUSA TO DIARBEKR PROLOGUE 13 I. DISENTANGLEMENT 23 II. BRIGANDAGE 34 III. SOCIAL INTERCOURSE 46 IV. THE DAWN OF THE BAGHDAD RAILWAY 55 V. IN THE TAURUS 88 VI. ROYAL PROGRESS 112 VII. HARRAN: A DIGRESSION INTO THE LAND OF ABRAHAM 132 VIII. THAT UNBLESSED LAND, MESOPOTAMIA 146 PART II DOWN THE TIGRIS ON GOATSKINS IX. AFLOAT 167 X. HELD UP 175 XI. A RECEPTION AND A DANCE 194 XII. AN ENCOUNTER WITH AN ENGLISHMAN 204 XIII. THE CREED OF THE KORAN 215 XIV. THE EVIL ONE 227 XV. ARAB HOSPITALITY 241 XVI. A STORM AND A LULL 254 XVII. AN ENCOUNTER WITH FANATICS 267 XVIII. THE END OF THE RAFT 277 PART III BAGHDAD TO DAMASCUS XIX. BABYLON 287 XX. THE SOUND OF THE DESERT 302 XXI. PALMYRA 316 XXII. AN ARMENIAN AND A TURK 325 XXIII. RETROSPECTIVE 354 APPENDIX 367 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE MAP _Frontispiece_ A WELL IN THE KONIA PLAINS 64 HITTITE BAS-RELIEF AND INSCRIPTION. IVRIZ 129 JACOB'S WELL. HARRAN 160 "DRAWING SKINS OF WATER" 225 PALMYRA. TRIUMPHAL ARCH 256 HASSAN 321 ERECH. SYRIAN DESERT 352 PROLOGUE It was a hot midsummer's day; X and I sat on the long grass under an apple-tree: she had a map of Asia and I had a Murray's Handbook. We were about to travel together in the East. X was going primarily in search of health; but she had studied comparative religions and was prepared to be incidentally intelligent about it--visit mosques and tombs, identify classical spots, and take rubbings of inscriptions. I was merely going with X. She had unearthed me from a remote agricultural district in the West of England with the idea that contact with the agricultural labourer would have fitted me for dealing with the male attendants who were incident to our proposed form of travel. We were fully agreed on one fundamental point--that we should choose a country which could be reached otherwise than by sea; and that, having reached it, its nature should be such that we could travel indefinitely in it without reaching the sea. Now of all the continents Asia Minor is the one best adapted for this purpose; for if you were a giant you could easily step across the bit of inland sea which separates Europe from Asia in the neighbourhood of Constantinople; and once landed on the other side your field of operations is practically unlimited, extending even into the adjoining continent of Africa; for any one who could step across the Bosphorus could also step across the Suez Canal. But having once settled on the particular continent, our ideas were somewhat vague. How indeed can they be otherwise if you propose travelling in a country which has not yet been ticketed and docketed for the tourist? This product of a modern age can, thanks to Messrs. Cook and Lunn, already tell, in the corner of his own fireside, the exact hour at which he will be gazing at the dome of St. Sophia on any particular day, or at which he will be eating his dinner, with the number of courses specified, in the hotel the outside appearance of which is already depicted on the itinerary. But it was not to be so with us. What we should eat and what we should gaze upon was still wrapt in the mystery of the great unknown. X took a pencil and marked a straight line from Constantinople across the Anatolian Plateau and the Taurus Mountains to Tarsus. "That looks a good point to make for," she said, "Alexander led an army over the Taurus." Then, having stopped within measurable distance of the sea, she drew her pencil eastwards across the Euphrates to a point on the Tigris high up in the Kurdistan mountains; from here she drew another line following the Tigris to Baghdad. At this point we were coming dangerously near the sea, so turning back she marked a line in the contrary direction across the Syrian desert to Damascus. "That will do for a start," she said; "we can fill in the details when we get there." Now this method of undertaking a journey might have its disadvantages in what is known as a civilised country; for here we are all such servers of time that unless we arrange everything beforehand, as everybody else does, we are apt to get pushed aside; you must, therefore, take your place in the general hustle and secure your bed and your dinner and your right to look at sights by ticket long before you are in need of them. In short, you must make a plan. But in the untravelled parts of the East you reign supreme; there is no need to go about securely chained to a gold watch which metes out with inexorable exactitude the dictates of railway time-tables, steamers, diligences, and _table d'hôte_ summonses. Ignore Time, and he is at once your servant; treat him with respect, and he at once becomes your master. In those countries where Time has become master he develops a system of locomotion to which you must conform or lose its benefits; it will not accommodate itself to you. But in the East, do you but recognise the principle of making Time your own and at once plans become unnecessary. Systems of locomotion, for instance, spring up in answer to a preliminary wish in your brain; and their existence being solely due to you, it is possible to use them when and where you will. You want to get from one point to another: your wish is passed on, and a mule or an araba appears at your door; and whether it be punctual, or whether, as is more usual in the East, it be late, it is of no consequence, for Time is waiting for you and will wait for ever. Once you are started, moreover, the stopping-places are not arbitrary; you have merely to wish, and at once the mule or the araba stops. In the same way when you wish to sleep your bed is where you make it; and when you wish to eat you need wait for no summons. And should it so happen that you have been misguided enough to make a plan, it is of no consequence should you think fit to change it. One only asks, "Why have made the plan?" Thus it was that, without any more preparation than this preliminary idea of our route, X and I were able to carry it out in detail exactly as we had sketched it in the rough. The drawbacks of course were there. Sometimes we had nothing to eat through not having arranged for food; and sometimes we slept out in the wet. But does this never happen to those who have made elaborate plans against all possible contingencies? And have they not had the worst of it after all, for they have had the planning with no result, and have suffered the annoyance of having their best laid plans mislaid. Is it possible, moreover, to judge this method of travel by our standard of ideas in the West? In a civilised country where beds abound and it is merely a matter of arrangement to acquire one, there is no delight in passing the night under a damp hedge with drips down your back; there is shelter round the corner, and you merely curse yourself for your own stupidity, or pretend you like it, and take care not to do it again. But when you lie on your back on a sandy desert with nothing within measurable distance of you, and the rain beats mercilessly down or the wind howls through the crevices of your garments, you are conscious of battling against great primeval forces akin to the unknown elements of your own being; you cannot escape from them, for there is no shelter round the corner: you are brought up face to face with something fundamental; all the little accessories with which we have learnt to shield ourselves fall away, and you are just there, stripped yourself, and in the middle of naked realities. And if only you have been wet enough, or cold enough, or hungry enough, it has been worth while, for you never forget it; and the remembrance of it will come to you ever and anon when you are once more tied up in the bonds of convention and are struggling to keep a true idea of what is a reality and what is not. So it is, perhaps, that in setting out to write any account of such a journey, one is dominated by the remembrance chiefly of facts which in this country seem trivial. All the little details of life take on an exaggerated form; for what in civilisation we are apt to ignore and take as a matter of course, occurring almost unnoticed in the ordinary routine of daily life, becomes out there of enormous importance. A good meal, for instance, seems of far greater moment than an attack by brigands, because of its rarer and more unexpected occurrence. If you are travelling for no particular purpose, with people whose language you do not understand, and in a country where the manners and customs are not familiar to you and you are merely moving on slowly from day to day--all you can get is a passing impression of outside things. If you are not a scientist or an archæologist or a politician striving to catalogue each new acquisition on your particular subject; if, in fact, you have no particular knowledge of any sort, but your pores are wide open to receive passing impressions, what you get is a vivid idea of the appearance of things. This is all that you can hope to pass on. In the following pages I do not propose to give a connected account of the various places we visited or of the many adventures which befell us; this is not a travel book. I shall have no intelligent remarks to make on the historic spots we passed, journeying slowly through this country so rich with still undiscovered monuments of ancient times; a country which is also destined to become, as civilisation advances with the Baghdad Railway, the centre of future political interest. What justification is there then for writing a book at all? The Danes have given us a definition of their idea of education: "It is," they say, "what is left after everything that has been learnt is forgotten." So it is with any form of travel; the value of it to the traveller himself is what is left after lapse of time has effaced all recollection of minor incidents and softened the vividness of strong impressions. In very slow travelling through desert countries, where day after day the same trivial events occur in similar yet different settings, the essential facts of that country sink into you imperceptibly, until at the end they are so woven into the fibres of your nature that, even when removed from their influence, you will never quite lose them. There are certain notes in the East which form part of a tune sung all the world over, but which give a clearer and more definite sound in the land which first gave them birth. The sketches given in the following pages are framed on them; they are what I have left, and what I would fain pass on to the reader. If I have succeeded in striking these notes true, there is no need of an apology to those who have already heard them in the country whence they spring; for any one who has ever travelled in the East welcomes anything that will once more touch that particular chord, at whatever time or place. And if I have succeeded in striking them so that here and there amongst those to whom the East is still but a name, there are some who may hear a faint echo of the real thing, I shall feel that there has been some justification for this contribution to the literature of the desert. PART I BRUSA TO DIARBEKR "It avails not, time nor place--distance avails not, I am with you, you men and women of a generation, or ever so many generations hence. Just as you feel when you look on the river and sky, so I felt; Just as any of you is one of a living crowd, I was one of a crowd; Just as you are refresh'd by the gladness of the river and the bright flow, I was refresh'd; Just as you stand and lean on the rail, yet hurry with the swift current, I stood, yet was hurried."... BY DESERT WAYS TO BAGHDAD CHAPTER I DISENTANGLEMENT It was our first night in camp; little mysterious hillocks shut us into a world of our own; we had it all to ourselves and only the stars overhead knew, and they seemed to be congratulating us on our escape; they twinkled and winked and beckoned. Constantin had lit a fire, and this at once became the centre of our world; the door of our tent looked out on it, the muleteers, the Zaptiehs, and our men sat round it, our supper was cooking on it, and we all thought about that; the horses and mules, tethered in a semicircle, turned that way and blinked at it; far away a jackal saw it and barked. It drew us all together, and its smoke went quietly up towards the beckoning stars. They would be eating their dinner now in the hotel at Brusa just the same as last night; the thin young man who had asked us what we should do if it rained, the old lady who wanted to know if we were doing it for pleasure, and the middle-aged spinster who thought we had no business to expose ourselves to such dangers unless it were for missionary work. The waiters would be bustling about; good Madame Brot would be carving diligently at the side table with an anxious look; bells would be ringing; men and women would be coming and going and talking and laughing and scolding; down below in the hot kitchen the men wash one pile of dirty plates after another.... Yes, it is very quiet out here; the men speak in undertones and the fire crackles in the cool, still air. Constantin lifted the pot off the fire. "Mangez," he said. He was Greek but could speak a word or two of French. He ladled the onions and rice on to two plates and picked out the bits of mutton; then after handing us the plates, he began to beat up eggs for an omelette. We had been stretched out on the ground; we drew ourselves up, and sitting cross-legged balanced the plates on our knees. The food tasted excellent although it had been cooked in one pot. Constantin had wanted to bring three pots; he had been camp cook to the best people on hunting expeditions--three courses for dinner, with clean plates and knives for each course. He looked the part: his clothes were European, except for the fez. He remained on the border-line of civilisation and reminded us of what we had left. We had had a scene with him before leaving Constantinople; he had accumulated a large assortment of saucepans and kettles, of pans for frying and pans for stewing, of pots for boiling and pots for washing; we had gone through them critically and disregarded everything but a stew-pan, a frying-pan, and one pot for boiling water. Constantin was in despair. "Pas possible, mademoiselle," he kept on ejaculating, "pas possible, comment faire cuisine?" But we were adamant; we wished to travel light and live largely on native food. As it was we had a whole araba[1] loaded up with our belongings; there were the two tents for ourselves and the men, our camp-beds and sacks of clothes, and the cooking utensils. It all seemed a great deal now, and yet we were only taking necessaries. But then it had been so very hard to know what necessaries were; it is very hard to get disentangled from the forces of tradition. We had escaped now and would know better. Life was becoming extraordinarily easy, for we had left behind most things and forgotten all the injunctions and warnings of our friends. [1] A native cart. * * * * * But there was still Constantin in his European clothes and his aristocratic ideas and his broken French. * * * * * However, he does make delicious omelettes; we will forgive him for smuggling in that omelette-pan in defiance of our orders. * * * * * It is getting very dark; we could no longer see the hillocks, but we knew that they were there. We could hardly see the horses tethered beyond the fire, but we could hear them munching and stamping, and now and then one would neigh suddenly. Constantin lit a lantern and hung it on a stick; then he washed up the dishes. The other men sat on by the fire and we looked through the smoke at them. There was Calphopolos. Now Calphopolos was a Greek, and he was a mistake. We have said that Constantin was on the border-line of civilisation and reminded us of what we had left. But Calphopolos was right in it without really being of it--so that when he was about one forgot that there was anything to be said for civilisation and only remembered its drawbacks. His unbrushed black clothes contrasted painfully with the native dress, especially when seen through the smoke of a camp-fire. He always carried about a little black handbag, out of which his tooth-brush was constantly falling. But his worst offence was that he spoke a language which we understood, and jabbered French at us from morning to night. He was in the employment of well-meaning friends whom he accompanied when they made business excursions into the interior. They had sent him to start us comfortably on the way; his knowledge of the amenities of life was to pave the road leading away from civilised methods of living. Then there was Ibrahim, a long, lean Turk with a smiling face. He put up the tents and rode in attendance upon us, and haggled with the villagers over milk and eggs. They had told me earlier in the day that Ibrahim was troubled in his mind; "never before had a woman looked him straight in the face and shown him a watch." Two Eastern precepts had been violated, and I had been the unwitting offender. It was at Brusa, which we had left with such difficulty that morning. We had arranged the night before to start at 8 o'clock. But 8 came, and 8.30 came, and 9 came, and then the Zaptichs came who were to have come at 8 to escort us on the way; but there was no sign of our own retinue, of Constantin, of Ibrahim, of our own hired horses, of the arabas and muleteers with the baggage. The news of our departure had got about and the people of the hotel gradually collected at the door. "Where is your dragoman?" they said; "why do you not send for him?" We confessed to having engaged no dragoman. "No dragoman! that was very rash. We could speak the language, then?" No, we had only a Turkish dictionary. They gave us up then as hopeless. Another individual pushed his way up to us. "You will never get your men to start or do anything else," he said; "you do not realise what these Turks are." I recognised him as a professional dragoman offered to us by Cook the week before. But he was only telling us what everybody else out of the trade had been dinning into our ears ever since we planned the journey. I repaired to the inn where the men and horses had been collected the night before. In the open yard stood the araba, unpacked and horseless. Constantin sat on a roll of baggage near by, with a resigned expression and a settled look, as if he had been sitting there for hours. "Pas possible, mademoiselle," he said. Ibrahim stood in the stable door, smoking complacently, and our muleteers were squabbling violently over the roping of a box. It was at this moment that I stepped up to Ibrahim and showed him my watch. He looked at me with a startled expression, his jaw dropped, and he turned hastily on the muleteers. But it was not till later that I learnt how his inmost susceptibilities had been roused. One is at a decided disadvantage with no knowledge of a suitable language, but by dint of gesticulating with my riding-whip and pointing at everybody in turn, I managed, at the end of another half-hour, to get the araba and the men under way, and mounting my own horse rode behind them to the hotel. In another five minutes we had sallied out on our road. X and I rode ahead with Ibrahim and Calphopolos and the two Zaptiehs, then came the araba with our baggage and the muleteers, then Constantin with bulging saddle-bags suggesting the intrusion of various forbidden cooking utensils. Our road ran unshaded and dusty through the outskirts of Brusa, with Mount Olympus towering above us. Bit by bit we left behind the staring tourists, the staring native children, the unconcerned stall-keepers displaying their wares of Brusa silk and printed cottons from England; then we passed the country people riding in on mules with their vegetables and chickens; we passed the little cultivated patches and got amongst the larger fields, stretching away on each side of the road. "Tutun," said Ibrahim, pointing at them with his riding-whip. I looked at him inquiringly. He tapped his cigarette and pointed again at the field. "Tutun," he repeated. "Tobacco, you understand, mademoiselle, tobacco--such as he is now smoking." Calphopolos always would insist on explaining the obvious. The day got hotter and the road got dustier. At midday we skirted a willow plantation, and a stream gurgled through the damp green patch, inviting us to come in and rest. We crawled out of the sun under the low willow bushes, and the men tied the horses to the stronger branches. This first lunching place will always remain indelibly printed on my memory: the slices of brown bread thickly spread with solid cream; the watermelons and the grapes; the men grouped about amongst the willows, eating great hunches of bread and cheese; the horses breaking loose and straying about, browsing the finer herbage which sprang up through the dried and yellow tufts of older grass; the joy of being out of the sun and the dust; the cool sound of the water in the brook; the sense of rest and freedom, the sense of having really escaped at last.... On recalling this lunch with X, after many adventures had made it seem very remote, I found that she retained equally vivid recollections of it. I heard her murmur reflectively to herself, "And we thought it was always going to be like that!" Then we had reluctantly left it all, the unwilling horses were pulled and dragged away, snatching at last bites, and we rode off on the dusty road again, until we reached the village near which we had arranged to camp. We had ridden round and chosen this site in the middle of the mysterious hillocks, which shut us out so effectually from everything except the stars. We were destined to spend many more such nights in camp; but perhaps none can give you exactly the same thrill as the one on which for the first time you sleep out in the open. It is full of surprises; you expect it to be quiet, and you find the darkness and stillness is full of noise. Nothing escapes you: the breathing of men and animals, the crackling of the fire, the rustling of leaves and grass: there seems to be a continuous movement very close to you. You sit up many times expecting to see something in your tent; it all makes you very wakeful. You drop off into a disturbed sleep very late, and are awakened before sunrise by the stir in the camp. You are positive you have not slept all night and that strange people have been prowling round you in the dark. Yet as one lay in this semi-wakeful state of excitement and mystery, one's strongest impression was that of wanting protection merely against a few primitive forces; with the wild beasts we shared the dangers of cold and hunger and attacks from man. Slowly and painfully you have crawled out of the net in which you have all this time been unconsciously enveloped, and emerging stripped and bewildered grope about for what is actually going to serve and protect you in this primeval state of battling against the primitive forces of nature; a state, moreover, where protection against the dictates of an organised society is no longer needed. To those who are confronted with this problem for the first time, it is almost impossible to walk straight out of the net and have an impartial look round. Tradition still clings to us in little bits, and we grope hopelessly about, wondering what will be an essential and what will not. Looking back now on these first few days of preparation for our journey in the wilderness, I realise that by far the hardest part of the journey was this initial disentanglement from the forces of tradition. If you are about to alter fundamentally your method of living, you must take care that you are discarding all those accessories which are due to tradition; you must either adopt those evolved by the tradition of the races among which you are about to travel, or you must bring abstract science to bear on the question of how to provide for your immediate wants under the changed conditions. A bare tent in a country where weather is still an interesting topic is a safe place for such reflections; the realities of the situation make one strictly practical. On getting out of bed our clothes were damp with dew and the grass was cold to our bare feet; at the next town we bought the strip of carpet, the idea of which we had rejected at Constantinople. CHAPTER II BRIGANDAGE Brigandage. The capture of Miss Stone, ancient history as it now is, has served to give a vivid meaning to this word in the public mind. We were being continually asked if we wished to emulate Miss Stone. Travelling second-class through Bulgaria on our way to Constantinople our fellow-passengers, rough, good-natured farmers, joked about it; but they always added, "No, it will not happen to you." Then they would look at one another and laugh. The capture of Miss Stone did not seem to be looked upon seriously out there. Then there was the Embassy at Constantinople. They were horribly nervous about international complications. As a matter of fact capture for ransom is a decided danger in the neighbourhood of larger towns in Asiatic Turkey. Not that there are any professional brigands prowling about, but there is a certain class of native ready to become a brigand on the spur of the moment, should they get wind of suitable prey. They are not Turks--no Turk would be bothered; they are, as a rule, Greeks, and always Christians. It is as well, therefore, on any expedition, not to make very great preparations and talk too much of your line of route; but as quietly and expeditiously as possible to get hold of your horses and men and start off before news of your movements has been noised abroad. It was not at all in our favour that X bore a name well known to fortune hunters; one of her uncles was in the habit of big-game shooting in this district, and his means were fabulously exaggerated. Calphopolos had been sent with us partly because he could be so thoroughly trusted to take all precautions. He certainly earned his reputation; he seemed to have been born with the fear of brigands in his soul; mere conversation about them caused him to break out into a profuse perspiration. He had talked to us very seriously on leaving Constantinople, as we sat on the deck of the steamer which took us across the Sea of Marmora on our way to Brusa. "Pour l'amour de Dieu, mesdemoiselles, soyez secrètes; la secrécé, c'est tout." "La secrécé" became his by-word. If there was one thing he was more afraid of than anything else on earth it was X's surname. He implored her not to use it, but to call herself Miss Victoria. He had all our luggage labelled Miss Victoria; and if in casual conversation the dreaded name leaked out, beads of perspiration rolled down his face and he would glance nervously round to see who was within earshot. X was rather a reprobate on the subject. On our arrival at Madame Brot's well-known hotel at Brusa, from where we were making our final departure the next day, she marched up to Madame Brot and said, "I think you know my uncle"--mentioning him by name. Calphopolos, who was just behind, explaining that our name was Victoria pure and simple, turned green with horror. With bent back and staring eyes, shaking the same finger in warning which his subconscious self was trying to put on his lips, he endeavoured to attract X's attention from behind Madame Brot's broad back. But X went glibly on, quite oblivious of the panic she was creating. Calphopolos turned to me with the resigned expression of a man on whom death-sentence has been passed. "It is all over now," he said, "everybody in Brusa will know about us in half an hour. Mesdemoiselles, did I not implore you for the love of God to respect the secrecy? Ah, mon Dieu, mon Dieu, quelles demoiselles!" And then poor old Calphopolos, who was not without his sense of fun, laughed till the tears rolled down his cheeks. "The only thing left to do," he went on, when he had sufficiently recovered to speak again, "is to pretend we are going to Angora and put them off the scent. Mesdemoiselles, for the love of God please try and remember that it is Angora you are going to. Tell everybody you are going to Angora. The secrecy it is everything." It must be confessed it was very difficult at that time to feel seriously alarmed about brigandage, for we seemed to be moving in ordinary respectable society, and Calphopolos's treatment of the subject merely caused us to think of it as a joke. Still, we fully realised that it was a real risk, against which it would not do to neglect taking ordinary precautions; and this sense was heightened by the extreme alarm of the Vice-Consul at Brusa to whom we applied for the escort of Zaptiehs, without whom one is not permitted to travel in Turkey with any guarantee of safety. He could not understand why we would not drive through to Nicæa in a landau in one day, like the ordinary tourist; this, with a suitable escort, made the journey quite safe, and it is a common thing for travellers to do. But to ride there in three days with our camp, sleeping on the way, was another matter. Every extra hour spent loitering in any one district heightened the risk of being attacked by brigands. X tried to explain that it was for the sake of her health, which only made him more bewildered; surely a landau was more suitable for invalids! Finding us, however, unmoved by his arguments, he promised to send us two men the next morning and implored us never to leave their sides for a moment. He must have rubbed the same instructions well into the Zaptiehs, for during the seven days which they accompanied us as far as Mekidje on the Anatolian Railway, they never were more than a couple of yards away from us, day and night. This certainly detracted from the sense of freedom we were otherwise experiencing. It seemed at first as if we had only escaped from one form of bondage to fall into another. But the fact that the men were unable to speak any language we understood prevented it from becoming irksome, and one was soon able to become nearly oblivious of the clanking sword at one's elbow. Calphopolos, however, was not so easily ignored. He had a sort of feeling that we were always running away from him, and tried to check this pernicious tendency on our part by engaging us in constant conversation in his broken French. The more we edged our horses away from his side and tried to put a silent Zaptieh between him and ourselves, the more persistently would he pursue us, propounding some new problem which required an answer. Our behaviour on breaking camp that morning had probably given rise to his state of mind. We had ordained that the start should be made at eight o'clock; but the usual procrastinations had ensued and the men seemed totally unable to get off. Calphopolos kept packing and unpacking his little bag in search of the missing tooth-brush, and tried to keep us calm. "It is thus in this country, mademoiselle; have no anxiety--we shall go, we shall go." X and I agreed that there was only one way to go. We had our horses saddled and rode away, in spite of Calphopolos's prayers and entreaties to wait till the whole camp was packed. The Zaptiehs, after the orders they had received, were obliged to ride after us. This left Calphopolos and the muleteers without Government protection, which so filled them with terror that in a very few minutes they also were on the way. Calphopolos came tearing down the road after us, the tails of his long black coat flying out behind, the tooth-brush sticking out of his pocket, and the perspiration rolling down his cheeks. "Pour l'amour de Dieu!" he gasped as he caught us up, "pour l'amour de Dieu!" and then he had so much to say that he couldn't say it and relapsed into laughter and ejaculations of "Mais quelles demoiselles, mon Dieu, quelles demoiselles!" The second day our road lay across the great Jenishehr plain. Herds of buffaloes strayed about on the wilder parts, and here and there fields of corn and tobacco, suddenly springing up beside the stretches of rough grass, signalled the approach to an occasional village. Here also it was very difficult to think of brigands; the harmless look of peaceful cultivators did not suggest them. Besides which the country was so open that you could not be suddenly pounced upon; you would have ample opportunity of considering evil-doers as they approached you across the wide plain. We encamped that evening near the small village of Jenishehr. The excitement of the novelty had worn off and we had had a long day in the open air. In consequence of this I had fallen into a profound sleep at once on going to bed. Suddenly I was awakened by a noise in the tent, and looking up distinctly saw the figure of a man coming cautiously through the tent door. In one moment I had hold of my revolver, kept loaded at the head of my bed, and had it levelled at him, wondering when the psychological moment for pulling the trigger would occur and whether I should manage to live up to its requirements. "Pour l'amour de Dieu, mademoiselle! pour l'amour de Dieu!" came in a terror-stricken voice. I put down the weapon rather crossly. "What do you want?" I said. "Quels sont vos noms," stuttered out Calphopolos in great agitation. "What on earth do you mean?" I said; "you know our names well enough." "Pour l'amour de Dieu, quels sont vos noms," he repeated. "X," I called out, "wake up and tell me what is the matter with Calphopolos--I think his head has been turned by this fright about your name; he is going about jibbering over it." X had a soothing influence on Calphopolos, and gradually extracted from him that the local Zaptieh had come up for our _tezkerehs_ and wanted to know our names. His agitation over the revolver had been so great that he had been unable to explain articulately that it was our _tezkerehs_ that he had come for. The next day the whole character of the country changed. The plain gradually oozed away into a more tumbled country and cultivation disappeared. We were about to cross the range of hills which shut out our view to the north. The Zaptiehs were very much on the alert here; they unslung their rifles from behind and rode with them across their knees. We were told to keep close together and ride quietly without talking. The mountains closed in on either side; they were bare, rounded hills for the most part, with stunted shrubs on the lower slopes, which one soon learnt to regard purely as cover for a possible enemy. There was no difficulty about realising possible dangers here; the broad road slowly narrowed, and at every turn in the winding path one almost expected to be confronted by a villain. At the snap of a twig or the rustle of a leaf our Zaptiehs grasped their rifles tighter, and without turning their heads moved their eyes in that direction. Once, on the wider road we had left, a cloud of dust had arisen in the distance, and a long line of camels laden with wood filed slowly past us in twos and threes. Our men exchanged a few monosyllabic words with the drivers, and in another minute or two the tinkling of the bells and the tramp of feet had subsided, the dust settled once more, and we were alone again with the silent hills and the crackling twigs, and wound our way in and out in single file across the rounded hillocks. Here and there the sight of a herd of sheep or goats, tended by peaceful looking natives, relieved the tension caused by our escort's precautions, for it is always difficult to associate danger with such rural scenes. At last there was a break in front; we were through the pass and began to descend. Calphopolos had been silent all this time; his conversational powers seem to have suffered a severe check. Now he brightened up, mopped his forehead, and murmured, "Grâce à Dieu nous voilà." Half way down the hillside, perched on a projecting ledge just off the road, stood a lonely coffee-house. The Zaptiehs, pointing at it with their whips, hailed it with delight. They slid off their horses, and holding ours, helped us to dismount. We sat in the porch and sipped thick, hot Turkish coffee; below us the lake Ascanius lay like a blue sheet between the purple hills, its eastern end fringed round with a band of green, in which the minarets and domes of Isnik itself were just visible. All around us the stunted shrubs still formed harbour for the suspected brigands. Our Zaptiehs lay stretched on the ground in front, apparently asleep; but their rifles were never laid aside, and the least stir in the bushes made us realise their state of alert watchfulness. But not a living creature showed itself, and we rode on down and down the curving incline until we reached the green band of vegetation and our horses trod softly through grassy slopes of olive plantations, whose grey leaves shone like silver as the sun's low rays beat through them. Past the olive plantations lay a stretch of low-lying reedy marsh. "You shall have a good supper to-night," said Ibrahim; and throwing his reins to a Zaptieh he plunged in on foot. He shot two snipe, and joined us again as we reached the outskirts of the town. The old city of Nicæa is now represented by a collection of a few hundred miserable houses forming the village of Isnik. But, as everywhere in the ancient towns of Asiatic Turkey, one is confronted at every point with tokens of former splendour. Four great gates in the old Roman walls give access to the town. Courses of brickwork are built in between the large stones of which the bulk of the walls consists; here and there semicircular towers rise up, their ruins still surmounting the ruins of the wall. One, more perfect than the rest, is said to mark the site of the church in which the Nicene Creed was framed. We fixed on a spot for the camp just inside the walls and outside the present town, where a green field, which merged into a cemetery, lay in the curve of a shallow brook. The pots and pans were speedily tumbled out of Constantin's saddle-bags and Ibrahim had our tents up with European alacrity; but it was dark before the smell of roasted snipe pervaded the night air. We ate our supper by the light of a lantern hung on a forked stick. The fear of brigands departed and the sleep of the just fell upon the camp. Owls hooted in the green-covered walls of ruined Nicæa, and away in the distance the still mountains kept guard over the dark waters of the lake as they lapped mournfully on the ruins of Roman baths on its stony shore. The Zaptieh on guard poked fresh sticks into the dying fire and sighed heavily between the snores of his companions. In and out amongst the upright white stones of the cemetery a jackal prowled stealthily and sniffed the smell of snipe bones. CHAPTER III SOCIAL INTERCOURSE One tree stood out in the middle of the field in which we were encamped. We spread our carpet under it and laid ourselves out for a lazy day. There were letters to write home and plans to make about the journey ahead. It was impossible to do such things comfortably after a day's ride and with the feeling of transitoriness engendered by a short night in camp. So we had decided to spend this Sunday at Isnik. Constantin got out all his pots and pans to give them an extra cleaning, and promised us a vast meal. He complained that he had never had time to show us what he could do. Animals and men alike were pervaded with that sense of rest which is in the air on a hot Sunday morning. The horses, after rolling on their backs, stretched themselves out motionless on their sides; the arabajis dozed in the araba. Calphopolos retired inside the men's tent, prepared to make up for the loss of sleep occasioned by anxious nights. We got out our books and papers and thought about all we should get through that day. We were encamped within the old walls of Nicæa, and from where we sat were in full view of the outskirts of the present town. By and by some native women sallied out in our direction and, skirting the camp, peeped cautiously round our tents; then getting bolder they sidled towards us, smiling propitiatingly. We felt peacefully disposed towards the whole world and smiled back at them. Thus encouraged they advanced nearer and felt the substance of our clothes and examined our hats. Finally, not finding themselves repulsed, they fingered our hair and stroked our hands. X hunted in her vocabulary for suitable remarks and delivered them at intervals. Meanwhile other women straggled out from the town, and, finding their sisters already so much at home, they also satisfied themselves as to the consistency of our clothes and skin. The earlier arrivals now established themselves on the ground around us, jabbering away amongst themselves and occasionally addressing a single word to us, which they repeated again and again, pointing at each of us in turn. X looked it up, and came to the conclusion that it meant "sister." So we shook our heads and looked up the word for "friend." The effect was magical; we had established social intercourse. More and more women arrived and joined the throng settled round us, all new-comers being initiated into the already acquired knowledge concerning us. Soon everybody had a word they wanted looked out in the dictionary, until X became fairly exhausted. We tried "goodbye" and "no more" with disappointing effect, and finally let them sit there gazing at us while we went on with our writing, keeping a sharp look-out on our hats, which every one was anxious to try on. It seemed to please them just as much to look at us as to talk to us, and they sat on in placid content. By and by Ibrahim hurried up and spoke to the women; they all darted to their feet and fled. We looked at Ibrahim inquiringly. He pointed in the direction of the town, and we saw two men arriving at a slow and dignified pace. Constantin appeared on the scene. "Gouverneur," he said, "faire visite." X and I hastily donned our hats and sent for a seat for the "gouverneur." But Ibrahim could only find a saddle-bag. X turned over the leaves of the vocabulary in the hopes of finding suitable greetings. We bowed and scraped mutually, and X delivered herself of the first greeting. "We are very pleased." The "gouverneur" bowed and made, no doubt, what was a suitable response; but as we could only attack single words we were no wiser. There was a pause while X collected the words for another. "Beautiful country," she attempted. The "gouverneur" bowed very gravely. "I hope I have said that," said X nervously, "he looks rather shocked." At that moment Constantin appeared with coffee and cigarettes, which gave us time to recover. "I should not bother to talk to him," I said. "That is the best of these people--they understand how to sit happily in silence, just looking at you." But X determined to make another try; it was good practice. "Health good?" she said. The "gouverneur" turned to his companion and said a few words in Turkish. The young man looked rather terrified, and began to speak to us in what sounded like gibberish. Constantin came to take the cups away. "Parle français," he said, pointing to the young man. We strained our ears to try and catch an intelligible word, but could only shake our heads. So we all took refuge in silence and looked at one another. There was no sense of _gêne_. The Turk and his companion seemed as content to sit and look at us as the women had been. When he had finished his cigarette he rose, and, bowing once more in Turkish fashion, took his leave. * * * * * We picked up our papers once more, then Constantin came and said lunch was ready. We sat on saddle-bags outside the tent and ate chunks of mutton and onions out of the tin bowl keeping hot on the charcoal brazier at our side. Ibrahim filled our cups with water from the brook, and the grass tickled our hands each time we lifted them from the ground. The pots and pans lay about all around, and Constantin, squatting in the middle of them, brought the coffee to the boil three times in the little Turkish pot. "Sheker, effendi?" he called out, "un, deux?" as he ladled in the sugar. Constantin's language was always of a hybrid nature, consisting of alternate words of French and Turkish. Then we had returned to the carpet under the tree and sipped the thick, hot coffee out of the little Turkish cups, and sent thoughtful rings of smoke up into the branches of the tree above. And with the rings of smoke went up thoughts of the coffee they were drinking now in the drawing-rooms; the little cups there would have handles, and each one would help himself to sugar off a little tray. * * * * * "I guess you find it slow here!" An American tourist couple from Brusa stood over us. They had seen us off at Madame Brot's hotel, and had then announced their intention of driving to Nicæa in a landau. "We thought we would just look you up and see if you had got here all right, but we cannot stop a minute; we've only had an hour to see the walls, they were so long getting lunch." "You ought to see the tower on the site of the church where they discussed the Nicene Creed," said X. "The Nicene Creed--eh, what?" said the American, as he consulted his guide-book. "Say, we just ought to have a look at that," he said to his wife. "We shall miss the _Augusta Victoria_ if you do," said the lady. Then she turned to us. "We go on to Smyrna in it to-morrow morning," she explained, "so we must get back to-night." The landau appeared at that moment; time was up. Smyrna, Beyrout, Damascus, Jerusalem, Cairo, and Luxor had to be got in during the allotted time, and there had been no provision made for the Nicene Creed. So in they got and dashed away over the plain. They had come as a whirlwind over from the West, sweeping the surface of this Eastern land and catching up the loose fragments on it; but its traditions were too deeply rooted to be caught in the blast; these had merely bent their heads and let the blast pass by. Strong as it is, it cannot unloose the sway of ancient customs. Even for Americans the East will not move. The natives gazed at the landau, hardly wondering at it; then they forgot it. But we did not forget it so easily. For us an odour of the West was left hanging over the plain--and above all, our sense of time had been offended. A French engineer with his wife and family were the next to appear on the scene. They were the only Europeans living in the place, and rejoiced over the sound of their mother-tongue. The man poured out volumes of it, and was interesting about his work up to the point when we became fatigued. "Ah! mademoiselle, what it is to be in civilised company again! We live here from day to day and year after year, and have no one to speak with, no one with whom to exchange ideas. C'est comme la mort." "Do you not see anything of the natives?" we inquired. "They seem very friendly, and you can speak Turkish." "Ah! mademoiselle, what can one do with such people? how can one associate with them? They are canaille, mere canaille." "We were talking to some of them," we said, "and thought them very intelligent." He held up his hands in horror. "But, mademoiselle, do you not understand? Certainly there are the Christian races, but for the most part, ce sont des Turques, des infidèles, des chiens. There is Marie there, pauvre Marie! it is bad enough for me, but then I have my work; but Marie, the pauvre Marie, she dies of ennui, she can speak to no one but me and the children." The pauvre Marie seemed indeed to have lost the power of speech; she sat silently as her husband poured out his contempt of the canaille. We had found the Greek women very entertaining in the morning, and they too had sat and looked at us in silence. But they had not been ashamed of their silence; Marie was, and felt awkward; so we all felt uncomfortable, and tried to talk to her. One felt then how little actual language had to do with social intercourse. We could not get into touch with Marie, whose language we understood, in the same way that we had got into touch with the native women, whose language we did not understand. They sat on and on; it was not until the sun began to send out long warning shoots of colour, heralding its disappearance behind the purple mountains, that they rose to go. And we, worn out with this final effort in sociability, gave ourselves up to the quiet of the deserted camp, and watched the shades of night creep once more over the ruined walls and the distant hills, over the houses of the French engineer and the canaille. CHAPTER IV THE DAWN OF THE BAGHDAD RAILWAY I There is something very weird and uncanny in the terminus of a railway in the middle of a wild and desolate country such as this. The Monster runs his iron fangs into the heart of its desolation and shoots you into it like a ball out of a cannon's mouth. Roaring and hissing and sending out jets of flame, he comes racing through the darkness to a certain definite spot; here he discharges you in the blackness of night and subsides. Next morning when you awake he is gone, and you are left to shift for yourself as best you can. But there is a certain human friendliness about this Monster while you are travelling with him. He seems to draw all the signs of life out of an apparently dead country and collect them at the stations for you to see. Great warehouses filled with sacks of corn testify to the productiveness of a country which, judging it from the train window after harvest time, one would dismiss as mere barren soil; an occasional MacCormick's "Daisy" reaper awaiting delivery on a side platform, native carts hanging about, and truck-loads of empty sacks tell the same tale. Groups of peasants, idly gossiping, gathered together by the whistle which heralds the Monster's approach, belie the impression of an uninhabited land; for Turkish villages are carefully designed so as not to attract attention. When one's eye gets more familiar with the seemingly uniform colour of the landscape, varied only by light and shade, one becomes aware of the low, flat-topped, mud-brick houses, which, even at close quarters, often seem but part of the natural rock. Even the unchanging East is powerless once the Monster's fangs have taken hold; he alone of all influences comes to stay and leave his mark. Slowly, perhaps, but very surely, he undermines with irresistible persistence the customs and habits which from time immemorial have held their own against the religious, educational, or military forces of stronger nations. This particular spot has long been the battlefield of the East and the West; now one, now the other, has had temporary ascendance; in the long run the East has always conquered. But already we can see what a power the East has to reckon with in the railway. For one thing it attacks the Eastern in one of his vital points--his conception of Time. Time waited for him when he had but camels to load; but the railway will not wait for him; the Monster screeches and is off. Sunrise or two hours after sunrise is not one and the same thing to him. Relentless as day and night he comes and goes, and there is no cheating him as the Eastern cheats Time. But the railway is cheating the East out of its time-worn customs and ideas, and there is a certain sadness in the evidences of transition. All down the line picturesque native costumes are being replaced by ugly European clothes. The men wear terrible fancy trouserings from Manchester; the women spend more money on dress--and unfortunately it is European dress--and less on the old-fashioned wedding feasts. The turnover of the shops in the larger towns has increased fourfold in the last ten years. The bazaars are now a medley of stalls exhibiting native manufactures side by side with cheap trinkets from England and loud flannelettes from Italy. The price of wheat has doubled; and with that of wheat the prices of other exports have also risen. Opium, wool, mohair, hides, and salt are amongst the products of these great plains. Two short days' ride from Nicæa had brought us to Mekidje, a station on the Anatolian Railway half-way between Haida Pasha and Eskishehr. The single line went as far as Konia, and one train ran each way every day. It stopped for the right at Eskishehr, continuing the journey next morning. We arrived at the station some hours before the train was due, and sat in the stationmaster's strip of garden, for there did not seem anything else to do. We said goodbye to the Zaptiehs and to the muleteers who were returning to Brusa, and watched them slowly disappear down the road we had come. Then we heard the low, familiar tinkle of camel bells and a score or more of laden animals paced slowly into the open ground round the station. They have a more discreet and tuneful way of announcing their arrival than the Monster, and when they appear on the scene they do so in a more dignified, calmer manner. Having arrived also, they do not look as if they were off again the next minute; they look as if they had come to stay for ever, and they give you time to think. One by one, in answer to a word of command, they knelt down in the dust, and the great baskets holding the goods were unfastened and rolled about on the ground. Their owners seemed too slack to do any more. They let them lie there while they looked at the sun. The Monster is slowly replacing these carriers of the East; but their day is not yet done by a long way, for they must feed him from the interior. His life is still dependent on the life of those he is working to destroy. * * * * * At last we heard his distant shriek. Down upon us he came, dashing up all in a minute, in such a splutter and such a hurry, waking us all up. Officials rushed up and down the platform, and swore at the natives who were loading our baggage. Everybody talked at once to everybody else, and the Monster hissed impatiently, noisy even when he was standing still. There were not many passengers; in a first-class carriage a Pasha travelled in solitary state; all his harem were delegated to a second-class carriage, where the blinds were pulled down. In the third-class were a few natives, who leaned out of the windows and gossiped with the camel owners, idle witnesses of the busy scene. But the Monster is getting impatient; he hisses furiously and finally gives a warning shriek. Then off he goes, and we take a last look at the kneeling camels, munching away as unconcernedly as if their destroyer had never invaded their peaceful country. Mekidje is practically at sea-level; Eskishehr is a tableland two thousand feet high; we had therefore a steady rise on the whole journey up the valley formed by the Kara Su, a river which has its source in the neighbourhood of Eskishehr. On each side rounded hills shut out the horizon, save where here and there a tributary valley would reveal, through steep-sided gorges, a distant view of purple ridges with snow-clad tops. It was night when we arrived at Eskishehr, and we groped our way to the Grand Hôtel d'Anatolie, kept by Greeks. It was at this hotel that we first met Hassan, who was destined to play such a large part in our future travels. He was an Albanian Turk, and had been introduced to us by our friends in Constantinople, whom he accompanied on their shooting expeditions in this district. They had written to ask him to look after us during our brief stay at Eskishehr. Ibrahim brought him into our room, and there he stood silently, after salaaming us in the usual way. Ibrahim was a tall man, but Hassan towered above him. He wore a huge sheepskin coat, which added to his massive, impressive look. X looked up words in her Turkish book. "They told us you would look after us here?" she said. "As my eyes," he answered very quietly and simply. And thus began one of those friendships on which neither time nor distance can leave its mark. Two days later X asked him whether he would accompany us on the next stage of our journey, across the Anatolian Plateau and the Taurus Mountains to Mersina. "Will you come with us and guard us well?" she said. He dropped on one knee and kissed her hand. "On my head be it," he said. * * * * * Eskishehr, before the days of the railway, was a purely Turkish town; it displayed the usual chaos of mud-brick and wooden houses, with their lower windows carefully latticed over for the concealment of the women; of narrow, winding bazaars, here a display of brightly coloured clothes and rugs, there a noisy street of smithies and carpenters' shops; and rising above it all the minarets of half a dozen mosques. But the railway's mark is on it to-day. The population has been increased by some five thousand Tartars and Armenians, whose houses, planted together near the line, have a neat, modern, shoddy look, contrasting with the picturesque squalor of the ancient Turkish town. The railway is slowly attacking the stronghold of the Turkish peasant, extending his operations on the wasted stretches of cultivable land, and slowly opening out dim vistas of prosperity athwart his present apathy. In the same way the railway is slowly affecting the town merchant. But one shudders here at the effect of prosperity unaccompanied by civilising influences. For in the rich merchant of the town you have the Turk at his worst. The simple, hospitable Turkish peasant is made of good stuff; the Turkish soldier of rank and file, if his fanatical tendencies are not encouraged, is equally good; the official Turk is corrupt, but only because the particular method of administering his country's laws obliges him to be so; the educated Turk of Constantinople is rapidly becoming a civilised being. But the rich middle-class Turk of towns has nothing to be said for him. The Christians have taught him to drink, and he is rich enough to keep a large harem. We had an introduction to one such person in Eskishehr. The polished Turkish phraseology of welcome could not conceal the coarseness and vulgarity of his mind, and we were glad to escape to the sacred inner chambers, where a very young and pretty woman sat in lonely state, the latest addition to his harem. There she sat, draped in the softest silks of gorgeous colourings, surrounded with all the evidences of luxury and comfort, as sulky as a little bear. We were accompanied by a Greek lady, who talked French and Turkish and acted as our interpreter; but never a smile or more than a word could be drawn out of the cross little thing. She simply stared in front of her with an expression of acute boredom in her beautiful eyes. A good-natured, elderly serving-woman, who stood at the door, explained matters. She had been very much pampered at home, and she had had a good time; she saw all her young friends at the baths, the social resort for Turkish ladies. The rich merchant had been considered a great _parti_; but already she had had enough of it. She never went out except for an occasional drive in a closed carriage. She was tired of embroidery work, she was tired of eating sweets, she was tired of smoking, she was tired of her fine dresses. _"Aman_, but it would come all right--and the serving-woman winked and nodded, and stroked her mistress's listless hand. "Is it always like this?" we asked the Greek lady. "Ah, mon Dieu! not at all! This man is very jealous, and she may not see her friends. He heaps on her what money can buy and thinks that is enough. But with the poor it is different. You will see. There is a wedding to-day in a poor family. I will arrange for you to go. Mon Dieu! no, it is not always thus. La pauvre petite." The room in which we sat was draped in the usual Turkish manner with magnificent curtains in rich Eastern colourings. Round three walls ran low divans covered in the same way. There was not such a room in Eskishehr we were told. Had the decorations stopped there, and we had been able to forget the unfortunate prisoner, the general effect would have been decidedly pleasing. But as we sat there our eyes were kept glued, by some horrible attraction, on the glitter of a cheap gilt frame of the gaudiest description, containing a crude coloured print of the German Emperor; below this stood a gimcracky little table covered with a cheap tinselled cloth, on which was placed a glass and silver cake-basket in the vilest of European taste. It hit one terribly in the eye. It was a jarring note in the Monster's work. * * * * * We took leave of the sulky little lady, and left her once more to her sweets and her embroideries in the long, weary hours of lonely splendour. We had only seen the second act of this bit of Turkish drama; when the curtain went down for us we had had enough of it. But we were about to see Act I. in different surroundings. The Greek lady kept her word, and in due course we found ourselves ushered into the house of the bridegroom. The preliminary ceremonies had already begun--in fact they had been going on all day. There sat the bride at the end of a room which had been cleared of everything except the low stool which she occupied alone. She was a lumpy looking girl of seventeen or so, and sat there motionless with downcast eyes. On the floor sat dozens of women, packed as tight as the room could hold. The bride might neither look up nor speak, which seemed hard, for every woman in the room was both looking at her and speaking about her; the hubbub was terrible. She rose as we entered and kissed our hands; this much is apparently allowed on the arrival of strangers. The Greek lady explained that she was obliged to stand until we asked her to sit down again, and that she might not look at us. This was a good deal to ask on such an occasion; European ladies are not, as a rule, guests at the wedding of the Turkish poor, and we caught one or two surreptitious peeps from under her long eyelashes. We joined the throng on the floor and continued to gaze at her as every one else did. Marriage customs in general, and her own affairs in particular, were discussed for our benefit, the Greek lady interpreting in torrents of voluble French. "She may not speak to her husband for forty-eight hours. When he comes in he will lift the veil and see his bride for the first time. Then he puts a girdle round her waist and it is finished. His mother chose her for him. If he does not like her, no matter, he can choose another, for he is getting good wages, and can afford to keep two." By and by a large tray was brought in, piled up with rounds of native bread and plates of chicken. It was placed on a low stool in the centre of us all, and, following everybody's example, we grabbed alternate bits of chicken and bread. Then followed hunches of cake made of nuts and honey. We were still eating when we heard a noise of singing and musical instruments outside; it became louder and louder, and finally stopped by the house. "They are singing 'Behold the bridegroom cometh,'" said the Greek lady; "the man is being brought in a procession of all his friends." The food was hastily removed, and all the guests were marshalled into an adjoining room, which already seemed as full as it could hold of babies and children and old hags, who presumably had been left to look after the younger ones. We were allowed to remain while the finishing touches were put on the bride. Her face was first plastered all over with little ornaments cut out of silver paper and stuck on with white of egg; then she was covered over entirely with a large violet veil. And so we left her sitting there, sheepish and placid in the extreme, in strange contrast to the voluble Greek lady and the excited friends. We met the bridegroom in the passage. He kissed his father, and stood first on one foot and then on the other. His mother took him by the shoulders, opened the door of the room we had just left, and shoved him in. Let us hope that the silver ornaments did their work and made his bride pleasing in his sight when he lifted the violet veil. What she thought of him need not concern us any more than it did her or her friends, for such thoughts may not enter the minds of Turkish brides. The show was over. The curtain of the first act had gone down for us. It gave promise of a more successful drama than the one we had previously witnessed. * * * * * It is 267 miles or thereabouts from Eskishehr to Konia. It took us a good fifteen hours by rail. We were now on the summit of the tableland; the bounded river valley gradually gave way to long stretches where signs of cultivation were more apparent. We were getting into the great wheat-growing district, which the railway is causing to extend year by year. At Karahissar, a town of 33,000 inhabitants, a gigantic rock with straight sides and castellated top rises abruptly out of the plain, and from here another corn-growing valley merges into the great plain stretching away to the north. Mount Olympus, whose base we had skirted on leaving Brusa, could be very dimly discerned on the sky-line. Then darkness set in, and the Monster ran steadily on with us into the unknown. Towards eight o'clock there was a sudden stop; it had come to the end of its tether. We had left Calphopolos and Ibrahim at Eskishehr, and now only Constantin remained as a link with civilisation. Hassan had appeared at the station at Eskishehr, prepared to accompany us round the world if need be. He wore a brown suit of Turkish trousers and zouave under his sheepskin cloak. His pockets bulged rather, so did the wide leather belt which he used as a pocket, otherwise his worldly goods were contained tied up in a white pocket-handkerchief. And so we arrived at Konia. Behind us was the railway, leading back to the things we knew, to the things we should hope to see again; before us was the plain, leading us to strange new things, things we should, perhaps, just see once and leave behind for ever. The iron Monster had dumped us down and was no further concerned with us; if we would go further it must be by taking thought for ourselves. There were horses and arabas to hire, there were provisions to lay in, there was the escort of Zaptiehs to be procured and the goodwill of the authorities to be obtained. We had letters of introduction to Ferid Pasha, then Vali of the Konia vilayet and since Grand Vizier of Constantinople. He was not as other Valis; he was called the great and the good, and had established law and order in his province. There need be no fear of brigandage while we were within the boundaries of his jurisdiction. The Government building, the Konak, occupied one side of the square in which stood our hotel, and we sent Hassan across to pay our respects. But Ferid Pasha was away, which caused us great disappointment; we could only see his Vekil, the acting Governor. Taking Hassan and Constantin with us, we went up the long flight of steps and down a corridor leading to the Vali's room. Peasants and ragged soldiers hung about the passage, and black-coated Jewish-looking men hurried in and out. A soldier showed us the way, holding back the curtains which concealed the entrance to various rooms, and from behind which the mysterious looking Jews were continually creeping. The Vekil sat at a table covered over with official documents; a divan, higher and harder than those we had seen in private houses, ran round two walls, on which squatted several secretaries, holding the paper on which they wrote on the palms of their left hands. Beside the Vekil sat an old Dervish priest, and next him the Muavin, the Christian official appointed after the massacres to inform Valis of the wishes of Christians, and better known amongst those who know him as "Evet Effendi" (Yes, Effendi). * * * * * X was getting fluent in matters of Turkish greeting; she now reeled off a suitable string in reply to theirs. Hassan stood beside us, grave and dignified, and we noticed that all the men greeted him very courteously. X then endeavoured to explain our desire to travel to Mersina and requested the services of a suitable escort. Owing to limitations in her knowledge of the Turkish vocabulary, the nearest she could get to it was that the Consul at Mersina loved us dearly and wished us to come to him. Matters were getting to a deadlock; the officials appeared to be asking us what was the object of our journey, and we could only insist on the intense love of our English Consul. Suddenly another visitor was ushered in, and for the first time since leaving Nicæa the strange sound of the English tongue fell upon our ears. The newcomer was Dr. Nakashian, an Armenian doctor living in Konia. He at once acted as interpreter. Officialdom for once put no obstacles in the way, and an escort was promised us for the journey. The Vekil inquired whether we should like to see the sights of Konia; and on our replying in the affirmative, he arranged that we should be taken round that afternoon; Dr. Nakashian also promised to accompany us. Accordingly we sallied out later on horseback with Hassan. Dr. Nakashian was mounted on a splendid Arab mare. The Government Protection, in the shape of two Zaptiehs and a captain, followed in a close carriage. We started off very decorously, but the Arab mare became excited and plunged and galloped down the street; our horses caught the infection, and we followed hard; the Government Protection put its head out of each window and shouted; the driver lashed his jaded horse, and the rickety carriage lurched after us in a cloud of dust. The natives lining the streets shouted encouragingly; finally we landed at the Dervish mosque. Dervishes are strong in Konia. Their founder is buried here, and his tomb is an object of pilgrimage. The chief feature of the mosque is its wonderful polished floor, where the dancing ceremonies take place. At Konia, perhaps more than at Eskishehr, one is struck with the railway's influence in the passing order of things. There are many fine buildings in the last stages of decay in this ancient city of the Seljuk Turks; the palace, with its one remaining tower, the fragments of the old Seljuk walls found here and there in the middle of the modern town, the mosques lined with faïence, beautiful even in its fragments. Contrast with this the squalor and the dirt of the present Turkish streets, the earth and wood houses, enclosed in walls of earth, the apathetic natives, and the general feeling of stagnation and decay. [Illustration: A WELL IN THE KONIA PLAINS.] Then, outside the town, the railway appears; modern European houses spring up round it--offices for the Company and an hotel. A whiff of stir and bustle brought in along with the iron fangs of the Monster brings a sense of fresh life to these people, whose existence seemed one long decay of better things, like that of the ruins amongst which they spend their days. And everywhere there was a whisper of yet closer touch with civilisation. The Anatolian Railway stops at Konia, but its continuation under the name of the Baghdad Railway was everywhere in the air.[2] No one spoke openly about it; its coming seemed enveloped in such a shroud of mystery that one felt there was a sort of halo around its birth. At first one mentioned it baldly by name; and at once the official would put on his most discreet and impressive manner and refer to the will of Allah; the merchant would nod mysteriously and then wink with evident satisfaction. "It comes! oh yes, it comes! but it is better not to talk of it yet." And the Zaptieh would sigh heavily, thinking of his unpaid wages, and say, "Please God, it comes," and then look hastily round to see who had overheard him. [2] The Baghdad Railway is now running as far as Bulgurlu, a point some seven miles beyond Eregli. And so at last we also learnt to speak of the Coming of the Monster with bated breath and lowered tones, and were duly infected with the impressiveness of his arrival--the arrival of the Being whose touch was to bring new life into this dead land. II It was on the morning of the third day after our arrival at Konia that we made the plunge into the great plain from the spot where the Monster had left us. We collected in the square in front of the Konak. There were two covered arabas to convey the baggage, and in one of these Constantin and Hassan also rode; X and I rode horses, and had saddle-bags slung under our saddles. Our escort consisted of three Zaptiehs, a Lieutenant, Rejeb, and an ancient Sergeant, Mustapha. The head of the police accompanied us a few miles out of the town. Slowly, riding at a foot's pace, we left it all behind, the squalid streets, the modern houses, the scraggy little trees; the lumpy road became a deeply rutted track bordering stubble fields; lumbering carts passed us, squeaking terribly as the wheels lurched out of the ruts to make way for us. The track became an ill-defined path, along which heavily laden pack-animals slowly toiled, raising clouds of dust. Turning in our saddles, all we could see of Konia was the minarets of its mosques standing above a confused blur on the horizon line. There is a strange fascination in watching the slow disappearance of any object on the horizon, when that horizon is visible at every point round you. The exact moment never comes when you can state the actual disappearance of the object. You think it is still there, and then you slowly realise that it is not. And when you have realised this, you turn round again in the saddle once for all, and set your face steadily towards the horizon in front of you, which for so many hours on end has nothing to show and nothing to tell you, and yet whose very emptiness is so full of secret possibilities and hidden wonder. * * * * * We had got beyond the point where one met others on the road; we had now become our own world, a self-contained planet travelling with the sun through space. When he disappeared over the horizon line we pitched our camp and waited for his reappearance on the opposite side. At the first glimmer announcing his arrival the tents were hauled down, the arabas loaded up, and by the time his face peeped over the line we were in our saddles, ready once more to follow him to his journey's end. It is a great half-desert plain, this part of Anatolia; desert only where it is waterless, and very fertile where irrigation is possible. In places it seemed to form one huge grazing ground; now it would be herds of black cattle munching its coarse, dried-up herbage; now flocks of mohair goats, now sheep, herded by boys in white sheepskin coats, tended by yellow dogs. Then we knew that a village would be somewhere about, although we did not always see it; for here too the villages are the colour of the surrounding country and perhaps only visible in very clear sunlight. Or it might be that we would ride slowly through a cluster of mud huts, and the yellow dogs would rush out and bark furiously at us, while the men and children stared silently, too listless even to wonder. At times we would stop in a village for our midday meal, sitting in the shade of its yellow mud walls. The Zaptiehs would stand round us and keep off the dogs until some of the village men would appear and call them away with a half-scared look--for the Zaptieh is the tax-collector, and they suffer from extortion at his hands. We visited the women in their houses, and found them always interested and friendly. Turkish was becoming more intelligible to us, and the conversation usually took the same form:-- "Who is your father?" "He is a Pasha in a far country." "Where are your husbands?" "We have no husbands." "How is that?" "In our country the women are better than the men, and the men are afraid of us." Then our clothes are fingered all over and the cost of everything on us is asked. We rise to go, and they hang on to us and implore us to come again. But the sun has already begun to dip on his downward course, and we must hurry after him. Then would follow hours when no attempt at cultivation, or sign of herds and flocks, would be visible, and the desert country was only relieved by wonderful effects of mirage, in which we would chase elusive pictures of mountains and lakes and streams. One had time to take it all in: the wonderful exhilarating air, the silent stretches, the long, monotonous days of the shepherd boys, marked only by the gathering in of their flocks at night. How will it be when the Monster comes, roaring and snorting through these silent plains, polluting this clear air with his dust and smoke? At first these haughty, resentful shepherds will stand aloof from the invasion, the yellow dogs will bark in vain at the intrusion. Then slowly its daily appearance will come to them as the sun comes in the morning and the stars at night. Unconsciously it also will become a part of the routine of their lives. They will not cease to look at it with wonder, for they have never wondered. They will accept it, as they accept everything else. But use it? That is a different tale. It will be a long fight; but the Monster has always conquered in the end. * * * * * On the third day we rode into Karaman. A medieval castle crowns the town, and is visible at some little distance across the plain. The old sergeant, Mustapha, startled us by suddenly greeting it from afar:-- "Ah, Karaman, you beautiful Karaman, city of peace and plenty. Ah, Karaman, beloved Karaman!" And the Zaptiehs, taking up the refrain, made the silent plains ring with "Karaman! beautiful Karaman!" * * * * * We pitched our tents on a grass plot in the centre of the town. Constantin began preparing the evening meal, and the natives hung round in groups staring at us, or bringing in supplies of fuel and milk and eggs. A seedy-looking European pushed his way up to our tent and began storming at us in French. "But it is impossible for you to camp here--it is not allowable; you must come at once to my house. There is nothing to say." X and I tried to rouse our bewildered minds out of the Eastern sense of repose into which they had sunk through all these days. We concluded that Karaman must possess an urban district council, and that we were breaking some law of the town. We pressed for further enlightenment. "But do you not see all these people looking at you? It is not for you to camp here. My house is ready for you. There are good beds and it is dry, but this ..." and he waved his hand at our preparations. "It is not possible; there is nothing to say." By this time Hassan and Rejeb, into whose hands we had been entrusted for protection, came up and stood over us, looking threateningly at our gesticulating, excited friend. "I do not understand," I said. "Who says that we may not camp here?" "But it is I that say it; it is not possible. My house is ready; there is nothing to say." "Who are you?" I said. "I am an Austrian," he answered. Then he lowered his voice, in that mysterious manner which we associated with the coming of the Monster. "I am here," he said, in an undertone, "as agent commercial du chemin de fer Ottoman." "Very good," I answered; "and now tell us why we cannot camp here." "But it is damp," he said; "look at the mud." "Oh, is that all?" I said. "We are much obliged to you for the offer of your house, but we always sleep out." "But I have good beds," he said, "and a dry room at your service. There is nothing to say." At this point Rejeb could contain himself no longer. He spoke sternly to the Austrian in Turkish. "What do you want?" he said. "These ladies are under my protection. What are you saying to them?" The man poured out volumes of Turkish; Rejeb and he had a violent altercation, which seemed to be ending in blows. "Come, come," I said to the man, "enough of this. We are much obliged to you for your offer of hospitality, but we prefer to remain outside." He seemed totally unable to understand that this could be the case. "If it is myself you do not care about," he said, in a crestfallen manner, "I can easily move from the house. The beds are clean and they are dry." We finally consented to spend the evening at his house, and accompanied him through the streets, Rejeb and Hassan following closely on our heels. He showed us into a stuffy little sitting-room. Every corner was crammed with gimcracks; the whole place reeked of musty wool chairbacks. Then we followed him upstairs; we must at any rate "look at the beds"--he evidently thought the sight of them would prove irresistible. On calmer reflection the beds were, doubtless, no worse than the ordinary type to be found in commercial country inns; but to us, coming out of the sweet and wholesome atmosphere of the yet untainted plain, they seemed to be the very embodiment of stuffiness and discomfort. The windows, which had evidently not been opened for some time, were heavily draped, so as to effectually exclude all light and air even when open. "There, now do you see? It is clean, it is dry. There is nothing humid here; but out there it is exposed, it is damp, it is not allowable." We waived the question for the moment, reserving our forces for a later attack, and returned to the sitting-room, where a native woman was preparing the evening meal. We questioned our host on the arrival of the railway. He admitted being there to tout for trade _in case_ it came; but who could tell, in a country like this, what would happen? Mon Dieu! it was a God-forsaken country, and all the inhabitants were canaille; there was no one he could associate with. He counted the days till his return. "When would that be?" "Ah," then he became mysterious once more and looked round at the door and window: "Ah, God knows; might it come soon!" The serving-woman appeared and said that our men wished to see us; they had been sitting on the doorstep ever since we entered the house and refused to go away. The Austrian went out to them; high words ensued, and we looked through the door. The Austrian, crimson with rage, was gesticulating violently and pouring out torrents of unintelligible Turkish. Rejeb stood in front of him, hitting his long riding-boot with his whip and answering with some heat. Above him towered Hassan, very calm and very quiet, slowly rolling up a cigarette and now and then putting in a single word in support of Rejeb. The Austrian turned to us. "Can you not send these men away, ladies? It is an impertinence. They refuse to leave you here unless they themselves sleep in the house. They say they have orders never to leave you, but surely they can see what I am!" We calmed him down as best we could, and insisted on our intention of returning to our tents. He could not understand it, and I should think never will. But we got away, Rejeb and Hassan one on each side of us. When we were out on the road in cover of darkness both men burst into loud roars of laughter. "Have we not done well, Effendi?" they said. "We have rescued you from the mad little man. The great doctor in London, has he not said, 'You shall sleep in the tent every night'?" And, gathering round our camp-fire in the damp and the mud, we rejoiced with Hassan and Rejeb over their gallant assault and our fortunate escape. * * * * * Two days' further ride brought us to Eregli. We approached it in the dusk, riding during the last hour through what appeared to be low copse wood. The place seemed low and damp; we rode past the door of the khan, and the men besought us to go there instead of camping outside. Constantin said he was ill, the arabajis said their horses would be ill. But Rejeb and Hassan took our side and we had the tents pitched on a spot which seemed dry in the darkness. Next morning we awoke to find ourselves encircled by a loop of the river and in a dense white mist. It was so cold that the milk froze as we poured it into the tea. We ate our breakfast with our gloves on, walking up and down to keep warm. Constantin said that he was still ill; the arabajis said their horses were now ill; but that was because the khan was comfortable. We decided, however, to give them a day's respite and ride out ourselves to Ivriz in search of the Hittite inscription at that place. [Illustration: HITTITE BAS-RELIEF AND INSCRIPTION. IVRIZ.] An hour's ride took us clear of the mists, and the sun came out hot and strong. Our road lay up a gorgeous richly wooded river valley. For the first time on our journey we realised what the absence of water and trees had meant. Our horses' feet crackled over brown and red autumn leaves; autumn smells, crisp and fresh, filled the air; brown trout darted from under dark rocks in the stream. Away through gaps in the low encircling hills we got sudden visions of two gigantic white-topped mountain peaks, the first suggestion of our approach to the Taurus barrier. Ivriz is a good three hours' ride from Eregli, and lies high on one of the lower hills. We left our horses in the village and climbed on foot to the spot where the river, rushing suddenly out of the bowels of the earth, has formed a cave in the limestone cliff. Below this the stream had cut its way through the rock, leaving steep sides of bare stone which tell a tale of untold geological age. At one point the ground shelved out on a level with the bed of the stream, and the waters here swept round a corner, so that the face of the rock overlooking them was almost hidden from any one on the same shore. It is on this face that the Hittite inscription is carved. A god, with a stalk of corn and a bunch of grapes in his hands, stands over a man who is in an attitude of adoration before him. There it stands, hidden from the casual observer, visited by no one but the native who comes to cure his sickness in the sacred waters of the cave above. Away in the desolate hills, off the track of man, the god has looked down on the waters of the river through all those æons since the days of the Hittites, which count as nothing in the time which it took this same river to carve its bed out of the eternal hills. How much longer will its solitude be left unviolated? The "agent commercial du chemin de fer Ottoman" is established at Eregli as elsewhere. When the iron Monster comes bellowing into Eregli his shriek will be heard in these silent hills, and following in his footsteps countless hordes of tourists will invade this sacred spot. With something akin to a feeling of shame I turned my Kodak on him; and a sorrowful thought of the many who would be following my example in the years to come shot across my mind. * * * * * It was the sixth day after leaving Konia, and we were in full view of the Taurus Mountains. We were crossing the same stretch of barren plain, with its occasional patches of cultivation, its hidden villages with the flocks and herds trooping in at sundown. But the bounded horizon changed our conception of it; it was no longer a limitless plain. The nearer ranges stood out in dark purples and blues; behind and above towered the snow-clad heights which, looking down on to the Mediterranean shores, knew of the life and bustle of its sea-girt towns. We had come out on the other side of the unknown plain and the aspect of things was changed. What drew us on now was not the mystery of unexplored space, but the feeling that here was a great barrier to cross. We were about to share with these heights the knowledge of what lay on the other side. But there was more than this--we were about to do what the Monster might possibly fail to do. As we drew near the barrier, the mysterious allusions to his approach all took the form of pointing at this barrier. "So far and no further he may come," they seemed to say. As I rode with Mustapha up a long, winding pass on the outskirts of the range he pointed at the valley below us. "The Turkish Railway," he said solemnly. A long line of laden camels wound slowly up the opposite side; for a full quarter of a mile they covered in single file the road winding up out of the valley. I pulled my horse up, and Mustapha stopped his alongside of mine. We both bent our heads forward and listened. The sound of their tinkling bells came faintly across the valley to us; the low, musical tones, the quiet, measured movement, all was in keeping with the towering mountains and the still, clear air. Hassan rode up with the other men and joined us. He put his hands up to his mouth and gave a shrill, prolonged whistle in exact imitation of the engine we had left at Konia. The men looked at one another and laughed. Then they shrugged their shoulders and pushed on up the path. CHAPTER V IN THE TAURUS The Taurus range bounds in a semicircle the base of the plateau we had crossed. We had always been over 3,000 feet above sea-level, and now the heights of the Boulghar Dagh, as this part of the Taurus is called, rose high above us. The pass we were making for measured nearly 6,000 feet, and it looked low in the level of the range. After leaving Eregli we had made a short day to Tchaym, some four hours' ride across a very barren stretch of country, with the snow mountains always in front of us. The next day was to be our last on the plains, for our destination was Ulu Kishla, well up on the hills. We had always great difficulty in deciding what the stages of our journey were to be. Maps and guidebooks were out of the question, the Zaptiehs had only very vague ideas as to distances, and local informants were hard to understand. Our destinations and the distances formed fruitful topics of conversation with the men, and generally ended in amicable wrangles. X having made out from the khanji[3] that it was ten hours' ride from Tchaym to Ulu Kishla, asked Rejeb's opinion on the matter. [3] Innkeeper. REJEB. Eleven hours. MUSTAPHA. No, no, twelve hours. Tchaym to Ulu Kishla twelve hours. X. No, no, ten hours. REJEB AND MUSTAPHA (_in chorus_). No, no, the Pasha Effendi goes like the post. X. It is ten hours; Rejeb and Mustapha go like camels. (_Roars of laughter._) REJEB. It is Mustapha and the little Pasha Effendi who go like camels, _javash, javash_ (slowly, slowly). * * * * * At Ulu Kishla we lunched in a huge khan, half in ruins, the size of which suggested the almost inconceivable size of the caravans which must have passed in better days. Here we decided to send the arabas on with half the escort, to await us at the next stage on the main road. Taking Hassan and Rejeb and one of the Zaptiehs with us, we branched off to visit Boulghar Maden, the highest village of the Taurus, noted for its silver mines. It was a rough ride up; now over chunks of rock, now along slippery grass slopes, then rock again and sliding bits of stone. The hills shut us in all round until we neared the summit of the pass; here we reached a level above that of the heights we had skirted on the previous day, and we could see the whole long line of peaks ranging westward to the sea. In front of us the chain of mountains on the opposite side of the valley, whose heights looked down on the Cilician Plain, obscured the view in that direction. We rode towards them in a southerly direction and began the descent into the valley below. Boulghar Maden lies perched on the hillside, and stretches into the valley, so that standing outside the higher houses you looked down on a sea of flat roofs below you. Tall, thin poplar-trees, rising above the houses in rows, mark it out like a chess-board. The great hillside which backs it to the south and keeps off the sun till midday is scarred and marked with the entrances to the mines. A small party of horsemen rode out of the town and came clambering up the hill towards us. Rejeb confessed to having sent a telegram from Ulu Kishla announcing our arrival to the Kaimakam, and suggested that this was a deputation sent out by him to receive us. Our spirits sank when we got near enough to distinguish European clothes on the leader of the party; we had been feeling ourselves tolerably safe from "agents commercials" at this altitude. Already from afar we were greeted in voluble French, which heightened our fears. The man was accompanied by a Turkish official and two Zaptiehs. The road was so steep that they dismounted and led their horses, both men and animals panting furiously. Our horses slid down the rough track, scattering the loose stones before them in all directions, and we joined the party below. "Salutations from Monsieur le Kaimakam, and he bids you welcome to Boulghar Maden." The man took off his fez and bowed. We saw that he was a cut above the enemy we had been fearing and we felt happier. He then explained that he was the representative in Boulghar Maden of our merchant friends in Constantinople, that he was an Armenian, that the Kaimakam was most perturbed lest we should not be received in proper manner, and had commissioned him, Onik Dervichian, at our service, to make all arrangements for our comfort. We were to be the guests of the Kaimakam, and he had caused rooms to be got ready for us in the house of a Greek family, where he would send down the feast he was preparing. But first he was expecting us at the Konak. We all scrambled down the hill together and rode through the village to the Government buildings. A line of Zaptiehs was drawn up at the entrance and fired a salute as we passed. Then we dismounted, and were led through the usual mysterious curtain-hung doors into the Kaimakam's presence. With our friend as interpreter, we felt sure the correct salutations would be delivered on our behalf. The health of the King of England and of our fathers, the great Pashas, was duly inquired after. Onik Dervichian then hustled us away to the Greek house. Here we found the women in a great state of perturbation and excitement. Our friend had sent down sheets for our beds, which were being constructed on the divans; would he show them where they were meant to go? Onik Dervichian threw off his coat and set to work on the beds himself, smoothing out the sheets with the fat Greek mother, who argued volubly with him the whole time. The two daughters of the house looked on and laughed; the little fat boy put his finger in his mouth and roared with laughter. Hassan stood in the doorway beaming with satisfaction. We were to sleep indoors, but was it not with Government sanction and under Government auspices? This was quite a different matter from the Karaman experience. Rejeb was having a good time recounting our adventures to his brother officers at the Konak, whither he had hastened back after seeing us safely landed at the house. A messenger arrived from the Kaimakam--were the ladies ready for the feast? The dishes had been prepared and the servants were awaiting commands. We invited Onik Dervichian to stay and help us through; for this was not the first time we had experienced Turkish hospitality and suspected that our powers would be taxed to the full. The little low table was brought in, and Onik showed the Greek mother how to lay it "à la Franka." The dishes began to arrive: curries and pilafs and roasted kid; dolmas and chickens and kebabs; and then the nameless sweet dishes which Turkish cooks only know how to prepare. At the fourth course I made an attempt to strike, but Onik Dervichian was shocked. "Ah, mademoiselle, pour faire plaisir au Kaimakam," and he piled up my plate. At the fifth course he anticipated me. "Now, mademoiselle, pour faire plaisir au Kaimakam." At the sixth: "Now, mademoiselle." "No," I said; "Kaimakam or no Kaimakam, I can't." Onik Dervichian's face was a study. "Mais, mademoiselle, _seulement_ pour faire plaisir au Kaimakam." "You will have to do it all yourself, then," I said; "he won't know which of us has eaten it." Onik rose manfully to the occasion and did his best. Only at the last dish did he lean back and, rubbing himself gently, murmur: "Ah, mon Dieu! et tout cela pour faire plaisir au Kaimakam." * * * * * There were "written stones," they told us, in this neighbourhood too; accordingly next day we hired a native as guide and set off in search of them. A road roughly cut on the side of the mountain led out of Boulghar Maden down the valley to the east; below it, precipitous sides shot into the river's bed; above it, the range we had crossed the previous day towered overhead. About a mile outside the village we turned off the road and wound up the mountain-side. Our horses pushed their way through the thorns and brambles which grew in rank profusion in and out amongst the rocky projections, until we had scrambled up to the summit of an outlying hill-top. Here a rocky projection stood out higher than the surrounding ones and showed a flat face of wall to the midday sun. It was just possible to make out that there was an inscription on this face. We could see that the characters were cut in relief and not incised. The Hittites were metal workers, and this characteristic of their inscriptions no doubt arose from their habit of embossing metal. That they were particularly fond of silver is suggested by the fact that many of their treaties were inscribed on tablets of that metal. Inscriptions are also found on stones near the Gumush Dagh, where silver-mines have been worked. We may presumably infer that the working of these mines at Boulghar Maden dates from Hittite times. The view in front of us was one vast breaking sea of mountain tops; the snow-clad heights forming the crests gleamed, in sudden flashes of sunlight, like the surf on a rising wave. * * * * * We left Boulghar Maden the next morning. The Kaimakam insisted that we should drive in his carriage down to Chifte Khan, the point on the main route where we were to meet our arabas. The road had only been made a few years and they were very proud of it; it was an exquisite road, we were told. The Kaimakam, we were also told, was very proud of his carriage. When he went to visit the mines he had it out; but his horse was led behind, for apparently his pride in it was not so great as regard for his own comfort, not to say safety. But here was an occasion for him to vaunt his pride with none of the accompanying discomforts. It arrived: a springless box on wheels, a hard and narrow seat on each side, the top encased in a heavy roof, with rattling glass windows. The whole was painted a bright primrose yellow, and was drawn by two small Turkish horses. X and I got in somewhat ruefully. It was a glorious fresh, sunny day, and we were about to pass through some of the finest scenery of the Taurus district. Onik Dervichian, who came to start us on the way, and Hassan sat inside with us. The Kaimakam had sent his servants to ride our horses; they and the Zaptiehs followed in a long string behind. For the first mile or two the road was fairly smooth; the vehicle lumbered heavily along; when it struck a loose stone the glass rattled furiously. We peered longingly through the panes, trying to catch glimpses of the surroundings. Pine woods nodded in the light breeze, but the noise drowned their whispers. Valley and hills streaked with laughing shadows beckoned to us to come out and look at them. Every turn in the road displayed new vistas of pine-clad slopes, shooting long tongues of green into the brown-red rocks. As time went on the road became very rough; great masses of solid rock lay across it, and the carriage, lurching up over them, jumped us about on the hard seats and knocked us up against one another. Hassan took it calmly; he merely ejaculated "Aman" when an extra lurch sent him flying off the seat. Onik Dervichian, however, was sorely troubled. "Ah, mon Dieu!" he cried out at intervals, "et tout cela pour faire plaisir au Kaimakam." At times it was not only painful but positively dangerous. The side of the hill would rise up in perpendicular walls of rock, and a narrow ledge of road, cut at right angles to it, barely gave width enough for the wheels to pass; a jerk in the wrong direction would have precipitated us down the rocks into the valley beneath.[4] [4] We heard later that the official who had been mainly responsible for the construction of the road met his death in this manner shortly after our visit. At such moments Onik Dervichian, pink with terror and excitement, opening with difficulty the door at the back, would scramble out and follow on foot. The crisis over, his sense of humour would return and he would take his seat again, throw up his hands and ejaculate, "Et tout cela pour faire plaisir au Kaimakam!" Then the carriage came to a dead stop. In front of us the ledge of rock had broken away, and two great boulders, fallen from above, blocked the narrow way. X pointed down the steep precipice. "Look, Hassan, look," she said, pretending to shudder. Hassan looked. "You go over, I go too," was his reply. The driver got down and examined the obstruction. We all got out and examined it. The servants leading our horses behind, dismounted and examined it. The horses stood with their noses on it and stared stupidly. Then everybody took hold of the wheels and lifted and shoved the whole concern bodily over. With the wheels on one side falling well over the steep side, the driver carefully engineered horses and carriage round the corner. Bruised and exhausted, shaken in body and nerves, we were finally safely landed at Chifte Khan, where we found our men and arabas awaiting us. We flung ourselves down on the grass of a little orchard and thanked God for our delivery from the task of pleasing Kaimakams. Hassan stood over us and gazed thoughtfully at the yellow carriage standing by the roadside, while the driver devoured pilaf at the door of the khan. "It is well now," he said; "we have pleased the Kaimakam." The driver clambered up on the seat again, and turned his horses' heads up the road we had left. "Thank God," said Onik Dervichian, "that we are still alive to see it depart!" * * * * * From Chifte Khan we followed a good road, through the gorgeous vale of Bozanti, to Ak Kupru, where we pitched our camp for the night by the side of the river Chakut. The weather broke suddenly, and we reached the place in torrents of rain. The wind, tearing in gusts up the valley, shook the walls of the tent, and the ropes strained at the pegs. It drove the rain so hard against the white canvas that it forced the drops through almost against their will. It would have been so much easier for them just to run down the outside slope; but every force in nature seemed to be let loose to make the others worse. I moved my bed a little to try and get a clear course between two sets of drips. X surveyed my endeavours from where she sat, mechanically tilting a pool off her mackintosh rug when the accumulated drops showed signs of flowing in disastrous directions. "It's no use trying not to be wet," she said, "when there is no way of keeping dry." A new drip in the centre of the two original ones forced me to accept her philosophy, and we sat silently watching the scene outside. In front of us a bridge crossed the river and from it wound the road we should follow, zigzagging up until it disappeared round a corner. The Taurus Mountains rose like a black barrier in front of us, towering aloft in gigantic walls of rock; then layers of black forest and grassy slopes, then misty tops showing white snow where the clouds parted. At their feet on the other side lay the great Cilician Plain, covered with yellow crops and brown earth and clothed with mud-coloured villages. On the other side also was the Mediterranean, blue and calm; there was sun and warmth and quiet, and people quietly basking in the heat. But on this side there was turmoil and cold and wet; the earth's face was hard and bare, and over it angry waters dashed in heedless, headlong fury; angry clouds overhead vied with them, shooting down relentless torrents of rain. On the other side, the blue Cydnus wound gently in and out through the level plain, and made marshes of its low banks as its waters lazily crawled round in long, curving loops. On this side the Chakut Su, goaded on by the maddened waterfalls, rushed its black waters impatiently against obstructing rocks and turning white with fury foamed round them in angry swirls and dashed on through narrow gorges, lashing at their mocking, immovable walls. * * * * * We sought refuge in the khan for the evening meal, sharing the fire with our own men and the Zaptiehs. Onik Dervichian, always merry and full of resources even on such an evening, made the men sit round so as to leave an empty space in the centre of the room. Then he produced a walking-stick and laid it flat on the ground. "Stand up, oh stick!" he said, waving his hand and addressing it in Turkish. Not a sound could be heard in the room; all eyes were fixed on the stick, which slowly rose and stood up, apparently of itself. "Ha! ha!" went round the room in deep murmurs. "Lie down, oh stick!" said Onik. And the stick, after giving a hop or two, went slowly down on the floor again. For full half an hour did Onik Dervichian, by means of a fine thread invisible in the dim firelight, go through a series of tricks with the walking-stick. The men never moved or took their eyes off it for a moment, but showed no curiosity about it. They took it, like everything else, as a matter of course. Hassan and Rejeb, two silent men, talked together the whole night long just outside our tent. What with this and the wind and the rain, and the flapping of the tent and the drips, which, coursing down the canvas, found new points of entry at every moment, we got but little rest. Hassan greeted us with an anxious look next morning. "You were not frightened in the night, I hope?" he said. "No," I answered, "but we did not get much rest." "Rejeb and I," he went on, "were afraid you would be frightened by the noises, and we talked all night to show that we were close at hand." * * * * * The rain was still coming down in torrents. The khanji said it had come to stay, and he made a big fire, for he expected us to stay. But X was inexorable. If the bad weather had begun, she said, we must push on and get through the pass before we were snowed up; that would be worse than getting a wetting. We had all got into the habit of doing what X told us; so Hassan went out grimly and packed up the sodden tents. "Aman, aman," he murmured now and again, "it is the whim of a woman." The arabajis dejectedly fetched out the horses, who drooped their heads in the rain and blinked reproachfully. "It is the will of Allah," said the men, and they loaded up the tents. The Zaptiehs and Rejeb fetched their horses and mounted. "It is the will of Allah," said also the Zaptiehs; but their Lieutenant held his peace. The rain might be the will of Allah, but to ride through it was the whim of a woman. One by one we filed out over the bridge and up the winding road opposite. The arabas creaked; their sodden, wooden wheels squeaked as they lurched along after us; and the khanji stood in the doorway and wondered a little; then he went back to his fire. And we rode up and up silently. Thick rain mists shrouded the heights above us; gradually we reached the forest line, and the grassy slopes were level with us on the opposite side of the valley; and still we rode gently up and up. The rain lessened a little bit, and we raised our heads and told each other so. Onik Dervichian burst into song and made the hills echo with his ringing voice. Then the rain poured down again and we rode silently on into it. A string of camels laden with merchandise met us just as we were crossing a track, which was being temporarily turned into the bed of a stream for superfluous waters. Their great hoofs slipped on the greasy, muddy sides, and each one paused in its mechanical march as its turn came to slide down the slippery bank. "Y'allah, y'allah!" shouted the drivers, prodding them, and they resignedly put forward their great hoofs and floundered after their companions. * * * * * The arabas made slow progress up the hill. We were getting wet through and decided to push on ahead with Rejeb and two of the Zaptiehs. Onik Dervichian announced his intention of returning; he could reach Boulghar Maden that evening if he went no further, and he did not relish the idea of another night such as the one he had just spent. At midday we arrived at Gulek Boghaz, where we found a new detachment of Zaptiehs awaiting us, for we had crossed the borders of the Konia vilayet and were now under the Vali of Adana. The men took our horses and led them into the stable. Streams of water ran off horses and men alike and collected in pools about the uneven floor. We brushed past the horses' heels and went on into the living room leading out of the stable, where a roaring wood fire blazed at the far end. We lay on the rough divan in the corner and thawed and dried. The men came in from seeing to their horses, and the fire drew clouds of thick steam out of their soaking clothes. Rejeb sent out a Zaptieh to see if there was any sign of the arabas, but he returned with no news save that of increasing rain. We dozed round the hot fire; the Zaptiehs sat at the far end of the room and smoked; there was no sound but the beating of the rain outside and of the horses munching and stamping in the adjoining room. More than an hour passed and still no sign of the arabas. We roused ourselves and conjectured all the possibilities of mishap: a wheel had come off; they had stuck in the mud; they had lost their way; the roads were too heavy for the horses after the rain; they had been attacked by brigands. X, however, had her own suspicions. The arabajis had been very loth to leave Ak Kupru, and they knew of our intention of pushing on after the midday rest. They were dawdling on the road or sheltering somewhere out of the rain--we had passed an open shed--so as to ensure arriving too late for us to get on to the next stage. She cast round for a method of outwitting them, and at last hit on one. "You take two of the new Zaptiehs," she said, "and ride on with them to the next khan; I will wait here until the arabas turn up. We cannot leave you alone, and that will be an excuse to make the men come on." I always did as X told me, and rose obediently from the warm corner. As I drew on my dry overcoat, hot from the fire, and looked out at the drenching rain, I felt strongly drawn in sympathy towards the arabajis. My horse was saddled and dragged outside, as loth to leave its companions as I was. I mounted, and bid farewell to Rejeb and Mustapha, who were returning to Konia. It was a tearful parting, for they had been with us now for eleven days and we were fast friends. X stood in the doorway of the stable. "When you get to the khan," she called out after me, "say 'Atesh getir.'" "All right," I said obediently. What "atesh getir" meant I did not know; but X said I was to say it and that was enough. I was awfully afraid of forgetting it, and it was too wet to make a note, so I kept on repeating it at intervals. The Zaptiehs rode one behind and one before me, for the road was narrow. By and by we entered a defile not more than three or four yards across, where the rocks towered above us quite perpendicularly on one side and overhung us on the other; the road became almost coincident with the bed of the stream, and a large piece of fallen rock nearly blocked the way. The Zaptieh in front of me pointed with his whip at the rock just over our heads and also at the one fallen in the bed of the stream. The rain was pouring over the faces of both, and obscured them, but it was just possible to make out that these also were "written stones," and I concluded that we must be riding through the famous Cilician Gates, round which the historical interest of the Taurus centres. I repeated "Atesh getir" devoutly, and we hurried on. A two hours' ride brought us to a khan on the side of the road. One of the Zaptiehs galloped ahead to announce our arrival. The yard, ankle deep in mud, was full of dripping animals and men. The khanji helped me to dismount, and I said "Atesh getir." He nodded and smiled and talked away at me hard as he led me into a vast room, perfectly bare, without even the usual divan. There was a wood fire burning up a tumble-down chimney in the middle, and they fetched me a little three-legged stool to sit on. I thanked them and said "Atesh getir" once more. The Zaptiehs came and turned my hat and coat round and round in front of the fire to dry, as an excuse to dry their own. A boy appeared with more logs of wood, which he threw on the fire. Every now and then the khanji would come and jabber at me, and I smiled and nodded and said "Atesh getir." It seemed now to have become a sort of joke, for every time I said it the Zaptiehs and the other men laughed, and I caught the words repeatedly in their conversation amongst themselves. Every few minutes the boy came and threw more wood on the fire, then he would turn and ask me a question. I had nothing but "Atesh getir" to say. But I felt a little nervous about the size of the fire. It was exceeding the bounds of the hearth, and I was afraid would soon burn down the rotten old place, for the heat was terrific. So I would point at the fire and shake my head when he threw on the logs, but he only grinned and went off to return with some more. As I sat there waiting for X, I knew that I should always remember once for all that warmth is the one thing in the world which really matters. I was hungry, for we had not tasted much food that day. There was not much to sit upon, the stool had got very hard; the room was dirty and bare, and the smell of wet animals came up from the sheds below; but the fire made up for it all. One felt one had really got all one wanted, and I would not have exchanged that fire for the best of meals or the downiest of beds. I was quite content to sit by it and wait for X for ever if need be. She had shipped me off with two strange men to a strange place with two strange words whose meaning I did not know--but there was the fire. She arrived at last. The men all came tramping in with her and gathered round the blazing logs. Hassan fetched a bundle out of the araba, where the things had kept fairly dry, and made a seat for us. Constantin opened the last tin of sardines, and having demolished them we finished up with native bread and honey. Hassan went out to look for a place to pitch the tent, and came back to say there was nothing but mud and water outside: should he put it up under an open shed just below the room? The floor was sodden with the smell of generations of passing caravans, but there seemed no other choice, and the tent was the only means of privacy. Late at night a sudden thought struck me. I turned towards X and saw that she was awake. "X," I said, "what does 'atesh getir' mean?" "It means 'get a fire,'" said X sleepily. * * * * * We were awakened early by the departure, before sunrise, of the men and animals who, quartered in the yard of which our shed formed part, had not given us much peace during the night. We were not loth, on our part, to leave the tent, which had caught and retained the smell rising up from the sodden earth floor, until we were nearly choked with the fumes. It was still raining, and the peaks we had ridden under the day before were shrouded in mist. We kept on descending slowly, and by and by came out on a piece of open moor land. The sun began to appear again now. We were leaving it all behind, the cold and the wet and the storms of the hills. We were getting into the stillness of the plains again. The men took off their overcoats and rolled them up on their saddles behind. One by one we shed the wraps which had seemed so thin and inefficient under the snowy heights; they were getting unbearable here. We expected at every turn to get a view of the sea. In spite of this, its first appearance was so sudden as to come as a surprise. We rounded a corner, and there it lay, as we had pictured it on the other side, still and bright, with no suggestion of storm and turmoil. It was not till that moment that we had the distinct feeling of having crossed the barrier. Each step forward now unrolled bit by bit the stretch of plain at our feet. There was the Cydnus winding its easy course through fertile lands as if there were no trouble in its rising waters. There was Tarsus, its flat roofs so sunk in gardens and fruit-trees that minarets and domes alone proclaimed the presence of a large town; and there, too, still faint and dim, but unmistakable, was the thin, moving line of smoke which proclaimed that we were nearing the land of the Monster once more. Can it be that the day is not far distant when this one will join hands with its brother through the barrier we have crossed; and tearing through these silent plains and the rugged fastnesses of these great hills, destroy the mystery over which they have so long kept their sacred guard? CHAPTER VI ROYAL PROGRESS In the line of country stretching from Tarsus eastward to Urfa, there is a series of stations of the American Mission Board. Travelling as we did, in the direction of this line, we made these stations our stages, and hired horses and men afresh at each place. At Tarsus we camped in the playground of the mission school run by Dr. Christie. On the evening of our arrival out of the Taurus Mountains we were eating off spotless cloths with knives and forks, and were singing "Onward, Christian soldiers" with a hundred Armenian and Greek students. The plunge out of rough travelling into these oases of civilisation is very sudden, and the contrast gives a full meaning to the advantages and disadvantages of both forms of existence. The missionaries are the embodiment of hospitality. They know also what the discomforts of our journey have been, for they have gone through much the same experience themselves in order to arrive at their present homes; and so we find hot baths awaiting us and fresh supplies of hairpins; buttons are sewn on, and clothes sent to the wash. We are started off on the road again clean and tidy, and with a linen bag full of home-made white bread, which will see us through many days. We also carry with us thoughts of the splendid work which is being done by them, and of the hardship and danger many of them have gone through in carrying out this work of education among these Eastern Christians. Gathered round the fire at night we would listen to tales of bloodshed and massacre, of domestic tragedies and individual heroism, of anxiety and hope all told with that simplicity and quietness which bears the stamp of a personal experience which has come face to face with the real facts of life in a barbaric land. But, once we were on the road again, we were glad to be there, glad to hear only the sound of the Turkish tongue; glad to lie out once more under the stars and eat our meal round the camp-fire at night. Occasionally, too, we would get sudden reminders of the institutions we had left. A stray Armenian would accost us on the road with "Who are you? Where are you going? What is your name?" in the English tongue with a perceptible nasal twang. We would have a momentary unpleasant sense of impertinent familiarity. Then one would pull oneself together and remember the doctrine of universal brotherly love which was being instilled into the minds of mission students, and would try hard not to mind when the individual would proceed to tell us that we were his sisters, that he loved us very much, and would we give him a subscription towards a harmonium for his church. It was during this stage of our journey, also, that we were taken to be royalties and received at the larger towns with military honours. The idea seems to have emanated from Konia after our departure from there. We had left cards on the officials at the Konak. Now X's Christian name was Victoria, and her address printed on the card was Prince's Gate. To the Turkish mind this was conclusive evidence that she was a relation of the great queen, and instructions for our suitable reception were accordingly telegraphed on. At Adana we found ourselves indisputably "daughters of the King of Switzerland." It was of no use denying it: "naturally we wished to preserve an _incognito_." We were summoned to pay a state visit to the Vali of Adana and were accompanied by his secretary, who talked French. VALI. Welcome; you have come. X. Gladly we have found ourselves. VALI. By your features and bearing I can see you are of the high aristocracy. INTERPRETER. The ladies say that they also can see that you are a most high and noble prince. (_Turns to us._ You said that, didn't you?) VALI. And how do the noble ladies find Adana? INTERPRETER. The ladies find Adana the most charming and delightful spot in Turkey. X. Please thank his Excellency for sending the Zaptiehs to meet us; we were very pleased with them. VALI. The ladies are most welcome; if they should wish for fifty Zaptiehs they would be at their service. (_Mutual bows and salaams._) VALI. And where do the ladies intend to travel after this? X. We wish to go by Aintab and Diarbekr to Baghdad. Does his Excellency think the road is safe? VALI. Wherever the ladies go their safety is assured; they are the guests of the nation. There is not a governor in the land who has not received orders to look after them in every way. (_Further bows and expression of thanks._) VALI (_continues_). The ladies, however, will find it most uncomfortable travelling at this time of year. I would urge them to give up the idea of this journey. X. We are obliged to your Excellency for your advice, but we do not really mind the discomforts of travel. VALI (_turns to his Muavin, the_ "Evet Effendi" _already mentioned_). This gentleman has just returned from Baghdad; he will tell you how very disagreeable the journey will be. MUAVIN. Evet, Effendim; the road, of course, is safe as regards the tribes; but do not the ladies fear tigers and the many wild beasts which may be encountered? VALI. I assure you it is not safe for you. You hear what this gentleman says. If the ladies will wait till the spring I will arrange for them to accompany my brother, the Prince of Kurdistan, in his expedition to the mountains. Finding it impossible to dissuade us, the Vali then leads the way to the Council chamber, and makes X sit in the Presidential chair, where, he informs us, no one but the Vali has ever sat. He tells X she is now the Vali Pasha, this is her house, and he is at her commands. X promptly seizes the opportunity, and asks for favour to be extended to a friend we had met in the course of our travels, who had been banished from Adana owing to having incurred the Vali's displeasure. VALI. Because he was kind to you I will pardon him. He may come back if it will please the ladies. X. We are much obliged to your Excellency. VALI. Many people have spoken to me for him, but I would not listen; but to please the ladies I will now forgive him. VALI. Will it please the ladies to dine with me to-morrow? X. We thank your Excellency, it would give us much pleasure. But we must apologise for our clothes; we are travelling, and have no suitable dresses for dining with your Excellency. VALI (_waves his hand_). The ladies must not mention it. I can see by their appearance how noble they are, and their clothes are therefore of no significance. X. We will now say goodbye, and we thank your Excellency for all your kindness. VALI. It is I that am indebted for your presence. Will you send my love to his Excellency your father? for he also is a Pasha, and we are brothers. * * * * * From Adana our next stage was to Aintab. Our luggage had now all to be conveyed on pack-mules, for we were going over tracks where wheels could not pass. This made our party seem larger, for we needed three mules for the baggage, and they were accompanied by three muleteers, who also looked after our horses and the mules ridden by our men. Our escort here consisted of four Zaptiehs and a Captain. This was the lowest number to which we had been able to reduce the fifteen men the Vali had pressed upon us. Nominally, they received no pay from us, but the "baksheesh" which we were expected to give them no doubt compensated for the arrears of pay from which the Turkish soldier invariably suffers. * * * * * We had parted with Constantin at Adana. He was not very suitable for really rough camping work, and we had asked the missionaries at Adana to recommend us a less civilised person, who would be more competent in tight places. Through them we engaged an Armenian, Arten by name. He could only speak Turkish, so we were now entirely thrown on our own resources as to Turkish conversation. X, however, had acquired quite enough of the language to be intelligible to Hassan, who interpreted our wants to the others. We had hardly left Adana before incessant heavy rains came on, which turned the tracks into impassable mud swamps. We struggled on as far as Hamidieh, where we sought refuge in the house of an Austrian widow who ran a large cotton mill in the place. For three days the rain came down in torrents. I went to bed indoors with fever; X, however, still preferred to sleep out in the tent in pools of water, which the men vainly endeavoured to keep out by digging trenches all round. On the third day we sallied out again and pitched our camp in the middle of little green pasture fields in the bed of a lovely valley. Real milking cows strayed about in the little fields, and cocks and hens crowed and cackled familiarly close to us. This was a very different country from the one we had left. In spite of the fact that we had had to exchange wheels for pack-mules, it seemed far more civilised and cultivated. Trees and water everywhere gave one a feeling of life and growing things, unlike the stagnation of the waterless parts. The Zaptiehs here, in greeting the town or village we were approaching, would always include in their praises its power of providing milk and eggs. Our former Zaptiehs had handed on to them that we had an insatiable desire for these luxuries, and they would use this as an inducement for us to come on to any place where they particularly desired to camp, a desire which generally arose from the vicinity of some large khan where they could spend a sociable evening. "Oh, it is a lovely village; there are many eggs, there is much milk. The cows they are never dry, and the hens they never cease to lay. The chickens, too, they are not all legs, they are fat and juicy." But we were getting out of the Cilician Plain and the Taurus was with us again. The branch which runs southwards from the main chain to the coast at Alexandretta, the beautiful Amanus range, still cut us off from the fertile plains of Mesopotamia. For three days we rode on the outskirts, now climbing gentle, wooded slopes, now winding round a stony valley path; every evening we found ourselves at a higher altitude. We were getting into the Kurdish country. Their handsome women sat on the wide doorstep, which often formed the roof of a house beneath, grinding corn between two flat stones, or baking flat cakes of bread. They wore huge white headdresses, spotlessly clean, covered with silver ornaments, and short crimson zouave jackets. They were disposed to be very friendly, and used to come into our tent with offerings of oranges and eggs. At one small village we came in for a Kurdish wedding. We happened to arrive just as the bride was being torn, struggling and weeping, from her father's house by the bridegroom and his friends. At first we imagined ourselves witnesses of some domestic tragedy, but we were informed that the display of grief and resistance was part of the ceremony. The bride was plastered over with ornaments and her head was bedecked with a great crown of feathers. She was put, still sobbing, on a white horse, and led away to the bridegroom's village, to the sound of bagpipes and flutes and the shouts and laughter of a hundred brightly dressed natives. Then we had a precipitous ride up to Avjila, a wild, Kurdish village, 3,000 feet above sea-level. Hidden away amongst the rocks, a few score of shepherds tended their mountain flocks. From Avjila the road wound round grassy hills and through richly wooded slopes, where the crimson berries of the carob-tree hung over our path and the leaves of the golden plane dazzled our eyes in the sunlight. The woodman would be busy too, and we would hear the sound of his axe in the pine-trees, or brush past a mule loaded with long, scratching bundles of firewood. The Amanus range slopes very abruptly to the plain on the opposite side. It was not till the tenth day after leaving Adana, owing to our delay at Hamidieh, that we reached the gap in the trees at the summit of the pass which gives you one short glimpse of Aintab on the plain below. The muleteers stopped here to throw stones on a cairn beside the track and greeted the town with expressions of endearment and praise. "Give us a coin for luck, Pashas," they said, "and that no evil may befall us in the place." * * * * * We rode straight into the Mission compound at Aintab, and found ourselves at once in a very academic atmosphere. The mission has been established here over sixty years and has a brave show of buildings: a college with five professors, a hospital, an orphanage, a girls' and a boys' boarding school, and a church. The women missionaries are mostly graduates of some American University, and one feels rather behind the times in conversation. Their work fills one with respect: there is no proselytising about it; their idea is to civilise by education. From Aintab it is two short days' journey to the Euphrates. We were now in a country of rich red soils covered with olive groves and vineyards. Near the villages small sized black and yellow cattle, brought in from the pastures, munched maize straw in the rough enclosures of reed or straw round the houses. The road was lined with signs of primitive cultivation and luxurious crops, evident even in these winter months. But the peasants seemed miserably poor. They were partners mostly of city men, who provided the seed and the stock and took two-thirds of the produce in payment. The Euphrates is visible a long way ahead as it winds southwards. At first you see it as a streak of light across the plain; then slowly you differentiate the banks, the alluvial shores, the flow of the waters. Then Birejik appears on the opposite side. Its houses, built on a limestone cliff four hundred feet high, rise up above the river tier upon tier; then the black marks on the face of the rock below the houses take on the shape of rock tombs. We descend a long, gentle slope towards the ferry, and find a few buildings on this side also. We wait while great herds of oxen and sheep going to the market at Killis are ferried across in the great, clumsy, flat-bottomed, flat-sided boat, whose one end rises up in a high, curved keel. Then our turn comes, and one by one our horses plunge into thick mud and up the slippery end of the boat, which lets down to form a gangway. Surely they are not going to take us all at once? Our horses get jammed up tighter and tighter at the far end as each animal enters the boat; they begin kicking and biting at one another. We draw our feet out of the stirrups and hunch them up on our horses' necks to be out of harm's way. There is no room now for the horses to kick--they are wedged too tight--but they struggle hard. We are shoved off the mud with long paddles, the cranky old boat lurches and wobbles, and we seem horribly near the water. The stream catches us and we are wafted down to a lower point on the opposite shore. Hassan, his great legs stretched up high and dry on his mule's neck, fumbles in his pouch and brings out the little bit of paper on which he writes down our expenses. He slowly puts on his spectacles and proceeds to write, holding the paper on the top of his thumb, and apparently oblivious of the struggles of his steed to kick the horse who is biting his flank behind. Then the gangway is let down and a terrific pandemonium ensues as each animal strives to get its saddle disentangled from the pack saddle of its neighbour and jump ashore. The hindmost land on the first, who have stuck hopelessly in the mud, the muleteers hit and shout, and we climb slowly on to firmer ground and wind up the steep path to the street at the top. The next day we ride slowly out of red soils and cultivation. The road is dangerous here, we are told; two extra Zaptiehs and a Yuzbashi are sent with us. We are in a desert plain again. A fearful storm of wind gets up and howls weirdly round us; the sun is getting low, and we have somehow missed the village where we should camp. The small cluster of huts that we pass or see in the distance have no accommodation for the horses, and the muleteers will not let them stand out on such a wild night. The Yuzbashi, who is a mysterious Kizilbash with a long black beard, gets anxious and makes us push on hard. At last we reach another cluster of huts, where the shepherds are calling in the flocks. It is nearly dark and we can go no further that night. The muleteers are sulky about the shelter for their horses, so we take a house for the purpose and the family cram in somewhere else. The tents are pitched with difficulty in the teeth of the wind. All night long the Yuzbashi, apart from the other men, walks up and down and round and round our tent, muttering in his black beard. * * * * * The next day we ride over a bleak, stony country, exposed to fierce lashes of wind and rain. Smooth faces of rock lie across the scarcely perceptible path, less slippery for our flat-shod horses than the mud in which they are embedded. We can see nothing ahead but low, rounded hillocks covered with broken stone. Suddenly yellow dogs spring from under our very feet and tall figures emerge out of the bowels of the earth. We have stumbled into the middle of a Kurdish village. The huts are hollowed out of the earth and roofed over with the stones which cover the whole ground. The chief of the village welcomes us at the door of his hut, and we descend the dark passage, blinded by the smoke of the dried camel-dung fire. We sit on strips of felt, thankful to be out of the wind and the rain, and stretch our frozen hands and feet in the direction of the thickest fumes. The tears run down our cheeks from the smarting of our eyes, but we hardly notice it, for it is heaven to be out of the bluster outside. Slowly our eyes get more accustomed to the darkness and the fumes, and we find the hut is full of arms and legs and motionless bodies, and gleaming eyes fixed on our eyes. But they are friendly and curious, and we feel at home. Then we crawl out to where Arten has prepared hot Maggi soup in the tent. It has been impossible to pitch ours, but they have tied the men's little tent on to the big stones forming the wall of our house, and the roof of another; we can see smoke mysteriously crawling out of the crevices of the ground at our feet. A sudden furious gust shakes the whole tent, and a Zaptieh's rifle, leant against the side, tumbles across and upsets the steaming soup. We pick our belongings ruefully out of the little trickling streams of thick liquid, and make a meagre meal by soaking bits of native bread in what remains. Then we get to bed as best we can, and all night long the wind howls and the tent flaps, and dogs sniff stealthily on the other side of the canvas. * * * * * A hard, broad, high-road runs ostentatiously some miles out of Urfa on the side which we were approaching. From the town it looks as if it were going on like that for ever. We stumbled suddenly out of our stony track on to it--where it ends abruptly in the middle of nowhere. The native does not walk on it much; he prefers the soft places at the margin, where the caravans, also shunning it, still make wobbly tracks. At one place, where it passes through a deep gully, the bank has been made up to make a more level run; but even here, as we rode over it, we noticed an old man and a boy driving a couple of mules, slowly crawling up the narrow path down below, which marked the line of the original road. We could see Urfa some little way ahead of us, and wondered whether the missionaries would have heard of our arrival through their friends at Aintab. For the post travelled quicker than we did; it had passed us days ago, borne at a gallop by two mounted men. "If ever we wanted cleaning up," I said, "it is at this moment; what with the rain and the mud and Maggi soup and camel-dung fumes, we are almost unfit to be seen even by a missionary." The words were hardly out of my mouth when a party of some twenty mounted soldiers appeared in the distance. As they got nearer they fired off a volley into the air and ranged up in a line down the road. The Captain rode up and saluted us. There was no mistaking it. We were Royalties once more. The Captain explained that the Governor was sending his carriage for their Royal Highnesses to make their entry into the town, and that he was expecting to receive them at the Konak. The carriage appeared up the road, a smart landau with red cushions, drawn by two splendid Arab horses, and followed by outriders in uniform. In we got. It is very difficult under such circumstances to feel the least royal. We were only conscious of our dishevelled looks and dirty clothes. We made Hassan get in with us, for he always had the air of a prince. The driver cracked his whip and we went off at a great pace, headed by the Captain and Zaptiehs, including our own escort, and followed by the outriders. Borne along in the cavalcade came Arten on his mule, looking worse than any of us, in a seedy old black overcoat and a red scarf round his neck. The inhabitants of Urfa lined the streets and waved and cheered lustily. Flags and decorations were hung out. We bow hard--it is getting easier to forget our dirty clothes. I begin to wonder if indeed we are not Royalties. Why not? Hassan looks more princelike than ever, sitting opposite to us, very erect and very gravely gracious, acknowledging salutes. At the main entrance to the town a smiling Armenian on a mule obstructs the way, and frantically waves a letter. The cavalcade stops, and riding up to the carriage he shoves a well-thumbed envelope into our hands. It is from the lady missionary, they tell us. "The Government," she writes, "are making great preparations for your entertainment, but I hope that you will not despise such hospitality as my house affords, and that you will spend your time in Urfa with me." What are the Government going to do with us? Once more I became conscious of our outward appearance. We sent a verbal message to say we would call later, and then we are dashed on again; the smiling Armenian whacking his mule and trying to keep pace with the formal, solemn officers. Finally we draw up in front of the Government buildings. A red carpet is unrolled before us, over which we walk gingerly in our muddy boots between rows of salaaming Turks. Hassan stalks after us, grave and dignified, returning salaams. We are received by an official, corresponding to the Mayor of the town, and his secretary. X tried to deliver the sentences she had been concocting as we were driven through the streets, but the general bewilderment of the situation and uncertainty as to what we were expected to do was making intercourse more difficult than usual. We were almost at our wits' end when the Head of the Education Department appeared on the scene. He talked French fluently, and explained that rooms had been prepared for us in the building and that the Pasha Effendi expected us to be his guests. After giving us tea, and thereby showing familiarity with the customs of foreign Royal personages, they conducted us to the Vali. He was of a very different type from those we had previously seen. A young, pleasant-mannered, intelligent Turk, he received us in a reserved, Western way, with no flowery greetings. Hassan, in whose hands we felt safe as regards points of Turkish etiquette, had whispered to us that we had better camp outside as usual, for the Pasha's harem was absent at the moment and we could not therefore visit the ladies. For this reason we declined as best we could his offers of hospitality. The Head of the Education Department, instructed by his chief, said the Pasha Effendi was "_désolé_" at our decision. Would we not reconsider it? We were causing his Excellency intense disappointment. His Excellency indeed looked crestfallen, and we would also have enjoyed being royally entertained, but we knew Hassan's judgment was never at fault, and thought it best to be on the safe side. We were also conscious of the fact that in all probability this was but a polite form of espionage, for Urfa is the centre of the district where the worst Armenian massacres took place; European visitors, therefore, especially those who say they are "travelling solely for their health" in all the discomforts of winter, are suspected of being mere gleaners of damaging facts. So we only accepted his Excellency's invitation to dine and, taking leave of him for the moment, were escorted to the Mission-house by the officers and Zaptiehs who had formed our escort, led by the smiling Armenian on the mule. Thus ended our triumphal entry into Urfa, which some call the ancient city of Abraham--"Ur of the Chaldees." CHAPTER VII HARRAN: A DIGRESSION INTO THE LAND OF ABRAHAM "And Terah took Abram his son, and Lot the son of Haran his son's son, and Sarai his daughter-in-law, his son Abram's wife; and they went forth with them from Ur of the Chaldees, to go unto the land of Canaan; and they came unto Haran, and dwelt there." And it happened that we, sojourning in this land, bethought ourselves of this journey of Abraham; we also, therefore, arose one morning and took two horses of the horses of Ur, and three Zaptiehs also upon horses, and we set our servants upon mules, and departed across the plain to visit this Harran, the city of Nahor; and there came with us a lady of the American Mission and her servant Jacobhan and a young Armenian friend; and they also were upon mules. And we all rode together across the plain of Mesopotamia, of which it is written: "When corn comes from Harran, then there is plenty; when no corn comes, then there is hunger." And, even as we rode, the villagers were gathering in barley, the clean white straw with its well-filled heads; and from time to time we came also upon a couple of sleek-skinned oxen drawing the wooden plough through the soil, making the furrows for the next year's seed; and the soil, where it was turned, was of a rich red colour, beside the yellow stubble which was yet unbroken. The villages stood at the space of one hour's ride apart, and by the side of every village, by the side of their bell-shaped huts, we saw great mounds of such a size that they covered as much ground as the villages themselves; and each of these mounds was of a rounded shape. And, looking across the plain as we rode, as far as we could see we saw also many such mounds far distant upon the horizon. And we said to Hassan, "Wherefore these mounds?" And he answered and said, "Behold, Effendi, you see these villages at the space of one hour's ride apart, each with its cornfields and its unbroken stubble, its pasture and its flocks; so it was in the days when Abraham and Terah passed this way, even as you and I are now passing; but these villages that we see of the bell-shaped huts were not the villages that Terah and Abraham saw, for they are now buried under these same mounds." * * * * * Now Harran is eight hours across the plain from Ur; four hours we rode to Rasselhamur, a village by the side of a stream, where we ate and drank and rested awhile, and yet another four hours we rode from Rasselhamur to Harran. Now consider the journey of Terah and Abraham. There were his women and his children, his camels, his man-servants and his maid-servants, his he asses and his she asses, his oxen and flocks of sheep; and they would cause him to delay on the road, for they cannot be over-driven: yet, even as the Arab tribes journey to-day, the caravan of Terah and Abraham would reach this Harran on the second day from the day they left Ur of the Chaldees; and the land of Canaan, the land towards which they journeyed, would still be far distant. And we, marvelling, pondered on the words of the learned man who has said that the Harran of Terah and Abraham lies not here but at one day's journey from the city of Damascus. But why should our souls be vexed over the words of learned men? for, whether it be that Terah stayed at this Harran, even the Harran we are approaching, or whether he journeyed on day by day over the plains to the city of Damascus, for us, as our noiseless steeds trod the soft earth, these silent plains yet echoed with the tinkling of his camel bells, the bleating of his innumerable herds, and the cries of his men-servants and his maid-servants. * * * * * And the sun was yet high in the heavens when the walls of the city of Harran rose up before us; and as we rode through the fields without the city walls we looked, and behold there was a well in the field, and near it were gathered flocks of sheep and herds of cattle, for it was out of that well that they watered the flocks. And it was at the time of the evening, the time that the women go out to draw water; and we drew rein and watched them, even as Jacob watched Rachel. And these daughters of the men of the city were dark-eyed and blue-smocked, and they balanced their pitchers on their heads; and they went down into the well, down the slippery stones which were worn by the feet of the generations which begat Rachel and Rebekah. And on beholding the strangers some of them ran back, even as Rebekah on beholding the servant of Isaac, and told their mothers; and some of them, even as Rachel on beholding Jacob, emptied their pitchers into the troughs and bade us water our horses. And the herdsmen gathered themselves together and looked at us in silence; and their look was long and straight, like the look of those who have the habit of looking far, as far as where the sun sinks on the horizon; and we, wondering, held our peace. Of what availed it, that we should vex ourselves as to whether this indeed were the Harran where Terah stayed on his way to the Land of Canaan, here are we in the fertile regions, without the walls of a city, by the side of a well where the maidens come down to fetch water and where the flocks are gathered at the going down of the sun. And we bethought ourselves of those ancient days, and we said unto the herdsmen, even as Jacob said unto the herdsmen as they tended the cattle of Laban, "Whence are ye?" and they answered us saying, "Of Harran are we." [Illustration: JACOB'S WELL. HARRAN.] And looking about us we saw also the black tents, the good camel-hair tents such as the Arabs use, and they stretched out from the side of the watering-place; and on the ground in front of them the young children rolled amongst the bleating flocks and herds. And the shepherds, haughty and silent amongst men, walked to the right and to the left in and out amongst the bleating flocks and herds; and their cloaks were of sheepskin, long and squarely cut--they hung from their shoulders, reaching nearly to the ankles; and looking at them we thought of Abraham who had left this city for the Land of Promise, of Isaac who sent his servant to seek out Rebekah, and of Jacob, who beheld Rachel even on this spot, and who tended the flocks of sheep and herds of cattle for her father Laban on these same fertile plains. And as we tarried, marvelling on these things, there came out a messenger from the city, and he said, "Why standest thou without? we have prepared a house and room for thy horses"; and turning our horses' heads we followed him and rode into the city. Now the people of Harran number at this day over 4,000 souls of the Moslem faith; of men there are 1,900, and of the women 2,300. And some of them live in the city and some of them live without, in the villages. Now in the generations that have passed Harran was a great city of merchants; they went forth to Tyre, they were her traffickers in choice wares, in wrappings of blue and broidered work, and in chests of rich apparel bound with cords and made of cedar. Harran lay also on the highway from the north to the Land of Canaan, on the highway from the west, from Assyria and Babylonia to the shores of the Cilician Sea; hence also was Harran a great fortified city. And looking about us as we rode through the city, many and ancient were the ruins that we saw, showing that Harran had been great indeed in her time; and there stands to this day a four-sided tower, the walls of which are perfect even now; and at the summit of this tower the bricks are exceeding hard and of a bright yellow colour speckled with black spots withal. And still riding in and out amongst the bell-shaped huts we came at last to the ruins of a great castle; and still riding, our good horses picked their way amongst the columns which were fallen, of which there were many, and under the massive stone arches which were not yet fallen. And we came at last to an open space set right in the midst of the castle, and on this space the grass grew green all about in amongst the fallen stones. And, dismounting, we climbed yet a little way further until we came to a room in the walls, well covered in and newly built up with stones, so that neither wind nor rain could enter in. And at the door of this well-built room stood the Shaykh of the Beni-Zeid. And he welcomed us, bowing after the fashion of his country, and we also greeted him, bowing after the fashion of our country; and speaking to Jacobhan, for we knew not his language, neither did he know ours, he bade us welcome, and said that meat and drink would be laid before us, and provender should be found for our horses. And we rejoiced, for we were exceeding hungry. But the sheep was yet roasting on the great fire in a hut in the ruins of the castle below, and we said to Jacobhan, "Send these men away, for we are weary and would rest awhile." And, taking Hassan only with us, we climbed up to where the ruins of a great tower looked away over the plain, even the plain over which we had ridden and beyond also on the other side further than where we had ridden; and sitting down here we rested awhile; and down below the servants tended the horses, and Jacobhan and the lady from the American Mission unpacked the neatly folded bundles--and, further below, lay the ruins of the great city, and between them the little bell-shaped huts; but above us there was nothing but the sky. And looking away from the city, over the walls and over the plain even unto the far horizon where the sun was now setting, for the day was far spent, I said unto Hassan: "What think you, Hassan, can this indeed be the city whence Abraham departed, and think you that this is the plain over which Jacob fled with his women and children, his men-servants and his maid-servants, his asses and camels, his cattle and his sheep?" And Hassan knit his great brows and pondered awhile, and then he made answer: "What matters it, Effendi, whether this was the city of Abraham, and whether this was the plain over which Jacob fled before the wrath of Laban? Look down below and see these fallen ruins, which are all that is left of the great nations who conquered this city in the generations that have passed; and look down again, and you will see the miserable huts of the people who are left; what do they care for the great people who have lived and died within these walls where you and I are sitting? In a short time they also will be dead, and you and I will be dead, and therefore why should we care whether or not this was the city of Abraham? for, where Abraham is, there shall we soon be also." * * * * * As he was speaking we heard a shout from below, and looking down we saw Jacobhan beckoning to us, for the meat was now served. And we made haste to come down, and entered the room. Here on the earthen floor stood a well-filled bowl, all hot and smoking, for the meat was mixed with swelling rice well cooked in fat. Now Jacobhan fetched a little red carpet and spread it on the floor by the side of the bowl, and on this we sat, crossing our legs after the fashion of the country. On one side of us sat the lady from the American Mission, and on the other side sat Hassan. And they brought us flat cakes of bread, which we dipped into the bowl and scooping out the rice and meat, we ate it thus, for we had neither spoons nor forks. And round about us as we ate sat the dark-eyed Arabs in the white robes. When we had finished eating, one of them rose and fetched a pitcher of water and another brought a bowl, and they poured water over our hands until they were clean. Then, making way for those who had not yet eaten, we caused the carpet to be spread on the far side of the room, where, lying on it, we watched the men eating, gathered round the bowl. Now, when all had finished, one removed the empty bowl and another fetched a brush and swept the floor, for much rice had been spilt about. Then each man folded his cloak together, and sitting back against the wall gazed at us out of the dark corners. But Jacobhan the Armenian and his young friend, who was also of the same people, had no mind to sit thus quiet all the evening. For they were not as the Arabs are, content to smoke and make no sound. "Give us some song," he said to the assembled company, "that we may make merry, for the night is yet young." And they pushed forward, out of the far corner, a young man who seated himself at our feet. After looking at us awhile, there being no sound in the room, he began to sing softly, and these are the words that he sang, as they were told to us later by Jacobhan: "As the swallows from a far country winging their way from the north to the south, so you come to us for the day and on the morrow you are gone. You have the soft eyes of a dove, your hair is of silken threads, and your skin is as the soft skin of the pomegranate. Your little feet they are as the feet of swift gazelles--and they will bear you hence so that your going will be as swift and silent as your coming. Oh, may the snows come in the morning to stay your going away, for my heart will be sick when you are no longer here, and my eyes no longer behold your eyes. The land will mourn and be desolate; the herbs of the field will wither and the waters of the river will dry up in the wilderness." When the words of the song were finished, a silence fell upon us all; and the silence was so long in the quiet stillness of night that many of us fell half asleep sitting there in the dark room. And one by one the company glided out softly into the night until we were left only with our own men. There numbered thirteen of us in all, and wrapping ourselves each in his blanket we lay on the hard floor until morning. * * * * * Now on the morrow the son of the Shaykh came to us and said: "My father sends you word he will be absent until evening, for he rode away this morning two hours before the rising of the sun. To-night, however, he prepares a feast for you and will return, Inshallah, with glad tidings for his people. He bids me meanwhile ask of the ladies what their pleasure will be to-day; and I am at their commands." And we said to the son of the Shaykh: "Take now thy father's lance and these our horses, and we pray thee call out one of your companions and let us see how the men of your country fight their enemies." And the young chief, nothing loth, fetched the long spear which stood at the door of his father's house, and he mounted one of our horses; and he called another youth from amongst the many that would ride with him, and they rode out together into the field, without the city walls. And we climbed up upon the high walls of the castle which looked over the field that we should have the better view. And the two young men set their lances and rode their horses hard at one another, first to the one side and then to the other, now wheeling round, now holding the spear aloft, shouting with loud cries. And their cries were mingled with the cries of all the assembled company, and we also shouted with the others. For the space of an hour or more did they fight thus with one another until they and their horses were weary, but we were not weary with watching them. * * * * * Now as we were feasting that day at the time of the setting of the sun, the Shaykh entered the room where we sat, and greeted us. And we, speaking through Jacobhan, said to him, "Has your business been well?" And he said, "Very well; to-day is a great day for myself and for my people." And we said, "Tell us, we pray thee, how that is?" And he seated himself in our midst, and he told us how his tribe, the tribe of the Beni-Zeid, had offended the great Kurdish chief, Ibrahim Pasha, head of the Hamidieh, who lived not far distant at Viran-shahir. For some amongst them had stolen camels and mules belonging to his people. The wrath of Ibrahim Pasha was very great, and he caused his men to harass their men, and their beasts were no longer safe. Now the Shaykh knew not which among his people were the offenders, but after a year had gone by there came certain of the tribe to him and said, "Behold these camels and mules, are they not those which were stolen from Ibrahim Pasha? We pray thee restore them that we may no longer live in fear of having ours stolen." Thus it was, that on this same day the Shaykh had ridden out with his men, driving these animals, and had delivered them back to the Pasha at Viran-shahir. Inshallah, now they would no longer live under fear of his displeasure. For those who offended Ibrahim Pasha had no mercy at his hands; but those who pleased him had much kindness shown them. And we and the whole company rejoiced together over the good deed that had been done that day, and there was much feasting and singing that night. * * * * * On the morrow we mounted our horses once more and rode away through the bell-shaped huts and past the ancient ruins, over the rich plains, back again into the city of Ur, at the foot of the grey hills. CHAPTER VIII THAT UNBLESSED LAND, MESOPOTAMIA We were encamped in the khan, the native inn, at Severek, a dismal town in the dismal wilds of Mesopotamia; the weather and the depth of mud made it impossible for us to pitch our tent outside, and the dirty, windowless sheds round the courtyard, which afforded the only sleeping accommodation, were not inviting, so we had fixed our tent in a covered passage by tying the ropes to the pillars supporting the roof. The Zaptiehs deputed to guard us for the night hung about the door, plying Hassan and Arten with questions as to our sanity. Why should two foreign ladies choose the depth of winter to travel between Urfa and Diarbekr along the caravan route which had been long deserted owing to the raids of the Hamidieh Kurds? I had often asked myself the same question during the last few days, but had not yet thought of an answer. A pale, dishevelled young man in semi-European clothes slouched into the courtyard and joined the group. The Zaptiehs spoke roughly to him and he gave a cringing reply. He forced his way past them up to me. "Moi parle Français," he said, with an accent corresponding to his grammar. "So it seems," I answered, in the same language. "To-morrow I travel with you," he went on. "Indeed!" I answered, with more of interrogation than cordiality. "Yes, you and my mother and sisters will go in an araba, and I and my brother will ride your horses." I made a closer inspection of the individual, but could detect no signs of insanity to harmonise with his utterances. "Who are you?" I said. "I am an Armenian," he answered. "I have a travelling theatre. We want to get to Diarbekr, and have been waiting here for weeks for an opportunity to join a caravan; the road is so unsafe that no one dares pass this way now, and if we do not go with you we may be here for months yet. You will start at seven to-morrow morning, and we shall do thirteen hours to K----." "We shall start when it suits us," I replied, "and stop when we have a mind. We never travel more than eight hours, and shall not do the regular stages to Diarbekr. We shall be three days on the way." "You must go in two days," he persisted; "we cannot afford to be so long on the road." I began to get angry. "Go away, strange young man," I said, "and don't bother me any more." "I will have everything ready," he said. "You may make your own arrangements for yourself," I rejoined, "if you wish to follow us on the road. It is a public way, but understand that we have nothing to do with you. We start when we like, stop when we wish, ride our own animals, and call our souls our own." "My soul is Christian," he said anxiously, as I moved off; "are you not my sister?" "Young man," I said sternly, "we may be brothers and sisters in spirit, and we may be travelling along the same road to heaven; but please understand that we travel to Diarbekr on our own horses and not in our sisters' arabas." Next morning we left the khan at sunrise, and outside the town we found the whole of the Armenian theatre party ready to accompany us. A covered araba concealed the mother and daughters: we caught glimpses of tawdry garments and towzled heads. Another araba was piled with stage scenery and cooking-pots. Three or four men were riding mules and there were an equal number on foot. The men were dressed in flimsy cotton coats, showing bright green or red waistcoats underneath, and tight trousers in loud check patterns; they wore Italian bandit-looking hats, and their shirts seemed to end in a sort of frill round the neck, suggesting the paper which ornaments the end of a leg of mutton. The whole get-up seemed singularly inappropriate as they plunged ankle deep through the mud. Patches of snow lay in the hollows of the road; a furious gale was driving sleet at right angles into our faces; it was bitterly cold. We rode for hours through a dreary country of broken grey stones with no sign of vegetation or life of any kind. At last we arrived at a collection of tumble-down deserted huts, built of the stones lying round, and hardly distinguishable from the rest of the country until we were actually amongst them. We were cold and wet and had hardly come half-way to our destination, but as neither of us could stand long hours in the saddle without rest or food, we called a halt here to recruit. The Zaptiehs forming our escort begged us not to stop. They could not understand the strange ways of these mad foreigners, who not only travelled in such weather, but sat down to picnic in it instead of pushing on to the shelter of the khan at the journey's end. But we were inexorable, and they reluctantly fastened the horses on the sheltered side of the remaining walls, against which they stood with their backs tightly pressed, drawing their ragged coats closely round them. The village had been but lately ransacked and destroyed by Ibrahim Pasha, the redoubtable Kurdish chief; he was still abroad in the neighbourhood, and any detention on the road increased the chances of our falling in with him or some of his stray bands. The knowledge of this and the discomforts of the journey made the men fretful and anxious. We picked out the least dilapidated looking house and clambered over fallen stones and half-razed walls until we found a roofless room which boasted of three undestroyed angles. In one of these the cook tried to make a fire with the last remnants of charcoal; we huddled in another to avoid, if we could, the blast which rushed across the broken doorways and whistled through the chinks of the rough stone walls. The arabas, accompanied by their bedraggled followers, rumbled heavily past us; the noise gradually died away as they disappeared in the distance; desolation reigned on all sides; the howling blast moaned weird echoes of destruction round the ruined walls. We managed to boil enough water to make tea; and then, yielding to the men's protests, we mounted and rode on. Hour after hour passed; the driving wind hurled the hailstones like a battery of small shot right into our faces; the rain collected in small pools in the folds of my mackintosh, and I guided their descent outwards and downwards with the point of my riding-whip. The drop which fell intermittently from the overflowing brim of my hat had been the signal for a downward bob to empty the contents; but now the wet had soaked through and I let it run down my face unconcernedly. We were a silent and melancholy band. X rode in front with her chin buried in her coat collar; her face was screwed up in her endeavour to face the elements; the hump in her shoulders betokened resigned misery. The soldiers' heads were too enveloped to allow any study of their expressions, but the outward aspect of their bodies was a sufficient indication of their inward feelings; the very outline of their soaked and tattered garments bespoke discomfort and dejection. The pale-faced little officer, straight from the military school at Constantinople, urged his horse alongside mine. "Nazil?" he said. It was a laconic method, essentially Turkish, of saying "How?" _i.e._, "How are you?" "How's everything?" "Hasta" (Ill), I answered. "Aman," he groaned. "Kach Saat daha?" I asked (How many hours more?). "Jarem Saat, Inshallah. Bak, khan bourda" (Half an hour, Inshallah. Look, the khan is there). I raised my head to follow the direction of his pointed whip; the jerk sent a trickle of wet down the back of my neck and the rain blinded my eyes. I dropped my head again. It was not worth while battling with the elements even to look upon our approaching haven of rest. I was too familiar with the aspect of the country to be particularly interested in the scenery; it had not altered at all for many days. If you looked in front, you saw an endless tract of slightly undulating country, the surface of which was a mass of stones; there were stones to the right, there were stones to the left, there were stones behind; you rode over stones, slippery, broken, loose, sliding stones; and now stones, stones of hail, were hurled at you from the heavens above. The very bread we had eaten for our midday meal seemed to have partaken of the nature of the country. I had accidentally dropped my share, and had to hunt for it, indistinguishable among the other particles on the ground. We were rapidly turning into stones ourselves. One seemed to be riding on a huge, dry river-bed, the waters of which had been drawn up into the heavens and were now being let down again by degrees. The officer gave an order to a Zaptieh. The man tightened the folds of his cloak round him, wound the ends of his kafiyeh into his collar, and, digging his heels into the sides of his white mule, darted suddenly ahead. The crick in the back of my neck made it too painful for me to turn my head to look, but this must mean that we were near the khan and that he had gone on to announce our arrival. Visions of being otherwise seated than in a saddle faintly loomed in my brain; I hardly dared wander on to thoughts of a fire and something hot to drink. We turned at right angles off the track and plunged into a bed of mud, which led up to the door of a great, square, barrack-looking building with a low, flat roof and a general air of desolation. The Zaptieh stood grimly at the door. "Dollu" (Full), he said. Nevertheless we forced our way through the narrow entrance and found ourselves in the usual square courtyard lined with dilapidated sheds. The whole enclosure, inches deep in mud and indescribable dirt, was crowded with camels and mules and haggard, desperate-looking, shivering men, with bare legs and feet and dripping, ragged cloaks. The officer laid about him right and left with his riding-whip and ordered up the khanji (the innkeeper). "You must find room for us," he said; "I am travelling with great English Pashas." The khanji waved his hand over the seething, jostling mass of men and animals. "Effendi," he said, "it is impossible; I have already had to turn away one caravan. If we made way for the Pashas there would still be no room for their men and horses. But they are welcome to what shelter there is." We gazed with dismay at the reeking scene. "How far is it to the next stage?" asked X. "Two hours," was the answer. "We had better get on to it, then," she said, and turned her horse's head outwards. We followed in silent dejection. The wretched animals, who had been pricking their ears at the prospect of approaching food and rest, had literally to be thrashed out on the road again. We waded back through the mud and turned our faces once more to the biting blast and driving rain. The track we followed was apparent only to the native eye; to the uninitiated we seemed to be going at random amongst the loose stones. One had not even the solace of being carried by an intelligent and sure-footed beast who could be trusted to pick its own way. The hired Turkish horse has a mouth of stone and his brain resembles a rock. Left to himself he deliberately chooses the most impossible path, until it becomes so impossible that he stops and gazes in front of him in stupid despair, and you have to rouse yourself into action and take the reins in your own hands once more. His one display of originality is a desire not to follow his companions, but to veer sideways until you are in danger of losing sight of the rest of the party and become hopelessly lost off the track. I struggled to keep straight and in pace with the others. Weariness and disgust had made my stupid animal obstinate and more stupid, and I finally gave in and lagged behind, letting him go at his own pace. The officer pulled up and waited for me. "We must push on, Hanum" (lady), he said, "or we shall not get in by sunset." "My horse is tired," I answered, "and I am tired," and I showed him my broken whip. It was the third I had worn out over this obstinate brute's skin. He called back one of the Zaptiehs and muttered to him unintelligibly in Turkish. The man crossed to the other side of the road, and he and the officer, one on each side, urged my horse on with continual blows behind. I dropped the reins almost unconsciously, and, all necessity for action of mind or body being removed, sat between them numb, petrified, and hardly conscious of my surroundings. Pitter, patter came the rain on the saddles; click, clack went the horses' hoofs on the stones; clank went the captain's sword; whack came the men's whips behind; each noise was hardly uttered before it was rushed away in the driving wind. Expectation of something better had made the present seem unbearable in the earlier part of the day; now that one no longer held any hope of alleviation, the general misery had not the same poignant effect; or was it that weariness from long hours in the saddle, and the pains consequent on exposure to cold and wet, had numbed one's senses? Jog, jog; one was being jogged on somewhere, one did not care where and one did not care for how long. * * * * * The men were saying something; the sound fell vaguely on my ears, but the meaning did not travel on to my brain. Then we stopped suddenly and the jerk threw me forward on the horse's neck. I felt two strong arms round me and was lifted bodily off the horse. "Brigands at last," I thought vaguely; "well, they are welcome to all my goods as long as they leave me to die comfortably in a heap." "Geldik" (We have arrived). It was Hassan's voice; we were at the door of the caravanserai. He deposited me on the floor of a bare, black hole on one side of the courtyard and carefully arranged his wet cloak round me. I was conscious of a motionless heap in the dark corner opposite. "X?" I muttered interrogatively. "Hm," came from the corner. "Hm," I responded. The muleteers came and flung the dripping baggage bales promiscuously about the floor. We were soon hemmed in by sopping saddles, bridles, saddle-bags, wet cloaks, and muddy riding-boots. Hassan sat on a pile of miscellaneous goods, smoking reflectively and giving vent to great groans as he looked from one corner to the other, where each of his charges lay in a heap. The cook cleared a small space in the middle of the room and tried to make a fire with dried camel-dung, the only fuel to be had. The whole place was soon filled with suffocating smoke; there was no window, no hole in the roof to let out the fumes; we opened the door until the fire had burnt up, and a sudden gust of wind tearing round the room and out again drove the smarting fumes into our eyes, causing the tears to roll down mercilessly. Another caravan was arriving, and the animals passed through the narrow passage by our open door, on into the courtyard beyond. Mules bearing bales of cloth or sacks of corn; camels laden with hard, square boxes stamped with letters that suggested Manchester; donkeys carrying their owners' yourghans, quilts which form the native bed, damp and muddy in spite of the protection afforded by a piece of ragged carpet thrown over them, the whole secured by a piece of rope which also fastened on a cooking-pot and a live hen. The procession wound slowly through to the sound of tinkling bells, until the whole caravan had entered the enclosed yard, which now presented a chaotic scene of indescribable crush and dirt. Kneeling camels, waiting patiently for the removal of their loads, looked round beseechingly at their own burdened backs; mules munched the straw out of each other's bursting saddles; slouching yellow dogs sniffed about the fallen bundles. The theatre ladies, in gaudy plushes and silks covered with tinselled jewels, sat about on the piles of stage scenery flirting with the young men in the bright waistcoats; stern Mahomedans, wrapped in long, severe cloaks, gazed with contemptuous disgust at these unveiled specimens of the unworthier race, while the short-coated and less particular muleteers and menials stared at them with open-mouthed, grinning wonder. Our little captain sat unconcernedly in a sheltered corner, deftly rolling up, with his delicate, finely shaped fingers, endless piles of neat cigarettes; a Zaptieh, with his face to the wall, bowed and murmured over the evening prayer. Each pursued his reflections and employments with that disregard of his neighbour's presence which is so impressive in any crowd in the East. Apart from these by-scenes, the dominating human note was one of quarrel, in strange contrast with the silent waiting of the dumb animals, for whose shelter in the limited accommodation their respective owners were fighting with clenched fists and discordant, strident voices. Then the hush of mealtime falls on all; men and animals, side by side, are busy satisfying their bodily needs. It is a strange mingling of men and beasts, where the man, in his surroundings and mode of life, savours of the beast; and the beast, with his outward aspect of patient and beseeching pathos, is tinged with human elements. We had shut the door on the scene, finding smoke preferable to cold and publicity. It suddenly burst open, and a camel's hind-quarters backed into the room, upsetting the pot of water on the fire. We had been anxiously waiting for its boiling point with the open teapot ready to hand. The men threw themselves upon the animal; and pushed it back; they pushed and hit and swore; it was ejected; the fire hissed itself out and the smoke cleared. A dishevelled looking official in uniform peeped through the door: "The Governor's salaams, and do the Princesses require anything?" Hassan courteously returned his salute. He was now seated cross-legged by the dying fire, sorting nuts from tobacco which had been tied up together in a damp pocket-handkerchief. With the air of a king on his throne he graciously waved his hand towards a slimy saddle-bag: "Buyourun, Effendi, oturun" (Welcome; sit down). The man sat down, carefully drawing his ragged cloak round his patched knees. "The ladies' salaams to his Excellency; they are very pleased for his inquiry and send many thanks. They have all they require." The quiet dignity of Hassan's appearance and utterances seemed to dispel any sense of incongruity the visitor might have entertained as to the limitation of our wants and the methods of our Royal progress; he merely thought we were mad. He departed, no doubt to glean information from the more communicative members of our escort. The cook came in with a pleasing expression. "What will you have for supper?" he said. "What can we have?" we answered, with the caution arising from long experience of limited possibilities. "What you wish," he said, with as much assurance and affability as if he was presenting a huge bill of fare. I knew what one could expect in these places. "Get a fowl," I said. "There is not one left here," he answered. "Eggs, then," I suggested, with the humour of desperation. "No fowl, how eggs?" he answered with pitying superiority. "Well, we will have what there is," I said faintly. "There is nothing," he answered cheerfully. "Miserable man!" I said, "how dared you begin by holding out hopes of lobster salad and maraschino croûstades?" Was there nothing left of our stores? I rummaged in the box which held them. Everything was wet and slimy; a few bars of chocolate were soaked in Bovril emanating from a broken bottle; a sticky tin held the remains of pekmez, a native jam made with grape juice; two dirty linen bags contained respectively a little tea and rice; a disgusting looking pasty mess in what had once been a cardboard box aroused my curiosity. Could it be--yes, it had once been, protein flour, "eminently suitable for travellers and tourists, forming a delicious and sustaining meal when no other food is procurable." It had been the parting gift of our respective mothers, along with injunctions to air our clothes. I calmly thought the matter out. "X," I said, "will it be best to eat chocolate with the Bovril thrown in, or to drink Bovril with the chocolate thrown in?" "Don't talk about it," said X, "cook everything up together, and let us hope individual flavours will be merged beyond recognition." We put a tin of water on the fire and threw in the rice and protein. The chocolate and Bovril were added, after carefully picking out the bits of broken bottle. Hassan fumbled in the wide leathern belt which he wore round his middle; the space between himself and the belt served as a pocket where he carried all his goods. With an air of unspeakable pride he produced a small, round, grimy object, which he held aloft in triumph. "Soan?" (Onion) we all shouted simultaneously in excited, ungovernable greed. He nodded ecstatically, and pulling the long, dagger-like knife out of his belt, he proceeded with great deliberation to cut the treasure into slices, and let them fall one by one into the bubbling pot. The cook sat stirring it all together with a wooden spoon; he kept raising spoonfuls out of the pot, and as the thick liquid dribbled slowly back again he murmured complacently: "Pirinje war, chocolad war, Inghiliz suppe war, soan war, su war" (There is rice, there is chocolate, there is English soup, there is onion, there is water). When the moment of complete mergence seemed to have arrived he lifted the pot off the fire and placed it between us. "Choc ehe, choc" (Very good--very), he said encouragingly, and handed us each a spoon. X swallowed a few mouthfuls. "We must leave some for the men," she said, with a look of apology, as she put the spoon down. She picked up a piece of leathery native bread and started chewing it. "Try a cigarette," I said sympathetically. I could not find it in my heart to tell her the history of that identical piece of bread, which I had been following with some interest for several days. It was always turning up, and I recognised it by a black, burnt mark resembling a figure 8. It had first appeared on the scene early in the week; we had been enjoying a lavish spread of chicken legs and dried figs, and with wasteful squander I had rejected it as being less palatable than other bits. The men had tried it after me, pinching it with their grimy fingers, but being unsatisfied with the consistency they had thrown it, along with other scraps, into a bag containing miscellaneous cooking utensils. The next day it had appeared to swell the aspect of our diminishing supply and had been left on the ground. But as we rode away Hassan's economical spirit overcame him; he dismounted again and slipped it into his pocket, where it lay in close proximity to various articles not calculated to increase the savouriness of its flavour. I was determined to see its end, and when X laid down half--no doubt meaning it for my share--I threw it on the fire. "It's hardly the time to waste good food," said X. The cook picked it out, blew the ashes off, and rubbed it with his greasy sleeve. He offered it to me. "Eat it yourself," I said magnanimously, "I have had enough." But he wrapped it carefully in one of the dirty linen bags and put it on one side. "Jarin" (To-morrow), he said. And so we sit; a mass of wet clothes, saddles, cooking-pots, remains of food, ends of cigarettes, men; unable to move without treading on one or other of them; tears rolling down our cheeks from the fumes of the fire, thankful we cannot see what dirt we are sitting in or what dirt we have been eating. We roll our rugs round us and lie on the sodden earth floor. Hassan turns the men out and stretches himself across the doorway. Dogs moan, men snore; outside the storm rages unceasingly. In the middle of the night I wake with a start; something had hit me on the face and now lay in the angle of my neck. I knew what it was; a piece of plaster had fallen off the walls, and the plaster, like the fuel, is made of dried camel-dung. PART II DOWN THE TIGRIS ON GOATSKINS "The age and time of the world is as it were a flood and swift current, consisting of the things that are brought to pass in the world. For as soon as anything hath appeared and is passed away, another succeeds, and that also will presently be out of sight." CHAPTER IX AFLOAT We rode into Diarbekr on Christmas Day, arriving just in time to share the plum-pudding at the house of Major Anderson, the Vice-Consul. They say of Diarbekr that its houses are black, that its dogs are black, and that the hearts of its people are black--and they say so truly. The first moment that one catches sight of it in the distance one is impressed by the blackness of its walls, built of a black volcanic stone. When one gets inside, the people look dourly at one, and the Zaptiehs ride closer together. But this may be because they have no other choice, the streets being often only four feet across. It is quite easy to cross a street from on high by jumping from one roof to another; and it is certainly cleaner, for down below we are ankle deep in mud, in which great boulders are embedded--relics, presumably, of ancient pavement or fallen houses. If you want to take the air at Diarbekr you walk round and round the flat roof of your house and watch the life of your neighbours on adjoining roofs; or else, closely accompanied by armed cavasses, you ride out into the bleak, stony country, and follow up some mud stream in the hopes of getting a shot at wild duck and snipe. * * * * * A week later we sat on the banks of the Tigris by the Roman bridge which spans the river just below the black walls of Diarbekr. The raft on which we were about to embark was moored to the shore and the men were loading our belongings. A dancing-bear stumped about to the tune of a bagpipe made of the skin which answers so many purposes in the East. When inflated they can be used either for carrying water for people inside, or for carrying people on water outside. We were using 260 of them in this latter way. They were tied on to two layers of poplar poles put crossways, forming a raft about eighteen feet square. At one end were two small huts made of felt stretched across upright poles; the fore end was weighted down with bags of merchandise laid side by side across the poles to form a rough floor. The two kalekjis (raftsmen) waded in and out with a great seeming sense of hurry but without appearing to accomplish anything. "Can't you hurry the men up?" said X. "No," I answered, "we are in the East." "You might try," she said; "you always leave me all the talking to do." "They do not understand my Turkish," I said apologetically. "It would not take you long to learn enough for that," went on X. "I do know the swears," I answered humbly, and I stood up amongst the men and delivered myself of them. "Quick! quick! the Pasha is angry!" said the men. Our crew had assembled; there were our two personal attendants, Hassan and Arten. Hassan was now our interpreter, for, although he could only talk Turkish, he could interpret our signs to other Turks until we learnt the language. Arten, we found, was more Armenian than cook, and sang us Christian hymns in his native language when we felt low after meals. Then there were two kalekjis in charge of the raft; they were Kurds; we had yet to discover their qualifications. Two Zaptiehs forming our escort made up the number. We did not yet look upon them as individuals, but as part of an abstract régime in the country with which we now felt tolerably familiar; the outward aspect of it was a ragged uniform and an antiquated rifle, which served many useful purposes but had forgotten how to eject bullets. "Hazir dir, hazir" (Ready, ready), shouted the kalekjis. The owner of the dancing-bear hurriedly thrust his fez under our noses. "Don't give him anything," I said, "a bear has no business to be dancing in this country; he ought to be trying to eat us in a cave." "The demoralisation of the bear comes from the West," said X, who was studying the primitive habits of the natives, "we must pay for it." "Does this abuse of the hat emanate from the same source?" I inquired, as she dropped a coin into the fez. "That would be an interesting point to inquire into," said X, and she made an entry in her notebook. The worst of X was that you never knew whether she was laughing at you. It is a most uncomfortable position, which men as a rule resent. But I was another woman, and took it philosophically, especially as X accused me of the same failing, and we never see ourselves as others see us. We boarded the raft: the coil of rope which had fastened it to the shore was hauled in, and we drifted slowly out into the centre of the muddy stream. We were followed by another raft, laden up with bags of merchandise, which was coming with us to share the protection of our escort. We went into the sleeping-hut to ascertain the length of its possibilities. Boards had been nailed across the poles to form a floor, and on this was spread a thick native felt mat. Dwellers on land little know the feeling of luxury recalled to my mind in writing these words:--the luxury of being able to drop all the things addicted to dropping, especially when dressing, with the knowledge that they would not disappear for ever in the depths of the Tigris waters; the luxury of being able to walk in the ordinary biped method of placing one foot in front of the other. This was not the case in the open part of the raft, where the floor, formed of poles and sacks, exhibited a network of rounded interstices. The water gurgled and spluttered below them: one's foot invariably slipped into them when cautiously manipulating a journey across the raft by hopping from a slippery pole to a sliding sack; and unattached articles dropped through them on to the skins below, and were occasionally rescued in a dripping condition before they were washed away altogether. The water showed spiteful discrimination in its washing-away proclivities. I recall certain chinks in the more roughly boarded floor of the hut where we had our meals, through which the cook had a habit of brushing his cooking refuse, and where, if one was rash enough to look, there could be seen an accumulation of tea-leaves and bones and bits of decaying delicacies which one associated with meals of past ages. The felt walls of the hut were lined on the inside with white cotton tacked on the poles. There were two small glazed windows, one of which opened. The door was a single width of felt tied with tape. There was just room inside for our two camp-beds--with a space between, which would admit of one of us occupying it at a time. At the foot of each bed stood our two Eastern sacks, which contained all our worldly goods. I feel constrained, on mentioning this form of luggage, to say a word of warning concerning it. In one sense it is easy to pack, because you need not fold anything up, but can simply stuff it in and give the bag a shake; and it is easy to unpack, if you do it in a wholehearted manner--standing in the centre of a large room or a vast desert where you can turn it upside down and spill everything out on the ground. But under ordinary circumstances the bundle of hay with the needle in it is nothing to this sack with your clean handkerchief in it. X and I had a mutual understanding owing to which we never attacked a sack while the other was within hearing; but whenever she appeared in a half-fainting condition and asked the cook why on earth tea was so late, I knew what she had been doing. She had asked me, as a personal favour (the only one I've ever known her ask) not to attack my sack in the morning, because it was a pity to have the whole day spoilt, and if I did it in the evening to go to bed before she did. But to return from this digression. Having examined our quarters, I arranged a rug on the open part of the raft and sat down to take in the surroundings. Arten was unpacking cooking-pots in the second hut, and the other men sat about on the sacks smoking silently. The boatmen sat on a pile of sacks in the middle and manipulated the oars which served to steer the raft and keep it in the fast part of the current. The oars consisted of single young willow-trees, with short strips of split willow bound on one end with twigs, forming the blade; they were tied on to rough rowlocks made of twisted withies wound round heavily-weighted sacks. The Tigris at this point is singularly hideous. There was not a single blade of vegetation to be seen anywhere; the country was a stretch of mud hills and stony desert, and the mud banks of the river were only relieved by the hosts of water-birds that darted in and out or waded in the shallows. The high black escarpment, crowned by the massive black walls of Diarbekr, and fringed by a swampy tract of willow gardens, rose up sharply above the mud flats. As we were carried along the winding course of the sluggish river a higher mud bank shut it altogether from our view, and I felt we had severed that link with the world which one feels so strongly on arriving in any town of a distant uncivilised land, where a European mail occasionally arrives and a telegraph wire eliminates the isolation of its natural position. We were drifting into an unknown world at the mercy of these unknown Kurds. We were alone with the birds and the mud banks and the rippling waters. CHAPTER X HELD UP The snow-capped mountains of Kurdistan were just visible on the horizon line; toward them rolled wave after wave of low brown tracts of land, utterly destitute of any form or sign of life. Behind, as in front, like the coils of a shining serpent, wound the thin white line of the Tigris bed, the one response to the light overhead, imparting a sense of weary pursuit in its never-ending course. Fresh coils unwound themselves ahead as we toiled after new yet familiar spots on a never-changing horizon. Now and then the raftsmen dipped their oars quietly into the water, and with a few strokes twisted the raft into the straightest part of the river; otherwise, we were helpless, in the hands of an arbitrary current which made us bide its time as it slunk pensively round unsuggesting corners, or sped us faster when it gurgled impatiently over a long reach, where grey rock vied momentarily with the endless grey mud. We had given ourselves up completely to Time, and sat all day contemplating one stretch of bank after another as we swirled along. The ripple of the water, the intermittent splash of the oars, the crooning songs of the raftsmen all added to the sense of drowsy contemplation already established by the surrounding view. Everything was in contemplative harmony: isolated herons fished from slippery stones, gazing with such intentness into the passing water that they hardly deigned to raise their heads towards us, and, if they ever deemed it wiser to move out of our way, they would do so by a very deliberate walk on to the shore, after fixing a resentful, half-wondering stare upon us. Flocks of black ducks, suddenly disturbed round a corner, would rise in silent indignation, and with a sharp whirr would pass over our heads and drop quietly down on to the waters behind, smoothing out their ruffled plumage. Fat, ungainly penguins, sitting in white rows, like surpliced choirs, on the shallow shore, would scuttle further back along the mud flat, and taking up attitudes of doubtful interrogation would stare us out of countenance. One and all they condescended to no notes of fright or alarm, and where any sound was uttered it impressed us only with a sense of resentful indignation or of mocking inquiry. We were intruders in specially reserved spots, and could only offer apologies to our unwilling hosts by showing our appreciation of their mode of life in a respectful silence; indeed, to have uttered any sound in such places would have seemed a crime against Nature. So we floated on, casually returning the stares of the would-be enemy, while we listened with lazy indifference to their taunts and threats. At times, when there was complete absence of life on the shore, we confined our attention to more personal reflections. We were a strange assortment of human beings, whom accident had thrown together to live the same life for an allotted time in such close companionship on a small space. Here sat the Moslem in friendly relation with us, Western Christian infidels; the Armenian broke bread with the hated oppressor of his race and religion, while the Turk, on his side, had to endure the presence of his despised enemy. The Arab Zaptiehs and the Kurdish boatmen represented tribes whose traditions told of constant deadly feuds and warfare. The whim of one among us had gathered us together. What casual observer would realise what we had in common? For difference of language, custom, and appearance counts for little when all are equally exposed to the chance of circumstance; and the bonds that united us all with a common feeling were the hardships we endured alike from hunger, cold, and danger. We shivered together in wind and rain, and basked in the sun together; we suffered pangs of hunger together, and rejoiced together over a meal; we faced the same perils with the same chances of escape or annihilation. Whomsoever Fortune had chosen for her favourites in the ordinary run of life stood here on the same level as their less fortunate companions, to take their chance under the same conditions. We each had our several occupations when we felt that it was possible to snatch any time from contemplation. Hassan would retire into the hut at one end of the raft, and, sitting cross-legged on the floor, would chop up tobacco; whilst one of the Zaptiehs, seated at the door, would roll up the cigarettes. Now and then he would reach out one to me.--"Will you smoke, Effendi?"--and the other Zaptieh, seated outside, would strike me a match. Arten might easily have worked all day, but he seemed to spend most of his time contemplating the brazier on which he occasionally cooked something. At intervals he blew up the live charcoal with measured puffs; or he would sit perilously near the extreme edge of the raft contemplating the sky, with the tails of his dirty black overcoat dangling in the water, holding the dishes in the river until most signs of the last meal were removed from them. Being an Armenian he was endowed with a more restless nature, and the apparent contemplation in his demeanour was but the dejection resulting from a broken spirit. When not engaged in his own pursuits he would break in on the silence by pointing out what he considered objects of interest. "Look! look! there is a bird," he would say; and the true Easterns would gaze on without moving a muscle, neither looking at him nor the bird. Arten would look nervously round, knowing from long habit that he was being despised, but unable to understand the grating, silencing effect of allusions to the obvious at the moment when the obvious is being most thoroughly appreciated. The two raftsmen were obliged to concentrate a certain amount of attention on the business of navigation, but they seized every moment they could spare from the task of guiding the raft, and, leaning on their oars, would devote it to contemplation. They too pointed out objects of interest, but only in their capacity as local guides, and in a monosyllabic manner in complete harmony with the occasion. "Christian village," they would say, without looking round, pointing a thumb over their shoulders in the direction of a group of mud huts; or "Arab" when an encampment of black tents appeared on the bank. Hassan and the soldiers would respond by slowly turning their eyes in the particular direction; perhaps even going so far as to give vent to a sudden, sharp "Ha!" if the occasion was one of particular moment. Arten, however, would jump about the raft. "A Christian village! Look, it is there; do you see, did you hear? A Christian village." No one would answer him. "Did you hear, Hassan?" A minute of absolute stillness, and then Hassan's deep, deliberate voice, with no suggestion of impatience: "I heard." But we did not always drift along in a smooth and idle manner; the mud banks gave way at times to steep, rocky sides, between which the waters flowed more rapidly, and careful steering with the oars was required to avoid rocks and whirlpools. And here there were not infrequent signs of life: rock tombs were cut in the walls of the rock, and we would have liked to stop and examine them further, but it was impossible to land the raft at such places, and the current hurried us on almost before we were aware of their existence. There was a certain relentlessness about the way we were torn past all objects of interest; it was like dealing with Time. We were conscious that things passed now were passed for ever, and that we should never have another opportunity for realising them. Evidences of ancient civilisation, episodes in the everyday life of the present tribes, all seemed to sweep past in bewildering, incredible swiftness; we found it hard sitting there to believe that it was we who swept past them. Now we would catch sight of a wedding procession on the bank;--the bride, plastered with feathers and ornaments, being escorted to the bridegroom's village amid a din of music and shouting, the sound of which would follow us long after they were lost to view. Now it would be a group of women washing their clothes at the river's edge, beating them on large, flat stones. Now a solitary horseman would stand motionless on the cliff above, his coloured cloak flowing over his horse's back, barely concealing the brilliant hues of his embroidered saddle; he would watch us out of sight and then turn and pursue his lonely road. Now a shepherd boy would be driving in the flocks of sheep and goats at sundown; and his weird calls, and the answering bleat of the animals, would echo and re-echo right away across the distant hills. Men and women on the bank hailed us as we passed; we could only cast one look at them and wave back a hurried and kindly greeting; they knew we must not stop and talk: we came out of a different world from theirs, and they paused for a moment to gaze at us and then returned, forgetful of the fleeting vision, to their own pursuits. Meditative oxen, chewing their cud, surveyed us wonderingly from the shore. "Why in such a hurry?" they seemed to say, and we answered, "We are not in a hurry, but we have no power to stop." And the eagles overhead peered in contemptuous security at us, vaunting with arrogant flaps the great wings with which they flew whither they listed, while we were being swept along uncertain currents. A hidden bird would pour forth his sweet song to cheer us on our way, and the owls utter a dismal note of warning as of unknown dangers yet to come. And there was some possibility of danger, for we were still in the land of the Sultan's irregular troops--the Hamidieh. Our friends, however, had been decidedly encouraging as we bade them goodbye. "You will probably meet with Kurds," they said, "but if they do shoot at you it will only be for the fun of sinking the raft; they may rob you and strip you, but if you don't resist they won't kill you." We had felt distinctly elated. We still clung to ideas of life; our clothes and provisions were a convenience, but no doubt sheepskins and rice would be always forthcoming if the worst happened. "What would you mind losing most?" I said to X, on the third day, as we lay on our backs on the raft, the muddy water rippling very close to our ears and the muddy banks swinging round as the current changed. "My hot-water bottle," answered X reflectively; "and you?" "My camera first," I said, after a pause during which I had pictured X alone with the hot-water bottle, "and then my stylo." "Yes," said X sympathetically, "I really don't see how you could get on without them; but perhaps," she added consolingly, "if you persuaded the men that there was an evil spirit inside they would let you keep them." This was a decided inspiration. I booked it for possible contingencies; a hot-water bottle and a camera were obvious resting places for the evil eye. We drifted on; the whirls of a slight rapid caught us--the top end of the raft where we lay dived suddenly into the water and then rose again, the bottom end followed suit, we became bowed for a second, then we were flat once more, and loose things which had started jumping about, lay still. I shook the water off my sleeve; X stretched out a hand, without turning her head, to feel whether the "Oxford Book of English Verse" had been washed away. "Mashallah, the Pashas like water," volunteered one of the kalekjis, a little, round-faced Kurd in a brightly-striped coat. "The Pashas are English," answered Hassan, in a tone of dignified rebuke. "The English fear nothing; why should they fear water?" The kalekji paused in his work; he was plying the two poplar poles, with which he guided the raft past shingles and kept it in the open part of the river. He started rolling up a cigarette. "May it please Allah to spare us from an attack from Ibrahim Pasha," he said devoutly, "or even these Pashas may have cause to fear." Hassan looked at him sternly and with some contempt. "The Pashas are English," he repeated, "and the Pashas are not afraid of Ibrahim Pasha." Reasons are superfluous to the Oriental mind; statements are conclusive; the kalekji lit his cigarette and resumed his task. The two Zaptiehs, Ali and Achmet, who had been aroused to a slight attention during the conversation, became listless as before and puffed away in silence after a simultaneous murmuring of "Aha, aha, Ibrahim Pasha." The remaining occupant of the raft, Arten, alone looked disturbed and uncomfortable. He was continually scouting the horizon, and retired behind the door of the hut whenever a black spot was visible. He burst into roars of forced merriment, "Ibrahim Pasha! who is afraid of Ibrahim Pasha? Let him come, and we shall give him a warm welcome!" His companions gazed in front of them in stolid, silent contempt. Silence reigned again--only the splash of the oars was heard and the beating of the water against the skins. Nothing broke the monotony; the river wound its way slowly in and out round mud banks; the country as far as one could see was unbroken, endless mud; the water one drank and washed in and floated on was diluted mud; the occasional village on the banks was built of mud, the inhabitants were mud colour; the very sky gave one a feeling of mud. It was time for a diversion. Away in the distance, since early morning, there had been a black smudge on the horizon which was slowly taking more definite shape as we followed the course of the shiny loops of the river, the one break in this endless, monotonous waste. We had lazily fixed our eyes in its direction. Almost imperceptibly it had evolved itself into great masses of solid, black, limestone rock; a few more turns of the river and we shot right under them and were suddenly shut inside a narrow black gorge. Bare walls of rock rose straight up on either side, and above a narrow stretch of sky-line, with its broken edges formed by the turreted ends of rock, and in a row, on every point, silent, motionless, awe-inspiring, sat peering down at us, like sentinels on guard, great brown vultures of the desert. I fidgeted uneasily; an armed brigand flesh and blood could stand, but this penetrating, undivulging, inhospitable gaze was too uncanny. To appear unconcerned I took out my field-glasses and stared back; with deliberate scorn, and of one accord, they slowly spread out their great wings, shook them, and soared up in the air, dropped down the other side of the rocks, or took up a fresh stand-point a little further removed from the intruders. We floated rapidly through the gorge. Already, on one side, the rocks were giving way to mud banks, though on the right bank the sides rose steeply in high, jagged cliffs. I lay back with a sense of enjoyment of life and peace; my thoughts had strayed to Western scenes. We turned a sharp bend in the river, and I vaguely noticed a native woman carrying a child in her arms. All of a sudden the atmosphere seemed disquieted, the two Zaptiehs had seized their rifles and dropped on one knee as if marking prey; even the imperturbable Hassan was handling a dangerous and antiquated looking weapon. There were men on the shore hailing us, and our boatman was shouting back vociferously. "Pashas," said Hassan in a solemn voice, "put on your hats." I slowly woke to the situation as I obediently donned the insignia of our nationality. There were men each side of the bank; they were armed men, and their arms were pointed at us. "Why, X," I exclaimed ecstatically, "we're held up!" X looked at me with a pitying expression. "You've been rather a long time taking that in," she said. This was not the moment for feeling snubbed; I wished to show that I was now acting with cool deliberation. "X," I said, "before leaving England we took some trouble with revolver practice; with much inconvenience we conscientiously wore our revolvers all through the wilds of Mesopotamia and Armenia; for some weeks we slept with them, loaded, under our pillows in the Taurus Mountains; they are now hanging discarded on the walls of the hut. Do you not think the moment has arrived for giving ourselves some little return for all the bother they have been?" "They have been a bore," assented X; "perhaps it is our duty to have them now." I went and fetched them and solemnly handed X hers. "They are loaded," I said, "but they seem rather sticky and rusty; I wonder if they will go off." "Please point the other way if you are going to try," said X. I could not allow this challenge to my want of knowledge in firearms to pass, and replied with dignity, "Remember to aim at the middle of the man; then if you miss his heart you have a chance either way at his head or his legs." "I do not think I shall fire," said X, "because I cannot do it without shutting my eyes. I will just point." The river had become very narrow, though the current was slow; the men could keep pace with us at a walk; they were masters of the situation. I gathered my wits together and debated our chances. The Kurds did not alarm me, but I cast nervous glances at Hassan. "X," I said at last, "if Hassan fires that blunderbuss, he cannot fail to hit either you or me." X surveyed the situation critically. "I don't think it will fire," she said; "he was trying to shoot with it one day and it would not go off." I breathed more freely. "Effendi," said one of the soldiers to Hassan, "tell the ladies to go into the hut." "Pasha," said Hassan, "you would be more out of the way in the hut." X laughed, Hassan laughed, the Zaptiehs laughed, we all laughed, except Arten, he did not laugh--yet. Meanwhile, the Zaptiehs and the boatmen had been yelling and shouting at the brigands as they kept pace with us on the shore. As they spoke Kurdish we were unable to know what negotiations were going on, and could only await developments. They were a fine set of men, dark, handsome, well set-up, their long, black, curly hair worn down to the collar. They were dressed in bright colours, and armed to the teeth with long knives and pistols, besides the rifles they were flourishing. "There do not seem any villages near," said X. "We shall be very cold if they take our clothes and we cannot get sheepskins." "Yes," I said, "and very hungry if we can get no rice. We have longed for this moment, but there do seem to be inconveniences connected with it." My heart suddenly warmed within me. "X," I said, "isn't this a splendid piece of luck?" "Glorious!" said X; and we gave ourselves up to the full enjoyment of the situation. We had got into a faster bit of current, and the men had to run to keep up with us. They seemed to be yielding to the importunities of our escort; one by one they dropped behind, and finally, with a few parting yells, stood and gazed at us as we floated on. Indignation swelled in my veins. "X," I said, in a voice struggling with emotion, "they are letting us go!" X's face reflected my disappointment and disgust. "And they did not even fire one little shot!" she said bitterly. "Or try to burst our skins," I gulped. X tried to take a cheerful view of the situation. "Never mind," she said, "cheer up, we may have another chance; we are not out of their country yet." But I was not so easily comforted; I wanted some outlet for my rage and disappointment, and seizing my revolver I fired six shots up into the air and flung the weapon across the raft. The reports rang out loud and clear, and the echoes slowly died away in the answering rocks. Arten's white face peered through a chink in the door. X turned to the Zaptiehs and demanded of them a full account of their conversation. "Effendi," said the officer, "it is merchandise they want; they dare not touch the personal effects of the English; they have had some good lessons." "But," I interrupted, "we are loaded with merchandise." "Effendi," said the officer, "we swore by Allah that it was all your luggage, and that if they took it the English Padishah would send his soldiers and kill them all." "Yes," broke in the other Zaptieh, "and we swore that his Excellency the English Consul was on board, and that if they fired a shot he would come out with his great weapon and blow them all into the next world." The little boatman's face beamed with radiant smiles. "Ah! the English are a great people," he said; "with you English we are safe. I have been down the river scores of times, and always at this place I have been robbed. You saw the solitary woman as we turned the corner; she was put there to signal when the rafts were coming; if you see a woman alone on a bank, you know what you are in for. The river here is narrow and the current slow--you have no chance. On the one side the banks are low, and they can draw the rafts on shore and unload the merchandise while the men on the other side, high up on the cliffs, cover you with their guns." "Why do you not carry arms?" we said. The man smiled sadly. "Pasha, what are we against these men? If we float on, they sink the raft by shooting at the skins till they burst, and we lose raft and merchandise and all; if we submit quietly, they take what they want and let us go peaceably. Should we fire back at the men on the low bank within our range, we are at the mercy of the men on the cliffs, who have good ambush. No, Allah wishes it. Why should we resist?" There was silence for a few minutes. The Oriental's first refuge from the ills of the world is in his subservience to the will of Allah; his second is in his tobacco: our boatman slowly rolled up a cigarette. "It is not you English they will harm," he said, "they are afraid of punishment. It is we poor ones, who can get no redress. They take our little all, and know we must submit and they are safe." "Surely you can appeal to the local authorities?" we persisted. The man laughed--a low, quiet laugh. "The Governor!" he said; "poor man--he is no better off than the rest of us. He has no authority over these Hamidieh. Only last week he was set on and robbed himself by a party of them. They stripped him and threw him over a bridge; he was picked up half dead by a passing caravan next day. Aman--it is the will of Allah," and he took long, serene puffs at his cigarette. During the conversation Arten had emerged from his retreat, and, after casting furtive glances in all directions to make sure of the enemy's absence, he seated himself amongst us on the raft and started winking and giggling. "Ach, Pasha!" he said, "we scared them well. We are under the protection of God. Their shots came whizzing round our heads but none could hurt us; they fell round us in the water like hailstones and the air was black with them, and when we shot back we left them dying in hundreds on the bank and they were afraid to follow. Ah, ah, it was a great fight, and we shall be heroes in Stambul." "X," I said, "I fear this poor creature's head has been turned with fright; do you think a little quinine would be of any use? We have only that and the eye lotion left in the medicine case." X looked at me reprovingly. "You know you only hate him because he is an Armenian," she said; "you will not make allowances for his belonging to a down-trodden race. It is only natural he should boast when he knows what a coward he has been." X was putting new ideas in my head; I transferred my thoughts from insanity and quinine and looked with fresh interest at Arten. He was a typical specimen of his race--sallow complexion, dark hair and eyes, and a huge hooked nose. He was closely buttoned up in a long, thin, black overcoat, which had evidently descended on his shoulders from those of a missionary; on his head he wore a dirty red fez, bound round with a still dirtier coloured handkerchief. He sat hunched up, shivering with cold or fright, and his eyes wandered about uneasily. I looked from him to Hassan, and the contrast was indeed striking. Hassan was the embodiment of strength: there was strength in the massive, well-balanced proportions of his huge frame; there was strength in the poise of his head and in the keen level look of his eyes; there was strength in the quiet repose of his mind and body. If these two men were to be taken as typical specimens of their respective races, there was indeed cause to reflect on the result of one race dominating and crushing another through the course of generations. I sat down to reflect about it. It was getting dusk; the waters were very still; we hardly moved. The sun was setting behind us, and the intense redness of the sky made the rocks underneath look absolutely dead black; the moon had arisen and cast a silver glimmer over the dark waters--dark from reflecting the blackness of the rocks; the kalekjis felt their day's work was over and crooned a low song. We drifted to the shore and made fast the raft with large stones laid on the ropes. A very unsavoury smell of cooking alone kept our thoughts well on the solid earth. Arten appeared at the door of the hut. "Supper is ready, Pashas," he said. So we ate our supper that night. CHAPTER XI A RECEPTION AND A DANCE Hassan Kaif is the first place of any interest along the banks, and we arrived there early on the fourth day, having floated about eighty miles in that time. As we approached the village the banks of the river rose perpendicularly in a wall of rock which was simply riddled with tombs. Many of them seemed to be quite inaccessible; those which had any sort of approach from the land side appeared to be inhabited by Kurds. We passed between the ruined buttresses of a Roman bridge of four arches, and then had a view of the whole village on the right bank. The mountains curve away from the river at this point and leave a semicircular level space, which is occupied by the ruins of an ancient Christian town. At the back, extending right up the curving side of the hill to where the topmost peak, surmounted by a castle, crowns the river, is a vast necropolis. The natives live in the tombs and in caves cut out of the rocks. We landed here and slowly toiled up the stony paths on the face of the rock, which led over the roofs of one habitation to the next above it. Near the top we were met by a local Zaptieh, who guided us to the house of the Mudir.[5] We were not sorry to have this opportunity of examining the interior of the dwellings. The house consisted of a single room, into which we stumbled down a dark passage; the walls were roughly levelled off inside, the marks of the chisel everywhere apparent. A low divan ran down each side of the room. In one corner the rock had been hollowed out to form a cupboard, inside which, through the chinks of a rough wooden door, we caught glimpses of his Excellency's bedding--for the Oriental keeps his bed in a cupboard in the daytime and spreads it on the floor at night. With all the instincts of a wandering tribe, the Turk, however permanent his abode, conducts his household exactly as if it were in the nature of a tent. He lives in one room, sleeping, eating, and doing business. Should he wish to eat, his meal is carried in on a little low table, beside which he squats on the floor; the meal over, the table is carried out and the floor swept. Should he wish to write, he discards the rickety table occasionally found in an official dwelling, and writes upon his hand, balancing the ink-pot upon his knee as he sits cross-legged on the floor. When it is time to sleep, his bed is pulled out of the cupboard and laid upon the floor; his slumbers over, it is rolled up and put away again. [5] Local Governor. The Mudir received us with salaams, and taking X by the hand led her to the seat of honour at the top end of the divan; our men ranged themselves below in order of rank, and a few ragged soldiers hung about the door. A servant appeared with cups of coffee and we were offered cigarettes. Then water-melon and sweets were handed round. Conversation was limited by our small knowledge of Turkish; but X was by this time proficient in the formal modes of greeting. MUDIR. How do the ladies like Turkey? X. We think Turkey is a very fine country, and everybody has been very kind to us. MUDIR. How could they be otherwise? are the ladies not the honoured guests of the Sultan? Have the ladies a kalek[6] in London? [6] Raft. X. No, we never saw one until we came here. We find it very comfortable. We should like to take one back with us. MUDIR. The ladies are sisters, then? X. No, we are friends; we were educated at the same college. MUDIR. The lady's father, is he a great Pasha? HASSAN. He is a very great Pasha and a friend of the Queen of England. (_Mutual salaams._) MUDIR. Your father, the great Pasha, has he many sons? X. Yes, he has five sons. MUDIR. Mashallah! God has been good to your father. (_A pause, during which we were closely scrutinised._) MUDIR. Have the ladies no husbands, then? Why are they not married? HASSAN. In England the ladies do not care about husbands. In that country they rule the men. If anything were to happen to these ladies, the Queen of England would send her soldiers out here to revenge them. (_The whole room gives vent to murmurs of "Mashallah," and every eye is fixed on us._) MUDIR. The other lady (_nodding at me_), is she a servant that she does not speak? HASSAN. No, she too is a Pasha, but she cannot speak Turkish. MUDIR (_incredulously_). No Turkish? HASSAN (_scornfully_). Well, only such words as "hot water," "tea," and "be quick," and "is my horse ready?" The Mudir then inquired calmly "how many times" we had been held up by brigands in his district, a strange satire on Turkish methods of government. There was not a doubt in his mind that we had not been waylaid and robbed. He then took us to visit another house which boasted of three rooms, all leading out of each other. The first one appeared to be the general living- and sleeping-room, absolutely bare save for strips of felt ranged down the far end and a pile of native quilts in a corner; the second room, which could only be reached through the first, was dedicated to the animals; and the third, which was almost pitch dark, was a larder and store-house. We were received by several women, who held us fast by the hands while they displayed their abode with great signs of pride. One of them was a strikingly handsome dark girl, dressed in gorgeous coloured native silks and velvet, and literally plastered with ornaments from the face and hair downwards. On returning to the raft we were somewhat puzzled (one is never _surprised_ in Turkish dominions) by finding it taken possession of by two women, magnificently dressed and closely veiled, accompanied by a man and a woman servant. They were sitting in a row on our beds examining all our belongings complacently. "We are very pleased to have a visit from the ladies," said X to the local Zaptieh who had accompanied us back to the raft, "but they must go on land now, as we are starting at once." "But they will travel with you," said the Zaptieh. "That would be very pleasant," said X, who never forgot to be polite, "but the raft is so small, I am afraid there will be no room for us all and they will not be comfortable." "Oh, there is plenty of room," said the man reassuringly. "The ladies need not trouble themselves." X turned to one of our Zaptiehs. "Will you explain," she said, "that the raft is ours, and that we are very sorry but we are afraid we cannot take the ladies with us?" "It is an arrangement of the Mudir's," explained Ali; "he has been waiting for an opportunity to send the harem of a great Pasha to a neighbouring village, and he ordered them to travel with you. They will land before evening." As there seemed no choice in the matter we expressed our tremendous appreciation of the honour, and instructed Hassan to keep an eye on their pockets. Hassan, who had looked somewhat perturbed from the outset, had resolutely ensconced himself at the farthest corner of the raft with his back turned to everything. He refused to change his position, and explained to us that the ladies were such very great Pashas that it would be "shame" for him to look in their direction. Towards evening we reached a spot where two armed Kurds, with long black curls and magnificent striped coats, stood waiting with saddled horses. The servant woman carefully wrapped the great ladies up in their gaudy silk cloaks, and the man-servant helped them off the raft on to the backs of the horses. The little party rode away up a lonely looking mountain pass, and as we floated on we caught occasional glimpses of their bright colours in and out of the rocks until they disappeared entirely over the crest of a distant hill. That night we moored the raft at Sheveh, a village backed by high hills, the last spurs of a great range of snow mountains, at whose base we had been winding in and out. We arrived at sunset, just as the women were trooping down, with jars on their heads, to fetch water from the river. I went and sat on a rock above them, and one by one, having filled their jars, they filed up past me, and, stopping for an instant, fingered my garments and gently stroked my hair. Many and various questions they asked me, of which I could understand nothing beyond the note of interrogation, and they sailed on with that free and graceful carriage which is the gift of uncivilised races, balancing the jars at an angle on their white-veiled heads. We had finished supper and had stretched ourselves out on the raft under the stars, enjoying the quiet and beauty of the scene. The boatmen belonging to the two rafts had joined forces and pitched a tent on the shore close by. Most of the village had straggled down to the river and were flitting mysteriously about in waving white garments. All of a sudden a wild, savage noise of screaming and singing arose. "The men have bought a piece of meat," said Ali, "and are singing to it." It was a weird sight: a roaring fire blazed in the gloaming; in the centre hung a large black pot containing the meat which was the object of this adoration. The men had joined hands and were dancing round the fire in a circle, dark figures in long white flowing robes which waved about in the semi-darkness as their owners flung their feet up or swung suddenly round. All at once the men dropped on the ground with a prolonged dwindling yell, which finally died off into an expectant silence. The head boatman fished out the meat and began to tear it to pieces with his hands, distributing it amongst his companions. A deathly silence reigned while the carcass was being consumed. This gave place, as time went on, to a murmuring ripple of satisfaction, which developed a little later into bursts of contented song. Then they sprang to their feet and flung themselves once more into a dance. "Let's join in," said X. We each seized a Zaptieh by the hand and were included in the circle. We sprang and kicked and stamped; we turned and hopped and stamped. One man stood in the middle clapping the time with his hands as he led the song. It was a war-dance; the circle broke into two lines and we dashed against one another. Then the lines receded and the song became a low murmur as of gathering hordes, whilst our feet beat slow time. The murmur swelled and our feet quickened; louder and louder we shouted, quicker and quicker we moved, and finally with a great roar the two lines dashed against one another. We gave one great stamp all together and stopped dead; another great stamp and a roar, then a hush, and the lines receded. Thoroughly exhausted, I fell out of the line while this proceeding was repeated. By this time the moon shone out bright and strong. On one side a great desert stretched away into the starry night; on the other the waters of the Tigris swept darkly past us. The wild shrieks flew up into the clear, silent air. X danced furiously on between Hassan and Ali. Her face was strangely white, lit up by the moon, amongst the dark complexions of her companions. They sprang and hopped and stamped, they turned and hopped and stamped; a white robe here, a red cloak there, a naked foot and a soldier's boot, hopping and turning and stamping. "X," I said to myself, "you are mad, and I, poor sane fool, can only remember that I once did crotchet work in drawing-rooms." A feeling of wild rebellion took hold of me; I sprang into the circle. "Make me mad!" I cried out; "I want to be mad too!" The men seized me and on we went, on and on with the hopping and turning and stamping. And soon I too was a savage, a glorious, free savage under the white moon. CHAPTER XII AN ENCOUNTER WITH AN ENGLISHMAN Between Hassan Kaif and Jezireh, a distance of thirty-five miles, the scenery is very fine. The river winds through narrow gorges with steep walls of limestone rock riddled with rock tombs. Here and there in the black gorges the high turreted rocks would be skirted below with bands of vegetation; little spurts of glistening water shooting over the rocky tops, as they dashed down to join the river, shot between masses of ferns or trickled through beds of green moss. It was months since we had seen anything green, and we feasted our eyes and senses on the unaccustomed luxuriance. All the grim bareness and desolation of the stone and mud country through which we had passed seemed to serve a purpose now in heightening the intoxication of this scene. Reluctantly I had been compelled to admit, on more than one occasion, that Nature could be positively revolting in places where absence of life and colour were not relieved by any sense of stern ruggedness or the freedom of space; where day after day we had journeyed through a country of little meaningless hillocks strewn with grey stones, only getting round the corner of one to be confronted with another of the same appearance; where it seemed as if Nature had chosen a spot, far from the eye of man, to dump all the clinkers of life, all the stony refuse which even she could not turn to any profitable account--she, the great mother, of whom men say she knows no waste. We had discovered her ugly secret hidden away in this far corner; and now she was using her chief weapon, contrast, to make us feel the true extent of her power. She had wearied and revolted us, and now she seemed to make use of this very fact to give us an intenser appreciation of her best. "Pretty view, isn't it?" said a voice in the native tongue at my side. Startled from another world, I turned round. Arten was rubbing some spoons with a dirty cloth and waved his hands towards the banks. "Got anything like this in London?" he asked affably. I looked at him in silence. He dived into the hut with a scared look, and complained later on to X that the other Pasha had an uncertain temper. The spell of enchantment was broken; but sentiment was in the air with the smell of wet earth and the sound of drinking vegetation; oleander bushes with bright red blossoms stood out against the dark rock, water-birds darted in and out and vultures hovered overhead. I had a sudden desire, awakened by Arten's interruption, to share the emotions called up by the surrounding scene. I glanced at X. She looked fairly sentimental, I thought, lying motionless in her favourite place at the extreme end of the raft, with a dreamy, far-away look in her eyes. "X," I murmured softly, "what does this make you think about?" X was one of those rare people who always know what they are thinking about. She did not fail me on this occasion. "It reminds me of Scotland," she said without hesitation. "Why, what does it make you think about?" But I had stopped thinking about it, and agreed that I had seen places like it in Scotland. "Pasha," said Hassan, "the boatmen want you not to sit so near the edge of the raft." "Why," laughed X, "do they think I shall roll over?" "No," replied Hassan, pointing ahead, "but we are going to shoot a rapid and they say you will be frightened." "I would sooner be frightened than go through the awful exertion of moving on this raft," said X, and she gazed placidly at the line of foaming waters which we were rapidly nearing. There was only just room for the raft to rush between hard, sharp-edged boulders of rock, and it seemed as if we should inevitably be dashed to pieces or stranded at an acute angle on one of them. The Zaptiehs helped with the oars, they and the boatmen keeping up one prolonged yell of "Allah! Allah!" They exerted themselves strenuously, a strange thing for Easterns to do; the raft creaked and rocked and plunged; there was a very disturbing sense of fuss and unseemly exertion on board; the cook was saying his prayers inside; Hassan, with an air of total unconcern or even apparent perception of what was going on, was laboriously adding up his accounts; and X, with equal unconcern, was mending her gloves. On such occasions one thinks of one's past sins and the future; I thought of the future. I stood up and leaned my back against the wall of the hut to steady myself. "X," I roared above the din, "I wonder what there is for supper to-night." X looked at me with a bored expression. "The same, I should think," she said, "as we had last night and the night before and the night before that. Why this sudden interest in your food?" "Because," I said, "I have an idea I shall enjoy my supper to-night." "Yes," said X (she was always sympathetic), "this sort of weather does make one hungry." Further conversation was prevented by a sudden leap of water and raft right into the air, and with the leap went up a loud cry to Allah, as the men threw themselves, with one great determination, on the oars. We shot head downwards into the dark waters past the white froth of foam; there was a moment of turmoil, then everything became very still; the men rested exhausted on their oars, the roaring waters sounded faint in the distance. I looked round: Hassan was still at his accounts; X had finished her gloves, and was lying back with her eyes closed; the cook's prayers had ceased; we were through. The cook came out rubbing his hands jocosely. "Arten," I said, "your prayers have saved us from some inconvenience." Arten looked conscious. "What danger has there been?" he said; "was the Pasha afraid of the waters?" "No, indeed," I returned; "it was not the Pasha who was afraid of the waters, but she was afraid she might not get her supper to-night." "The Pasha is hungry," said X; "we must have onions as well as potatoes to-night." We arrived at Jezireh, without further adventure, at noon the next day. The River Jezeer runs into the Tigris at this point, so that the town can only be reached by wading through the water. We were making preparations to go on shore when we observed a little man being carried across the water on the back of a half-naked Arab. He had that incongruous look made up of the European overcoat with a fur collar, the black trousers, and the brown boots, all surmounted with a fez, which we had learnt to associate, curiously enough, both with the office of local Governor and with that of the native Christian Man. In this case our visitor was the Kaimakam. He was spilt off the Arab's shoulders on to the raft, and landed in rather an unofficial position. We went through the usual pantomime of salaams, and after inquiries after the health and rank of our relations he invited us to come on shore and visit the town. Jezireh is a stronghold of the Hamidieh Kurds; the ragged soldiers about the streets bore their distinguishing mark, a silver star on the forehead. Their chief Mustafa had been murdered but a year ago, after devastating and burning the whole country round; and under the rule of his weaker son there was a temporary lull in hostilities. But Mustafa's name was still only mentioned in whispered words of awe, and this not by plundered natives alone, but by Turkish regulars and Turkish officials alike. On returning to the raft we heard that an English Pasha had just ridden into the town and that he was coming to visit us. He had met Hassan, who had been buying supplies in the bazaars, and the following conversation had ensued, which Hassan now repeated for our benefit. ENGLISH PASHA. Who are you? HASSAN. I am a cavasse. ENGLISH PASHA. Who is your Pasha? HASSAN. Victoria Pasha. ENGLISH PASHA. Where is he? HASSAN. She is sitting on the raft. ENGLISH PASHA. What is she doing there? HASSAN. She is floating to Baghdad. ENGLISH PASHA. Where did she come from? HASSAN. She came out of England. ENGLISH PASHA. Is she alone? HASSAN. No, she has a friend, who is not her sister, neither is she her servant. ENGLISH PASHA. Give the ladies my salaams and say that I will call upon them. X and I looked at one another. The meeting of an Englishman under such circumstances is no doubt, in one sense, an excitement; so would it be to meet a tiger in an English country lane. In a jungle, now, one expects a tiger, and, being prepared for his attack, does not resent it. In the same way one is prepared to meet an Englishman on common ground in England, but, in an Asiatic wild, one is not prepared for the onslaught and one is therefore taken at a disadvantage. It was ten days since we had seen ourselves, as the Man would see us, in a glass (and then it was only a missionary's glass), and we had lost nearly all our hairpins in the crevices of the raft. "Is my face as red as yours?" said X. The question was evidently the outcome of the thoughts which assailed her mind during the few moments' silence in which we had gazed at each other, wondering whether we really looked like that too. "Your face is all right," I said, "it's only red in patches; but your hair is disgraceful. How's mine?" "It's all right," said X, critically, "it's only coming down in patches. But there is no time to do anything; here it is; we must brazen it out." A young Englishman was boarding the raft; he was very spick and span, shaved, brushed, a clean collar, and polished boots. "You must excuse me for calling upon you in this dishevelled manner," he said as we shook hands, "but travellers have to come as they are; I daresay you can sympathise," and he glanced round at our _ménage_. X laughed. "Oh, as far as that goes," she said, "we are all in the same boat." "Raft," I corrected in a nervous flutter. The Young Man looked at me and smiled. I realised that he thought I was trying to make a cheap joke, such as one might have been capable of in the country lane. "I must introduce myself," he went on. "I am Captain T---- of V----. I am on my way there now. It's strange you should just have arrived to-day as I was crossing the river...." I murmured something about tea and fled into the men's hut, where Arten was boiling the kettle. "Arten," I stammered out in broken Turkish, "the English Pasha will have tea with us. You must bring the cups clean. The English never have dirty cups." Arten smiled back very genially; he breathed into a cup and wiped it vigorously with one of his dirty cloths, by which I concluded that he understood what I had said to him. I had learnt up all the words about dirt and the desirability of washing. It was raining slightly and we had to ask the Young Man under cover. X and I sat down on one of the camp-beds and the Young Man sat on the opposite bed, sticking his long legs out through the door. "You speak Turkish, then?" he said to me as I returned. So he had heard my injunctions! I hastily denied any claim to a knowledge of the language. Arten came in with the tea, which he placed on the floor between the Young Man's top-boots. "The Pasha," he said, addressing X, "said you wanted something for tea which the English always have, only I did not understand what it was." "Oh," said X, turning to me, "what was it?" I kicked X. "Biscuits," I said. "No," said Arten, persistently, "it wasn't biscuits; it was something which you don't usually have." I gave Arten the look which he had learnt to associate with the advisability of his own retreat. The Young Man smiled again and looked the other way. "Yes," he said, "I don't know where we should be very often without biscuits in this country; they are so easy to carry." I knew then that he had heard. The Young Man stayed about half an hour and then rose to go. His camp had gone on, and it was a two hours' ride to the place where they would spend the night. When he had departed X and I thought it over. "You bet," I said fretfully, "he will have a five-course dinner to-night, on a table with clean plates and knives for each course, and probably a camp-chair to sit on." "Yes," said X, "and a looking-glass hung on the wall of his tent, and hot water and a clean towel." And that's what a man calls roughing it! CHAPTER XIII THE CREED OF THE KORAN We left Jezireh early next morning. The scenery was now much tamer; the banks of the river were low; stretches of conglomerate and red rocks were interspersed with grassy slopes. The river was no longer disturbed by rocks and rapids, and our two kalekjis had been replaced by a bright-faced youth who was going to take us single-handed as far as Mosul. "Am not I a good kalekji?" he kept on saying to us, "see how quick I make the raft go. When you get to Mosul you will remember what a good kalekji I was," and, standing up on the raft, grasping the two oars, he would throw himself right backwards, causing the raft to shoot on through the sluggish stream. Then when we had got into a faster bit of current he would lean on his oars and roll up a cigarette, talking all the time. "The ladies like me, do they not? They see I am a good kalekji. They surely like me better than their other kalekjis?" Six rafts laden with merchandise had followed us from Jezireh, and one with a hut similar to ours, and flying the Turkish crescent, was conveying a Turkish Yuzbashi with his harem to Mosul. The women were shut inside the hut the whole time, and occasionally, when the rafts drifted alongside, we caught glimpses of them peering shyly at us through the little glazed window. Did they envy us, sitting boldly outside, unveiled, open to the stares of all this crowd? Or, knowing no other lot, did they merely regard us with astonished curiosity, these so-called women from a strange land, who dressed like women but went about like men? The fat little officer in his smart uniform sat outside most of the day, smoking with Oriental listlessness or playing with his little fat boy, a miniature counterpart of himself, dressed in uniform with a toy sword. On some of the merchandise rafts the kalekjis were accompanied by their families. The sacks were piled up to form a rough shelter, under which the women and children crouched all day and cooked their masters' food. More rafts joined on to us further down, until we numbered thirteen. All day we floated in and out amongst each other, the rafts twisting and turning with the vagaries of the current. The kalekjis yelled and shouted at one another; they raced for the fast bits of current ahead where only one raft could pass at a time; they jostled one another or got entangled in shallow places, and the other rafts passed them with jeers. Our little kalekji put forth all his skill. "See, Pasha," he would say, excitedly, "see how we leave them behind! You have the best kalekji; do you see I always have the best of the river? Yah, yah, yah," and he roared derisive laughter at his pursuers. At night we all moored together and the kalekjis would land and sleep in the caves under overhanging rocks, or light a fire on the banks and stretch themselves out round it, taking turns at the night watch. No sooner was the raft drawn up along the banks than X and I would land to get as much exercise as possible in the remaining hour of daylight. The Zaptiehs, who were obliged to accompany us, wrung their hands over this display of energy. "Aman, aman. These English have strange habits. They land all in a minute, and before you know what they are doing one has rushed in one direction and one in another, and perhaps both are lost in the darkness, and we have orders from the Government never to lose sight of them. If the Government only knew what they were asking!" The first evening after leaving Jezireh, Ali and I climbed to the highest point near the river, from where I obtained a good view of the surrounding country. The top of the hill on which we stood was a mass of stones and bulbous plants with withered leaves and tufts of rough grass. The country stretched away all round in strong, firm undulations to a distant horizon. To the west was the full glory of an Eastern sunset, intensifying the reddish hue of the rolling hills until they merged into blackness in the shadows. To the east the terminating range was snow-clad, and the setting sun, casting a pink glow over the white peaks, gave a gradation of colour which caused them to melt imperceptibly into the sky and mingle with the pale reflection of the sun's setting rays on the opposite horizon. What villages, what life lay concealed in the hollows of these rolling hills I do not know. To the eye there was nothing visible but the hill-tops in their naked immensity and intense desolation; on one side the flaming colours of the setting sun, on the other its pale reflection on the snowy peaks, and over it all the vast, inscrutable sky. We were alone, Ali and I, with "that silence which some call God." I liked Ali's companionship on these evening walks; his nature, truly Eastern, was in keeping with the country. He had been chatting away merrily all the way up, trying to teach me Turkish words; and now we both lapsed of one accord into silence and his merry face took on something of the sternness of the surroundings. He laid his rifle on the ground, and moving away a little distance, went through the evening prayer. Now upright, now bending, now on his knees, a misty black form in the dazzling red light, he murmured inaudibly the prescribed words, words which at that same hour were being uttered alike by so many thousands in the fevered rush of busy towns, on the house-tops, and in the crowded chambers. A form, a ritual of empty words this prayer may be, but up here, in Nature's loneliness, the prayer and the man seemed strangely relevant. Was it not in such a place as this, alone with the great forces of Nature, that Mahomet formed his conception of God as an Irresistible Power? "Has there come to thee the story of the overwhelming?" he cries out at one time, and again: "Does there not come in man a portion of time when he is nothing worth mentioning?" The great need of man is for expression; in places such as these his own insignificance is forced upon him by the overwhelming might of primeval forces. Alone with the great silence which his voice cannot fill, with the great space in which he, as a physical being, is lost; with the great mountains against which to measure his strength, with the stars which he cannot reach, and the floods which he cannot stem, his own personality seems so trivial that he doubts its very existence, until a strong feeling of participation in the forces themselves, of his own share in them, gives a truer sense of his own proportion; and the reaction of feeling, from this realization of his own impotence to that of his own magnificence in being part of them, produces an overwhelming desire for utterance. Was it under such influences as these that Mahomet's longing, awe-struck soul first heard, "Cry, what shall I cry?" and subsequently gave forth that long blazonry of Nature's beauty in the Koran? There is something in the grand simplicity and childish acceptance of the unspoilt Eastern character at its best which seems to be a counterpart of the feeling inspired by Nature in this Eastern land itself. That it should be so seems natural when we remember how Mahomet was continually conjuring his followers to look at Nature and understand great things. "Look at the heaven how it is reared, and at the mountains how they are set up, and at the earth how it is spread out...." "Verily in the creation of the heavens and the earth are signs to you if you would understand...." "Lift up thine eyes to the heaven; dost thou see any flaw therein? Nay, lift up thine eyes again; thy sight returneth dim and dazed...." The murmuring words of Ali's prayer had stopped; the sun sank behind the distant line of hills; a breeze sprang up and stirred the tufts of withered grass, whispering in the "still of night." We retraced our steps to the edge of the hill and dropped into the hidden valley, where the Tigris rushed along unheeded and unseen from above. Arten's voice rose with the sound of the waters, singing the well-worn words of an Armenian Protestant hymn. The kalekjis had lit fires at the mouth of the caves, and crouched round the black pot which contained the evening meal. From the far corner of one cave came the wail of a new-born infant. Under "the splendour of the Night Star" we too retired to rest. * * * * * We were already afloat when I woke next morning. From my bed I could see the banks shooting past the little window of the hut. The reader must not imagine a continuous view, such as one would get through the window of a more civilized vehicle of locomotion. The banks at one moment would move straight past the window in the orthodox way; then they would be suddenly shooting past in the opposite direction, or we had a view of the river behind. It requires in many ways a certain amount of practice to live in a state of equilibrium on a raft. One is constantly being made aware of the truism that there are two sides to everything. First of all there are, as one would expect, two sides to the river; and owing to the particular method of our progression we were always being reminded, in a most irritating way, of this purely geological fact. No sooner had we become aware of the scenery on one side, and had decided that it was the right bank, than--swish--round went the raft, and the whole length of the right bank would be shot before our view like a circular panorama, and before you could take it in you were looking at the left bank; moreover, you would be looking at it moving past you upwards, though you were perfectly certain the raft could only be floating downwards. There was hardly time to reason this out when--swish--round you go the reverse way again, the left bank swings past you downwards and you are travelling up the right bank, although the raft, you are persuaded, is still pursuing its downward course. If you stood outside and fixed your eye with strenuous determination on some fixed and immutable spot of heaven or earth you might be able to keep your bearings with a strong mental effort. But when you observed the features of the landscape through the small window of your hut you gave it up--and simply gazed at the view as you would at a magic-lantern slide being slowly withdrawn through the porthole of an undulating steamer. It was equally difficult to look steadily ahead from a mental point of view. Travelling by yourself you might be able to arrange your own philosophy, but it is upsetting when the other person sees the side which at any particular moment you do not happen to be looking at. When, for instance, we were delayed later that morning repairing burst skins, X was perfectly happy dwelling on the romance of navigating this noble and ancient river in the same way as those heroes whose feats were recorded on the tablets of Nineveh, until I unwittingly disturbed the harmony of these thoughts by complaining that I was unpleasantly reminded of a punctured bicycle on a lonely road of civilisation. "How delightful this is," I said, in exuberant laziness, when we were floating on once more, "to be able to lose all conception of time and float on, as it were, to eternity." "Personally," said X, "I find myself counting the days with a most unpleasant conception of the lapse of time, for we have only food enough for one day, and owing to this delay there is no possibility of renewing our supply for two." I felt an injury had been inflicted on me by being reminded of absence of dinner when I had been inflated with great thoughts. But I had not long to wait for my revenge. "What a picturesque man the kalekji is," X exclaimed suddenly. "I take such a delight in watching him shaking out his flowing garments and folding himself up in such graceful attitudes." "Personally," I said, with some malice, "it gives me no pleasure since I became aware that he is only engaged in hunting for fleas." X made no answer; I felt we were quits. She would have to think of the presence of fleas while I thought of the absence of dinner. We floated on very quietly that day. The banks were flatter and the patches of grass became more frequent. At long intervals we passed villages of mud huts built on the sides of the river where the banks rose to a higher point. Towards evening we swung round under a rocky prominence, on the top of which stood the village of Hassoni. There was no possibility of mooring the raft anywhere near it for the night. The banks rose up in a straight wall of rock, of such a height that the inhabitants of the village, peering down at us from above, seemed like pigmies on the sky-line. We floated on until the hills curved and the banks sloped down to a muddy flat. The other rafts were already moored along the shore and we drifted alongside of them. Ali and I landed, and we set off to walk back to the village in the hope of getting some eggs and milk to eke out our supply of provisions. We had some difficulty in scrambling up the wet, grassy places between edges of rock where the water oozed out and trickled down to the river below; and on reaching the top we found ourselves on the edge of an extensive tableland which ended abruptly in the escarpment under which we had floated. Below us we could see the river winding ahead through a low-lying country to the east. We walked for half a mile across the flat table-top towards the village; a long procession of black and yellow cattle were sauntering along in front of us, lowing quietly in answer to the shrill calls of a boy who stood motionless on a little hillock, a weird figure in the straight, square-cut sheepskin cloak of the natives. From all sides flocks of goats and sheep were coming in and filled the narrow streets, sharing the homes of their masters as a protection against the raids of Hamidieh chiefs. It was a partly Kurdish, partly Arab village, and the inhabitants mingled their curiosity at my appearance with fright at that of Ali's. Long experience had taught them that a visit from a Turkish Zaptieh meant extortion of some sort. A child in our path screamed aloud, rooted to the spot with terror. Ali's bright, laughing face clouded over. "That is what the children are taught to think of us," he said, "and I have my own little ones at home." Our demands for milk were received with sullen grimness, until the sight of the unwonted coin caused the faces to clear, and a further present of tobacco established quite a friendly footing. I sat down inside an enclosure of maize stalks at the door of a larger hut, where the cows were being milked, and the natives, clustering round, plied Ali with questions. One of the villagers offered to walk back with us and carry the milk. It was dark before we reached the edge of the tableland again, and I shouted down in the hopes of getting an answer which would guide us to the encampment below. The village boy held up his hand with a scared look: the call was only answered by its own echo, and the stones, slipping under our feet, rattled noisily down the steep slope. "Hush!" said Ali, "who knows but what Ibrahim Pasha may hear you," and we slid silently down the slippery banks in the darkness, until the light of a camp-fire gleamed out a welcome signal. CHAPTER XIV THE EVIL ONE At noon on the tenth day after leaving Diarbekr and the fourth from Jezireh we caught sight of the minarets and cupolas of Mosul, and floated for a couple of miles under the chain of limestone cliffs on the end of which the town is built. We had hardly got within sight of the town itself when a fearful cannonading met our ears, accompanied by piercing screams and savage yells. It sounded as if the walls were being attacked by battering-rams, and all along the shore line at their base we could faintly distinguish a seething line of human beings brandishing some form of weapon. We were evidently going to be eye-witnesses of a tribal disturbance which would cause diplomatic unrest in Europe, and who knows but what our participation in it would not brand us with fame for the rest of time. I determined to make full use of the opportunity and prepared my camera and notebook. The Zaptiehs, however, seemed quite unconcerned, and we understood from them that there was no cause for alarm, and that this sort of thing was of weekly occurrence in Mosul. On floating up to the scene of action we realised that it was indeed only Mosul's washing-day. All along the shore, as far as we could see, under the walls of the town stretched a continuous line of women beating clothes with flat sticks on the stones at the water's edge; and the screams resolved themselves into the ordinary sounds usually emitted where women congregate in large numbers. Truly, the men of the East are wise in their generation. They had thus solved the problem of washing-day and all its horrors, and were left in peaceful and undisputed possession of their hearths and tempers. The women were there in their hundreds, and, as we approached the bridge of boats which crossed the river lower down, we floated past a small army of them on the opposite shore, where a flat stretch of mud was covered with gaudy rags laid out to dry. Mosul, I believe, derives its name from the manufacture of muslin carried on there, and the guide-book informs us that it is chiefly remarkable for the Assyrian mounds found near it. I am bound to confess, however, that it is indelibly impressed on my mind solely in its connection with the vulgar art of washing. We had to wait several days at Mosul while a new raft was being constructed, on to which our huts were bodily transferred. The skins on which we had floated so far were deflated and the kalekjis would return with them to Diarbekr by land on donkey back. We spent the time visiting the historic mounds of Koyunjik and Khorsabad, for detailed information on which I must refer the reader to the works of Layard and Botha and King. The site of Nineveh to the uninitiated eye is represented by the great mound of Koyunjik, which rises out of the flat country on the opposite side of the river to Mosul; it is surrounded by smaller tumuli representing parts of the ancient walls. Here and there are patches of cultivation, and at the time of our visit the bare brown earth was beginning to show promise of being covered by a scanty vegetation. Of winged bulls, of lettered slabs, of cylinders, of all the wondrous contents of the palaces of the ancient Assyrian kings, now ensconced in the museums of Western cities, the only indication we had on the spot were the subterranean tunnels, now choked with fallen débris, from which these evidences had been removed; and the broken bits of masonry and pottery which were strewn promiscuously about the surface. From the summit we obtained a comprehensive view of the country: of Mosul at our feet standing on its limestone cliffs at the farther side of the Tigris, and of the distant country through which the river wandered southwards; a great plain dotted with villages round which patches of cultivated land were already green with the rising corn. Long strings of mules laden with cabbage and other vegetables came in from the outlying villages and swelled the motley coloured crowd at the stalls established on this side of the river, or passed on over the rickety wooden bridge to the bazaars inside the town. The exertion of living on land for these few days had seemed so very great that we were not sorry when we found ourselves afloat once more on the new raft and with a new set of men. Achmet and Ali had bidden us a tearful farewell, and we now had one Zaptieh only as escort, an Arab also named Ali. He was a Chous,[7] and I will give him his full title to distinguish him from our late friend. A picturesque kalekji is almost an essential in such close quarters as a raft, and up till now we had rejoiced in the brightly-striped Kurdish coats and turbans of our first kalekjis, and the clean, flowing, white abba of our Jezireh friend. The two men who were to take us from Mosul to Baghdad presented a very different appearance. Unlike most Arabs, they were both huge, stout men, and were dressed in rough brown camel-hair cloaks over unwashed white under-garments. One of them we nicknamed at once the Evil One; he had the most excruciatingly wicked face imaginable--and the terror of it was considerably heightened when he tried to superinduce a conciliating smile on his hideous expression of wickedness. [7] Sergeant. The country below Mosul was decidedly tame; the dry brown plain was fringed by the already green banks of the river. The river itself was now much wider, and here and there its course would be divided by islands with low, swampy banks, round which the waters would lose themselves in marshy tracts, where herons waded in and out and innumerable black ducks dived and spluttered amongst the rushes. The jungle round was the haunt of the wild boar, jackal, and hyena. It was hard to believe that a few weeks later the first spring sun would call forth wild masses of gorgeous flowers and long, rank grasses, and that the whole country would be teeming with succulent vegetation. It was, indeed, a monotonous bit of country. The sun had not yet melted the snows of the distant Armenian hills, which later on would cause a rapid flood to the river, and we progressed very slowly in the low, sluggish waters. Our two kalekjis displayed no desire to hurry matters by their own exertions, and leant on their oars all day, disturbing the general harmony by constant quarrelling in harsh, grating voices. Now and then Ali Chous, who was fat and meek, would address himself to them in a soothing, almost pleading tone of voice. The purport of their remarks was lost to us, as their conversation was carried on in Arabic, and we found it hard to extract any information out of Ali, who could communicate with us in Turkish. "Tell them they must stop talking and row," I said; "we are hardly moving at all." And Ali Chous would answer: "They will row, Effendi, indeed they will row." And the kalekjis rested on their oars as before, and the Evil One would smile at me, distorting his evil countenance with a diabolical grin. Finally, Ali informed us, in his anxious, conciliating tone, that they had brought no food with them and that they were hungry. If the Pashas would give them bread they could row; now they were faint. This was a favourite Eastern dodge with which we were well acquainted by this time. The kalekjis were always engaged with the understanding that they fed themselves, and knowing the fatal results of giving in on such points we hardened our countenances. "Tell them we cannot help that; they knew they had to bring their own food, and if they starve it is not our fault." And the Evil One, on hearing this through Ali's no doubt modified interpretation, gave us another grin, even more diabolical than before. When we retired into the hut for our next meal I took the precaution of cutting a hole in the felt wall, and peeping through it, saw them comfortably ensconced at the furthest end of the raft, eating bread and scraps of meat out of a dirty linen bag, which they hastily sat on when we reappeared. Arten was terribly afraid of them, and I knew what that meant. "Arten," I said to him early in the day, "if you dare to give these men any food without my leave we will land you at the next village." Arten hastily disclaimed any intention of giving them food, but he evidently cherished the thought as quite a good idea; after all, he was more alarmed of them even than he was of me. Early on the second day we arrived at a small village, where it seemed as if we were expected. There was a crowd on the banks, and one of the men was waiting with a large sack. Ali explained to us that it contained the kalekjis' bread, and that we must land to take it on board. The Evil One waded on shore with the rope, which he made fast to a rock. A little further down the banks were several natives making a raft, and I strolled down to have a look at them. One man sat on the ground with a pile of skins beside him. The skins had been cut off above the hind legs, and the man was engaged in tying up this end, and the openings of the fore legs, with string. One end of the string was tied round his big toe, and he worked the other end up and down round the gathered end of the skin until the tied ends were quite air-tight. Then he threw the skin to another man, who blew into the open fore end until it was inflated, when he tied it up. A third man stood in the water, tying the inflated skins on to the poplar poles with the ends of the same strings that had served to tie up the openings. After watching them a little time I returned to our raft. By this time the whole village had turned out, and a great uproar was going on. "What's up?" I said to X, who had not left the raft. "I've been trying to find out," said X. "The Evil One has displeased them somehow and they will not let him go." We instructed Ali Chous to insist on our going on. The second kalekji, Jedan by name, seemed only too delighted; he kept winking at us and pointing derisively at the Evil One. He untied the rope and shoved off. A man on the shore promptly seized the rope and held us back. "Get a stick," said X, "and give him a smack on his head." X was of a peaceable disposition, and I daresay she was laughing at me. She enjoyed seeing me get angry. But it was in our contract that I should do all the manual labour connected with keeping order, so I obediently seized a long pole, and let it descend gently on the offender's shoulder. He turned round and stared, dropping the rope with an astonished grin. The crowd burst into joyous shouts and pointed at the Evil One, who still stood expostulating angrily in their midst. "Hit him!" they yelled, "he is the one to hit!" and quite believing them I transferred my attentions, along with the end of the pole, to his shoulder. "Come!" I shouted. It sounds tame, but it was the only Arabic word I knew. The raft slowly drifted down-stream and the Evil One, dashing in up to his waist, clambered on board. Ali explained to us that he refused to pay enough for his bread, and that the crowd would not let him go until he had done so. The Evil One grinned, and, diving into the bag, offered me a dirty piece of native bread in his still dirtier fingers. He would share his food with us, though we refused to do so with him; a typical Eastern method of putting one in the wrong. The waters were still sluggish, and the men seemed determined to do no work. "I am beginning to think they are in league with some one on shore," said X. "It cannot be to their advantage to be so long on the way, as they are paid a lump sum to get us to Baghdad, and we are not feeding them. I quite expect we shall be held up and robbed before evening." Finding that orders and threats were of no use and learning from Ali that Jedan, the second kalekji, was afraid of the Evil One, who would not allow him to row, I sat down facing them and produced my revolver. "Tell the bad kalekji," I said to Ali Chous, "that if he does not row I will shoot him." The Evil One, greatly to my astonishment, appeared to believe in the possibility of bloodshed and set to work at the oars. All the rest of the day I sat with my revolver at his head. It was a most fatiguing, if effectual, process. "Supposing he does stop rowing," said X, "will you shoot him?" "I cannot think what I shall do," I said; "the only way will be to fire over his head and pretend I've missed him." "Mind you do miss him," said X languidly. "Sure to," I answered hopefully. Some hours before sunset we were held up in a manner which admitted of no blame being attached to the Evil One. A strong head-wind arose, before which the raft refused to make headway, and we were forced to take refuge on a dreary mud bank which sloped down to the water's edge under a low line of shaley rocks. The men sat about cross and disconsolate. It was very unsafe, they said, to spend the night so far from a village. We should certainly be attacked; the Evil One had arranged this--wind and all. We might be there for days, and what should we do for food? Tired of looking at all their sulky faces, I clambered up the cliff above to see what I could see. The top of the hill was as level as if it had been flattened out by a giant with a hot iron. A low line of hills with equally flattened tops at a little distance hid the further view. I walked to the top of them, led on by the sort of fascination which makes one wish to see what is hidden between one and the horizon. Having reached the top there was nothing to be seen but repeated lines of naked, flat-topped hills. The dreary loneliness of the place, its utter nakedness, in which one seemed shut off from all the real things of life, colour, sound, space, and growth, descended like a physical weight on one's senses. It was all like one great senseless punishment, which from its sheer callousness held one, with mingled fascination and terror, rooted to the spot. With an effort I turned to retrace my steps, when my eye caught sight of a dark object on the same line of hills on which I stood, which made my blood turn cold. A wild-looking, half-naked Arab, who seemed to have dropped suddenly from the sky, was standing motionless gazing at me from a little distance. For one moment I stood transfixed with nameless dread; the whole feeling of terror which had been established by the mere aspect of the country seemed now to be concentrated and personified in this sudden apparition. What hordes of like beings might not be concealed behind these mysterious hillocks? He moved one step towards me and I turned and fled, down the slope and across the level plain to the edge of the cliff under which the raft was moored. The apparition pursued me silently. On reaching the edge of the cliff I peered over and could see the crew of the raft still occupying the disconsolate positions in which I had left them. My senses now slowly returned, and I sat down to await the arrival of the apparition out of consideration to my own self-respect. He was still some distance from me, and, on seeing me sit down, he also sat down and we gazed at one another. The comic element in the scene asserted itself. A savage and I holding each other at bay like two dogs preparing for a fight on the top of the cliff, and down below X sitting unconcernedly on the raft reading the "Meditations of Marcus Aurelius." I laughed out loud; the savage sprang to his feet with a yell, brandished his arms in the air, and darting up a neighbouring slope disappeared behind it as suddenly as he had appeared. I slid down the cliff and joined X. "Where have you been?" she said. "I was just going to send Ali to look for you; he says it is not safe to go out of sight of the raft." "I was only on the top," I answered, too ashamed to enter into further details. We discussed our general situation in bed that night. "X," I said, "if you met a savage all alone in a wild piece of country what would you do?" "Why, go up and speak to him, of course," said X; "it would be awfully interesting. What would you do?" "I don't know," I answered; "I want to go to sleep now." The wind dropped in the night, and at the first break of day we were off once more. CHAPTER XV ARAB HOSPITALITY Fifty-three pairs of dark eyes were fixed upon us in unwavering scrutiny; it was dark and there was silence. The eyes, as they gleamed out of the darkness, might have belonged to a herd of wild beasts watching their prey; but we were privileged guests of the Arab Shaykh in whose tent we were sitting, and the gaze was but that of friendly curiosity. We had been placed on the seat of honour--a rush mat at one side of the tent; opposite to us squatted our host, a venerable old man with a white beard which flowed over his bare, wrinkled chest; with one arm he supported a small boy, who played with the beads round the old chief's neck. Between us, in the centre of the hut, glowed a dying fire, and beside it, silently watching the pot on the ashes, sat the coffee-maker. Now and then he scraped the ashes together round the pot. A thin veil of smoke rose up slowly and dispersed itself under the low roof of the tent. The silence was almost religious; the darkness suggested witchcraft rather than night; a hobgoblin might have sprung out of the coffee-maker's pot and not been out of keeping with the natural sequence of events. All at once, at the back of the tent, a hand was raised and a bundle of fine brushwood came down on to the fire; in sudden blaze it momentarily lit up the fifty-three dark faces, flared an instant, flickered, then as rapidly died away, and we only felt the gaze we had seen before. We silently watched the coffee-maker and our host, who, being nearest to the fire, were dimly visible in its remaining light; the attention of the one was concentrated on his pot; that of the other, in common with his companions, was on us. There was no call for speech, for we spoke in tongues unintelligible to one another, and the only sound which fitfully broke the ghostly silence was that language understood by all nations alike, the wail of an infant in its mother's arms. "Salaam Aleikum," we had been received with as the Shaykh stood up to welcome us on our arrival, unexpected and uninvited, in the midst of his tribe. We had been guided to his tent by the long spear which stood upright at the door, and when he had offered us that token of Arab goodwill--the cup of coffee--we knew that we were amongst friends. He waved us to our seats, and then, seating himself, pulled the child towards him; he patted his own chest, and then pointed to the lad with pride. "His youngest child," interpreted Ali, who accompanied us, and who understood a few words of Arabic. We nodded back our looks of appreciation, and, these preliminary acts of courtesy having established the requisite good feeling, all need for further converse seemed at an end, and a comfortable silence fell upon us all. The whole village had followed us into their chief's tent as a matter of course, and those for whom there was no room inside herded together at the door. The Eastern standard of ideas, which allows respectful equality with one's superiors, was responsible for the total absence of ill-mannered jostling which would have characterised a civilised crowd under similar circumstances on the reception of strange foreigners. The coffee-maker reached out his hand without turning, and one amongst the crowd at his back handed him a massive iron spoon on to which was chained a copper ladle. The Shaykh's little son, obeying a nod from his father, pulled a bag out of a dark recess behind him; another bundle of brushwood was thrown upon the fire and by the light of its sudden, almost startling blaze, the lad untied the bag and carefully counted out the allotted number of coffee-berries. The coffee-maker dropped them into the spoon, for which he had raked out a hole in the ashes. The slight stir caused by these proceedings subsided, the blaze died away, and the attention of all was again riveted on us, save that only of the coffee-maker, who, sitting close up to the embers, now scraped the white ashes round the pot, now turned the roasting berries over with the ladle chained to the spoon. The Shaykh's hand stole on to the little boy's head, and the boy, looking up, stroked the old man's beard. On we sat in the dark silence, learning from these true masters of Time how neither to waste it nor to let it drag, but going step by step with it, to lay ourselves open to receive all that it had to give. The silence was so prolonged and so intense that, silently as time flies, we could almost hear its moments ticking away. It has been said that we take no note of time except when we count its loss. It might be said of all Easterns that they are unconscious of the time they lose, because they take no note of it; they live unconsciously up to the fact that, the past being beyond recall and the future unfathomable, the present only is in our power. And the Eastern is master of Time because he spends it absorbing the present. Meanwhile the berries had blackened, and the man emptied them into a copper mortar. As he pounded them he caused the pestle to ring in tune against the sides of the bowl. The child laughed gleefully and pointed at him; the stern old man smiled and shot a proud glance over at us. "Fiddle away, old Time," rang out the tones of the metal pestle. It seemed to give voice to our joyful derision of Time; here was Time trying to weary us with himself, and we only laughed at him. "Fiddle away, old Time-- Fiddle away, old Fellow! Airs for infancy, youth, and prime, Times both shrill and mellow. Fiddle away, Or grave or gay, For faces pink or yellow-- Scrape your song a lifetime long, Fiddle away, old Fellow!" Not a soul moved. Outside in the dusk a stunted black cow thoughtfully chewed the maize stalks of which the enclosure round the tent was built, and a kid rubbed his head up and down against a child's bare leg. Beyond this the darkness had nothing to conceal. We were in the middle of a bare, largely uninhabited, desert land known only to a few wandering Arab tribes. Outside, the mysterious open vault of the dark sky with its many hundred points of light; inside, the mysterious recess of the dark tent with the fifty-three pairs of gleaming eyes, every one fixed upon ourselves. Now and then, as a flash of lightning in the sky at night will expose the immediate surroundings to view, so a sudden spark from the fire revealed the setting of the eyes--the solemn, dusky, Arab faces. A splutter on the fire as the pot boiled over put an end alike to the tune and to the meditations called up by it. The man transferred the ground berries to a copper jug and, pouring the boiling water on to them, placed this second pot on the hot ashes. We had been sitting there for an hour watching these preparations, and it seemed as if we might now reasonably entertain hopes of tasting the results. Our expectations in this direction were also enhanced by the appearance of three tiny cups which had been unearthed from a dark corner, and handed to one of the men nearest the fire. He proceeded to rinse them out one by one with hot water, displaying a care and absorption in the process which contrasted strangely with the simplicity of his task. The coffee on the fire came to the boil, the coffee-maker poured it back into the original pot, which he again set on the ashes. He then handed the empty jug to the cup-washer, who rinsed each cup out carefully with a few drops of the coffee left for this purpose. Very quietly, very precisely, he placed each cup on the ground within reach of the coffee-maker, and retreated into the background. The coffee on the fire boiled up; we straightened ourselves in expectation as the coffee-maker reached out his hand. But he emptied the boiling liquid back again into the original pot and replaced it on the ashes. The fire now burned very dimly. Even the man's form bending over the glowing ashes was discernible only as a black shadow. The stillness for a few moments was so great, and the concentration of all so centred on the bubbling coffee-pot, that one felt as if all the meaning of life, the past, the present, and the future, was being distilled in the black liquid, and that an incantation was only necessary for the future to take shape and, rising out of the pot, become visible to us all in this mysterious darkness. Again the coffee boiled up. Again the man emptied the boiling liquid back into the other pot and replaced it on the fire. The stillness and the concentration became more intense. Outside, a lamb's sudden cry and the mother's answering bleat rang out sharply in the black night, a distant reminder of a far-off world; it died away, and the broken silence was all the more intense. The coffee boiled up. By this time one had ceased to associate the drinking of coffee with the end of these mysterious rites. The coffee of Cook's hotels, the coffee of crowded railway stations, whole coffee, ground coffee, French coffee, coffee at 1s. 8d. a pound; the clatter of black saucepans, the hot and anxious cook, the bustling waiter, the impatient people of the world with only a minute to wait--calling for instantaneous coffee; what had coffee and all these associations to do with this? And so it was with a certain shock that we looked at this magician pouring the result of his black art into the cups, a few carefully measured drops only. Two are handed to us and one to the Shaykh. We sipped the oily black drink slowly and thoughtfully. A liquid which had been prepared with so much deliberation could not be quaffed down with the reckless indifference ordinarily displayed in the process. It was thick and bitter. We drained the last drop and returned the cups. Another spoonful was poured in and they were passed back to us. Etiquette required that we should not refuse till the third time of offering; then the remainder of the coffee was handed round to the rest of the company in order of rank. There was a stir amongst the crowd round the door, and a woman forced her way through with a baby in her arms. She squatted in front of us, and held the child down for our closer inspection by the firelight. "Khasta" (Ill), said Ali Chous; "she wants medicine." The mother pointed to the sores on the child's face and body, the pleading eloquence in her dark eyes rendering unnecessary any explanations on the part of our interpreter. It was a pathetic instance of the suffering induced by man, even when living so akin to Nature, when he tries to superimpose his own crude ideas of beauty and expediency on to the human frame. The baby, though only a few months old, had been pierced in the nose and ears for the reception of the ornaments which were to enhance its charms in after-life, and of the blue bead which would ensure its safety from the one recognised enemy--the Evil Eye. The wounds were healing badly, and the irritation set up had caused fever. "Tell her we can give her medicine," we said to Ali, "but it is not medicine to drink, it is to wash the wounds with. If the baby drinks it, it will die." The message was interpreted. "Aha, aha, Mashallah," was murmured all through the crowd. The baby became an object of intense interest. Ali threw back his head and pretended to swallow, then he pointed significantly to heaven and to the unconscious victim at his feet. "Ha! ha!" murmured the crowd. Hassan meanwhile had begun to fidget uneasily. "There are fleas here," he said, "you must not stop any longer." We rose, and silently salaaming our host, passed out of the tent. It was lighter outside; the moon had risen, casting mysterious black shadows round the huts, where weird black and white forms flitted stealthily in and out. Owing to the shallowness of the water on the low shelving mud banks we had been unable to bring the raft right up to the shore, and it had been moored at a little distance out in the water. The kalekjis had carried us across on their backs and had returned to cook their evening meal on board. We now shouted across the water to them to come and carry us back. As we stood waiting, a woman came up to us dragging a child by the arm, who hid his head in his mother's dress and refused to allow himself to be examined. "He is ill too," said Ali, "like the other child." "We will give them some medicine when we get on the raft," we said; "tell them each to send a cup." "And this one says he is ill," the man went on, as a tall, sheepish-looking youth touched me on the arm; "they will all say they are ill now that they know you have medicine." "We can only give to those who are really ill," we answered; "what is the matter with this one?" "He has fever, he cannot eat, and his head hurts." I had some quinine pills in my pocket, and I gave three to the boy. "Tell him to take two now, and not to keep them in his mouth," I explained, "but drink some water and swallow them down; then, when the sun has risen one hour to-morrow, let him take the other one." A dozen interested spectators at once went through the whole process in pantomime; a pill was swallowed, and its downward course indicated by stroking the chest. "Ha!" was ejaculated all round. Then the second pill was swallowed with equally suggestive signs. The rising point of the sun was indicated, and one finger held up, and the third pill swallowed. "Mashallah!" went up through the crowd, staring with bated breath. We boarded the raft, and had scarcely established ourselves in our sleeping-hut when Hassan staggered to the door with a huge clay pitcher capable of holding several gallons; he deposited it at our feet. "For the medicine," he said gravely. "We said that the woman was to send a cup," we said; "the few drops of lotion will be lost in that." "For the medicine," he answered, imperturbably. "We had better send it in one of our cups," I said, and I measured out some lotion. Hassan took it; a few minutes later he returned laden with cups, jars, pitchers, and bowls of every size and description. "For the medicine," he said, as he deposited them beside us. We looked at one another aghast. "Say that we have no more," we said. "I have told them," he said, "but they will not go away." We went outside, where a tremendous hubbub had arisen. Our men were standing round the edge of the raft resolutely pushing would-be intruders back into the river. Up to their waists in water, hanging on to the raft at every point, shouting out their ailments, pointing to their throats, their eyes, their heads, were the whole male population of the place. In vain our men strove to keep them off; the raft was besieged at every point. In desperation we unmoored and floated out into the middle of the river; the most determined swam out after us, and holding on to the raft with one hand stroked their chests and pointed to the absent sun with the other. Finally, as we drifted down-stream, they gave up, and the last sight we had was that of a row of disconsolate invalids, suddenly endowed with great evidences of health and strength, careering wildly on the mud flats in the starlight round a discarded heap of empty bowls and pitchers. CHAPTER XVI A STORM AND A LULL The men were still very quarrelsome; the whole day their grating voices never stopped. They seemed, however, quite anxious to row now, and proposed at sunset that we should not moor to the shore as usual but, as the night was not very dark, keep on and make up for lost time. We had been in bed a little while and were dropping off to sleep in spite of the ceaseless quarrelsome voices, when a worse out-break than usual thoroughly awakened me. "They are having a fight on board," said X, sleepily; "I suppose we must leave them at it." I peered through the chinks of the door. Jedan had taken off all his clothes and was trying to jump off the raft into the middle of the river. Hassan and Ali were holding on to him for dear life, and the Evil One sat at the oars screaming with rage. Arten was offering him the remains of our dinner. Jedan seemed finally to yield to the other men's entreaties and sat down on the raft, the tears rolling down his cheeks. Ali sat beside him, holding his hand and murmuring soothing words. The Evil One occupied himself with devouring the dinner. General peace seemed, in fact, restored, and our slumbers were not again disturbed. Next morning we threatened them both with dismissal at Tekreet, where we hoped to arrive that day, and which we knew was the seat of a Mudir, to whom we could make a show of appealing if the worst came to the worst. The cause of the disturbance was put down to Jedan, whose native village was close by, and who had threatened to leave the raft altogether if the Evil One bullied him any longer. Jedan begged to be allowed to visit his home, and it so happened that the wind rose again to such a pitch just opposite the place itself that we were compelled to put to shore. It was another Arab encampment, a collection of black tents with maize enclosures. Jedan at once disappeared amongst them, and, later on, as we strolled round the village, we came across him seated just inside a tent with two small children on his knees. He invited us to come in and sit down. The tent was full of his kindred. In the far corner a child shared with a bleating kid the quilted covering which constituted the bed of the establishment. A woman beside him was spinning wool and another one at the door was grinding dari for bread. A grown-up son sat opposite, industriously working the wool from his mother's wheel on to a leather sole for sandals. Jedan appeared in quite a new light in the centre of his family circle; he suddenly seemed endowed with a dignity becoming his present position as monarch of all he surveyed. The children on his knee clung to him and stroked his head, and he softly patted their heads. All the gruff surliness and cringing hatred of the expression with which he regarded the Evil One on the raft had disappeared, and he smiled with benign content on his domestic surroundings. He sent the boy out into the village with orders to get some delicacy in our honour. In a few minutes the lad returned with a raw turnip, which was cut into chunks and offered to us with much ceremony. Then a bowl of youart was produced, and we felt compelled to drink out of the common stock. At midday the wind had subsided and we insisted on starting off at once, with the hope of reaching Tekreet before evening. It was five days since we had left Mosul, and we had scarcely covered one hundred miles. As we had counted on reaching Baghdad in that time, our supply of provisions had got very low. The river was now deep and broad, and the strong current carried us along at a good pace. Jedan's visit to his family had put him in a very good humour, and even the Evil One, who had participated in the feast of raw turnip, worked quietly at the oars. Every moment took us further from the snow mountains and the bleak country of the north and nearer the sunny south. Already the sun's hot rays poured down soothingly, and everybody was in that state of quiet contentment known as "kief" in the East. Hassan, seated cross-legged with his back against the hut, dozed at intervals. Ali was rolling up long, fat cigarettes by the door, and Arten, stretched full length inside, was making up for his disturbed slumbers of the past night. X lay on a rug at the edge of the raft and I sat beside her, reading aloud the Prophetic utterances on Nineveh. The Bible is one of the few books that one can read in this sort of wandering life. This is, perhaps, because we are in the land where people live in rock houses, and hew their tombs in rocks, and wear girdles, and say "Aha," eat honey a lot, and go out to desolate lands, and say their prayers on the housetop. We were living with the shepherds who divided the sheep and goats at nightfall and watered their flocks at sundown; with the women who came down with their pitchers to the wells, and with the elders sitting at the gates. One felt that any other book made too great a demand on one's mental powers. Even now the sound of one's own voice was disturbing, and for some time we sat listening to the silence and imbibing the sun. A sudden chill crept into the atmosphere and a blackness covered the face of the waters. I looked up at the sky. A line of angry, black clouds had overtaken the sun, gathering up the scattered white fleeces in its path, and was advancing rapidly over our heads. An ominous sound of rising winds seemed to herald its approach. In less than three minutes we were swept up in the arms of a howling gale; sudden gusts caught the walls of the hut and swirled us round, the playthings of a merciless, raging force, at one moment tearing us into the middle of the stream, and the next dashing us with redoubled vigour against its rocky sides. The rain came down in blinding torrents, and the waves, breaking over the surface of the raft, made it seem as if we were being submerged altogether under the water. Then we rose on the crest of a wave once more, which dashed us against a wall of rock rising precipitously at the side, with a force which seemed as if it must shatter asunder all the bending, creaking poles of the raft. Ali and Hassan stood on the edge, trying to break the force of the blows with the butt end of their rifles, while the kalekjis struggled fruitlessly at the oars. The lowering black sky, the raging black waters, the unyielding black walls of rock gave a grim setting of darkness to this struggle, which proved to be no less than a fight with death itself. Our companions, the birds, clung huddled up with fright to sheltering walls of rock, or crept into niches, where they cowered together, hiding their heads under their wings. Even the noise of the wind and waters could not drown the wild, terrified shriek of startled crows when we were dashed against their hiding places, and they flew close past our heads to seek a fresh shelter. This, then, was to be the end of our interlude of peace. It seemed as if the jealous gods, conscious of our forgetfulness of their authority, were proclaiming our powerlessness against their decrees. They tossed us ruthlessly about until we were reduced to a state of subordination, and then, as if repenting of their anger, they caused the wind to lull and shot out a gleam of sunshine through the dark clouds. We passed out beyond the walls of rock, on which the wet drops now gleamed like bits of silver, and drifted in a broad, slow stream with low, shelving banks. On the last ledge, with downcast heads, sat three great vultures, disappointed of their prey. Hassan thoughtfully rolled some cigarettes; he lit one and handed it to me; then he lit another and handed it to X. She shook her head. "Smoke," he said sternly. X took the cigarette and, all need for action being over, we resumed our attitudes of contemplation. But the atmosphere of lazy indifference seemed to be dispelled. Where were we drifting to? Were we at any moment likely to be snatched from this state of peaceful acquiescence in our surroundings, and be hurled to destruction with no word of warning or choice in the matter? "Ah, well, kim bilior?" (Who knows?) I said out loud. "Who know what?" said Hassan. "What is going to happen to us?" I said. "Kim bilior?" repeated Hassan. "Allah bilior" (God knows), and then, after a minute's silence, he repeated: "Kim bilior? Allah bilior!" I looked up at him. "It is so," he said, nodding his head solemnly; "Kim bilior? Allah bilior!" The influence of the Eastern mind asserted itself; the future had no interest for them. Allah had arranged their destiny; it had nothing to do with them, and no thought or effort on their part would make any difference. Nor had the past any interest for them. They lived in the present, enjoying the pleasant places and accepting the unpleasant ones with no fear or resentment. The storm was over, and they set about drying their clothes and making preparations for the evening meal. Jedan slowly unwound his keffiyeh and wiped his head all over, then he spread the coloured rag out to dry. Ali and Hassan rubbed their rifles carefully and hung them up inside the hut. Then Ali spread out his cloak on the far corner of the raft and went through the midday prayer; this over, he borrowed a needle and thread from me and began darning a tear in his ragged uniform. The sun shone brightly and our clothes were soon dry. Birds appeared on the bank shaking their feathers and stretching out one limb after another. The lull that follows a great storm reigned over everything; all nature seemed resting after her exertions. Ali Chous finished his darn and began to sing; the kalekjis joined in the chorus, clapping their hands. An element of cheerful carelessness established itself on board. I went inside and began to invent a pudding for dinner. Arten was not enlightened in his profession as cook, and I was trying to supplement his deficiencies by the light of nature, for Arten did not seem to have that sort of light. I tied the mixture up in a handkerchief and set it to boil in a pot on the brazier. One by one the men came in and sat round the fire, gazing silently at the pot as they smoked away. After a time I took the lid off and examined its contents. "Is it really going to be a pudding?" said X, with an agonized expression. I tried to recall what puddings looked like in England, and then remembered that I had never seen one at this stage. "I cannot say till it is finished," I said. The pudding still clung ominously to the handkerchief; I had greased it well and have since heard that you only grease pans. I gave it a few minutes longer, then, as we were all hungry, I fished it out of the pot and untied the handkerchief. "Bak!" (Look) said Arten. "Bak!" said Hassan. "Bak!" said Ali. "Bak!" said the kalekjis. It was a moment of extreme tension. I slipped it on to a plate. "Now look," said Arten. "See now what a cook she is!" said Hassan, "a wonderful cook." "Mashallah," said Ali. "Mashallah," said the kalekjis. "It _is_ a pudding," said X, "a real pudding." We all gazed at it for several moments in ecstatic excitement. I handed X a spoon and we each took a mouthful; then we looked at one another. "It is a pudding," said X again. It almost seemed as if she were trying to persuade herself of the fact against the dictates of reason. When we had finished, the men shared our spoons in turn; each one cautiously raised a spoonful and smelt it, then they swallowed it, very much as one remembers swallowing jam in the nursery when one knew there was a powder inside. "Ehe" (Good), they said very deliberately, nodding their heads, and then, as they handed the spoon to their neighbour, "Inghiliz" they added. One felt that the first word was Turkish politeness; the second was a veiled warning to their brethren. But on the whole it seemed a success; we had a sense of repletion; how often had we not swallowed bowls of rice and been only conscious of a great internal void. The men carried our rugs outside and we stretched ourselves lazily out on the open end of the raft. I began to reflect upon Time and Destiny. No shadow of a cloud appeared to disturb the horizon, no obstruction in the river affected our steady onward course down the slow, wide stream; we took the current where it served, and so were not delayed in the shallows where the waters dallied about the banks; they in due course would arrive at their destination and pour themselves, unquestioning and unquestioned, into the oblivious sea. But what would Time, that unremitting, relentless current, do with us? Was it going to hurl us too into oblivion? Whatever it had to give was ours, and yet, because we could not stop it, we were not master of it. We could moor to the shore and let the river go on without us; the current did not wait for us, but we could pick it up again when we were ready for it and go on without loss; but in the current of Time, when we stay on one side and let the moments go past us, we have lost for ever what those moments had to give, and our arrival at our destination has not been delayed; it is so much the nearer. "X," I said, "where do you think we are floating to?" "Baghdad," said X. "I wasn't thinking geographically," I answered, "I was thinking whether it was Eternity or Oblivion. Being hurried along by this current gives me an uncomfortable feeling of not being allowed any choice as regards time, which I resent. Do you mind it at all?" "No," said X, "I feel that I have lost all conception of time, and that we are floating on, as it were, to Eternity." "Do you?" I said dubiously; "I feel it's Oblivion we are getting to." "But we are only three days off Baghdad," insisted X. "Well," I answered, "I devoutly pray that we may get there first." We arrived at Tekreet just before sunset, and at once sent Ali up to the Mudir with the request that he would help us in the dismissal of the Evil One. "Tell the Mudir," we said, "that we cannot sleep for the noise he makes at night, and our heads ache from the noise he makes in the daytime, and that he has guided the raft so badly that we have spent five days getting here from Mosul." Ali obediently disappeared. He first communicated the substance of our remarks to the kalekjis, who, after putting their heads together, landed and strolled down a rambling street of Arab huts. We also went on shore with Hassan, and wandered about along the rocky paths amongst labyrinths of tombs which ran down to the water's edge. Tekreet boasts of one palm tree, the first we had seen on the river, and an old castle, the ruins of which stand on a rock above. The town is a tumble-down sort of place, inhabited chiefly by Arabs, who ply rafts with merchandise between Mosul and Baghdad. Ali returned with the news that the Mudir had given orders for new kalekjis to be ready in the morning. He apologised in the name of the Sultan for the discomfort we had experienced in his Highness's domains. We asked what had become of the others, and were informed that they were frightened of being punished and had run away. "That's curious," I said, "I should have thought that no Eastern would put fright before baksheesh, or mind what a Mudir said in this district." Later on an emissary arrived from the Mudir with a piece of sheep and a message that he would travel with us the next day as far as Samarah. Accordingly we sent back word that we were starting at sunrise. We went to bed that night with a greater sense of security then we had felt since leaving Mosul. We came, moreover, to the conclusion that there was, perhaps, a slight advantage in being under Government patronage, when we really had to apply for that protection which his Highness the Sultan so anxiously proffers to all travellers in his well-regulated country. CHAPTER XVII AN ENCOUNTER WITH FANATICS It was long after sunrise when we awoke next morning; the raft was still tied up and the men showed no signs of moving. "Hi!" shouted X to Hassan through the felt wall, "why haven't we started?" "The Mudir has not arrived yet, Effendi." We waited another ten minutes. "Hi! Hassan, has the Mudir come?" "No, Effendi, he will come soon." We turned over and had another doze. "Hi! Hassan, if the Mudir has not come we shall go without him. Send Ali to say we must start now." "Yes, Effendi, he will go." Turkish acquiescence, especially when very polite, is suspicious. I got out of bed and peeped through the door. Ali was sitting on the bank chatting with a local Zaptieh. "Hi! Hassan, send Ali at once." "Yes, yes, Effendi, this minute he goes." From my point of observation I reported that neither Hassan nor Ali were making any move in the matter, so we decided to dress and become strenuous about it. I relieved my feelings at intervals by trying to express in my best Turkish to Hassan, through the wall, what I thought of the Mudir who dared to keep great English Pashas waiting beyond the accustomed two hours which one concedes to Eastern ideas of punctuality. Before we had finished dressing a sudden rocking of the raft and general bustle outside announced our departure. Through the window I took a last look at Tekreet and thanked my lucky stars that departure from it meant also deliverance from the Evil One. "Do you think the Mudir will be angry with us for leaving him behind?" I said. "Let us hope not," said X, as we emerged from the hut for breakfast; "we owe him something for ridding us of the Evil One." The words were hardly out of my mouth before we became aware of the Evil One himself, sitting between the oars in his usual place. He greeted us with a bland smile. Beside him, instead of Jedan, sat a grinning boy. We turned on Ali for an explanation. "Ach, Effendi, he is good now; he will not speak: he will not say a word; he is changed: he is now a good kalekji. The ladies can now sleep at night." The Evil One nodded affably at us and put his finger on his sealed lips. The grinning boy understood Turkish. "I am a good kalekji, Effendi; I do not talk, I never say a word." We had become sufficiently Oriental to reconcile ourselves to the dictates of Destiny; there was no getting rid of him now, so we had to be content with threats of no baksheesh if a word was uttered on the way to Baghdad. We caught sight of a stranger in the men's hut. "Who is that?" I said. "The Mudir, Effendi." "How long has he been there?" "Since sunrise, Effendi." "Why did you say he had not come?" "Ach, Effendi, the kalekjis' bread was not ready; they could not go without bread." So all this time the local magnate had been sitting listening to our abuse of his person. There is only one way to live in the East, and that is to accept it. Its ways are stronger than your ways, especially when you come out freshly armed with the ardour of the West. Your best reasoning is worsted by gracious irrelevancy; your protesting attacks are turned by acquiescing politeness; and the East moves on its smiling, unalterable way. The country below Tekreet began to have a more civilised look; there were plantations of cucumbers and melons on the banks and roughly constructed windlasses for raising the water in skins into irrigating channels. We passed several ruined villages, and caught sight in the distance of the remains of an old castle. At noon, after floating about three or four miles, we arrived within sight of Samarah, a town which was made conspicuous by the huge blue dome of its mosque and which, we learnt later on, was a place of pilgrimage for Mahomedans of the Shieah sect. We drew up opposite it to land the Mudir, and Hassan announced his intention of landing also to replenish the store of charcoal. "Then I'll get off too," said X, "I want to see inside that mosque." X had a mania for looking at mosques; we had seen inside hundreds and she never seemed to get tired of them. I connected the process chiefly with having to unlace your boots, a proceeding I detest, and dawdle over cold floors in your stocking feet. Then you had to remember to cross your hands in front; if you put them behind your back or in your pockets you were a marked infidel. The raft was run along the shore and we walked up to the town. It was enclosed by a high mud wall which was defended by towers and bastions. We entered through a large gateway and found ourselves amongst a collection of falling mud houses lining the usual dirty, narrow streets. Hassan went in search of charcoal, and we, accompanied by Ali Chous, strolled on to the mosque. We were followed by the usual crowd of curious-minded inhabitants, but being by this time quite used to these attentions, we did not notice them particularly. X was in front, and advanced towards the low line of chains which barred the entrance to the building; she was in the act of stepping over the chains when an excited-looking fanatic rushed at her and hurled her across the street with what appeared to be effusive execrations. In one moment we were hemmed in by an angry, buzzing mob; there was no mistaking the glaring menaces of their expressions and the significant handling of the long knives worn by all natives in their belts. We realised in a flash that we had unwittingly aroused the dangerous side of Eastern fanaticism. Resistance was out of the question; a sign of fear would have been fatal. All day-dreams were at an end: I recalled the vague forebodings the storm had first aroused in me. Was it only the day before that X had said she felt like floating to Eternity and I had maintained that we should be hurled into Oblivion? Were we only joking then? Now we were face to face with grim reality. Hassan's words rang in my ears, "Kim bilior? Allah bilior!" (Who knows? God knows!) We stopped and looked over the crowd. Ali Chous, our only protector, stood beside us white and trembling, appealing to some of the leading men, who hesitated and glared at us in wavering suspicion. Hassan was nowhere in sight. "Let's stroll on as far as the end of the street," said X. "Yes," I answered, "that seems a good idea." "Don't let's hurry," she said. "No," I replied, "we have plenty of time." The crowd made way for us as we turned from the mosque, and we walked on beyond it up through the bazaars. The men had begun to fight and wrangle amongst themselves, the narrow street was tightly packed, and the crowd surged up behind us as we walked on. We were in the covered part of the bazaars; the usual bright-coloured keffiyehs hung outside; gaudy cotton coats of Eastern make lay on the top of bales of Manchester prints and flannelettes; there was the leather stall, with gorgeous beaded bridles and handsomely embroidered native saddles; and next it was the boot bazaar, with none of our blackness about it, but a mass of red and yellow sandals. We had seen it all, just the same, in a score of similar villages, but I took it all in this time as I had never taken it in before. "What a funny baby's garment that is," said X. The crowd behind were beginning to push. "Yes," I said, "I wonder how it gets outside the baby." An angry buzz arose just behind us; were they going to stick us in the back? We both disdained to turn our heads to see. "I hope Hassan will think of getting some spinach," I said, "there was some in the vegetable bazaar." "He knows you like it," X answered, "he is sure to get it." We had come to the end of the row of stalls; we slowly turned and faced the mob. "This is the obvious moment for annihilation," I thought to myself, "I wonder why I'm not afraid." I was waiting in momentary expectation of death, but at the same time I could not realise that we were going to be killed. I did not seem to be able to take in what being killed was--I felt very indifferent, and noticed that I had lost a button off my coat. But the crowd made way for us and we sauntered back. Further down we met Hassan. "What is all this crowd about?" he said. X told him; he made no answer and we walked on together. We got outside the gates of the town but were still a few minutes' walk from the river. "I'm tired," said X; "let's rest here a minute," and she lay down on the ground. I looked round. There was still a noisy crowd at the gates of the town, and we were being followed out by some of the rowdier members. I had a vague idea that it would have been more comfortable to lie down on the raft, but there was no accounting for tastes, and it was all in the day's work. I sat down beside X. There was a white stone a few yards away, larger than the others which lay about; I picked up a handful of the smaller stones. "Best out of ten," I said to myself; "if I hit we get off, if I don't hit we are done for. There is no current about this, it's all chance," and I started lazily throwing at the large stone. Hassan stood by smoking. I missed the first, and the second, and the third. Ali Chous looked uneasily at the crowd beginning to straggle out towards us. The fourth hit, and the fifth; the sixth missed. Two more misses and we should be done for. Ali Chous begged us to come on. The seventh and the eighth hit, the ninth missed. The next throw would settle the question. Two men had come up and stood looking at us. "Let's come on now," said X, sitting up. "One minute," I said, and I carefully picked out a nice round pebble. It hit. "What a baby you are!" said X. We boarded the raft and pushed off. It was a lovely calm evening. The current was straight enough for us to glide quietly along with no assistance from the oars; the last traces of the setting sun slowly disappeared, and gradually the stars reflected twinkling points of silver in the black water, dancing brightly in the moving current. A silence as of death reigned over everything; the blackness of death peered out of the deep waters; the slow but surely moving current was drifting us on relentlessly towards an uncertainty suggesting death. And with it there was a tremendous sense of stillness and peace. I was sitting very near the edge looking into the dark waters. "I don't want to die yet," I said. "You are such a time taking things in," said X, "that you would not be aware that you were dead until so long after the event that it would hardly matter to you. You weren't afraid, were you?" "No," I answered. We were silent for a while, then Hassan spoke. "If you had crossed the chain," he said, "there would have been no more Pashas for me to travel with. Inside is the tomb of the last Imam of the race of Ali, and no Christian may look upon it and live." I looked again into the deep waters and began to take it all in--what I had seen in the men's faces, and how they would have done it. Hassan put a rug over me; I had shivered. I wasn't cold. It was all over, we were safe; but I was knowing what it was to be afraid. CHAPTER XVIII THE END OF THE RAFT We were now only sixty-five miles from Baghdad, and with luck we should reach it next day. We travelled on all night, and on waking up next morning found ourselves floating past cultivated banks and creaking waterwheels, and sighted in the distance dark patches of palm-groves. But, in spite of Ali's prayers to the "God of the favouring breeze," our enemy the wind rose up once more and compelled us to put to shore. From this point it was only a few hours by land to Baghdad. We could faintly see the town itself on the distant horizon line to the east, separated from us by a great expanse of sandy desert. We were told, however, that the river wound in and out so much that it was still a day's journey off by water. We kicked our heels disconsolately on shore--a sandy shore this time; little sandy hillocks alternated with patches of struggling tufts of grass. We sat there all day. The sand blew into our faces, and the river rolled on past us--and just behind me a rat put its head occasionally out of a hole to see if we were still there. Arten also at intervals put his head out of the hut and held up his hand in the hurricane to feel if the wind was blowing. "There is still much wind," he would say, and as no one paid any attention to his original remark he retired again into the hut, and the rat looked out of his hole. I always mixed up Arten with rats after that day. By and by a goufa appeared on the scene. A goufa is a native boat made of pomegranate branches laced together with ropes and covered inside and out with bitumen. It is like a circular coracle, eight to ten feet across and about four feet deep, and is propelled with a single paddle. The crew disembarked just above us. First came half a dozen Arabs, then a veiled woman, then a donkey, then a buffalo, then another woman, then three more men. One donkey still remained inside with two men. He refused to be jumped over the side like his predecessors. All the people on shore yelled at him and the men in the boat hit him. Hits and cries were of no avail; he sneered at the yellers and kicked at the hitters. The donkey on land gazed mournfully at his companion and brayed. Finally the offender put his two fore feet on the edge of the boat and the men behind seized his hind legs and heaved him overboard. He rolled over in the water, shook himself unconcernedly, and started to browse the withered grass. Then everybody disappeared behind sandy hillocks, the goufa floated past us, and we were once more left alone with the wind and the rat. Towards sunset we made a start again, and floated on most of the night. Small mud villages and plantations of palms and orange-trees were scattered thickly on each side of the river. We seemed to be quite close to Baghdad; gilded domes and minarets stood up on the sky-line above confused masses of flat-topped houses and groups of palm-trees. But all the morning we wound slowly round and round endless loops of the river and hardly seemed to get any nearer to our destination. The banks now teemed with life; goufas shot across past us from one bank to another with mixed consignments of men and animals; mules plodded up and down drawing skins of water over windlasses; groups of Arabs lay about on the sunny banks and shouted inquiries at the kalekjis as we passed. The houses, which had been mud hovels higher up the river, now looked more substantial, and were each surrounded by high walls enclosing shady orange gardens. Finally we hove in sight of the bridge of boats which guards the entrance to the town, and ran into the shore just above it. The bridge, we learnt, had to be broken down before the raft could pass through, and as this seemed likely to take some hours we landed and drove up to the Consulate. H.M. Vice-Consul was away, and so we proceeded to the Babylon Hotel. [Illustration: "DRAWING SKINS OF WATER."] Baghdad can be reached in a normal way up the Persian Gulf to Busra and from thence by the weekly mail steamer; it contains, therefore, certain concessions to the ideas of occasional European agents and commercial travellers. The Babylon Hotel is one of these concessions. There was a dining-room hung all round with the framed self-assertions of various wine and spirit merchants whose names, strangely familiar, mocked us from the wall as a first greeting from the borders of civilisation. Hassan stood in the middle of the room and gazed at them open-mouthed. These were to him English works of art, decorations of great English houses, in keeping with the gaudily covered chairs and meaningless glass ornaments. Each one had unmistakable pictorial aspects of the bottle. He pointed at first one and then another. "Ingilhiz," he said in a tone of congratulation. He was always pleased when we met with anything which would seem to remind us of our native land. We were irresponsive; he studied them further. "Raki?" (Whisky) he added, the note of inquiry tinged with apologetic scorn. The hotel was built, like all the better modern houses, along the banks of the river, with overhanging balconies. I escaped from the further evidences of Western vulgarity, and, leaning over the rail of the balcony, let the passing river wash them away from the disturbed crevices of my brain. Just beneath, on one side, the narrow street which led to the hotel was continued past it down to the shore; and here came an incessant stream of natives; women with waterskins to fill and men with mules carrying baskets of town refuse to empty; the same spot served admirably for both purposes. The Eastern has an overwhelming love for "taze su" (fresh water); he drinks it, he sings to it, he worships it, he makes an emblem of it, and yet--with his extraordinarily consistent inconsistency--he makes the town midden and the town watering-place one and the same spot. A nearly naked child sprawled about amongst the dirt and rubbish, unearthing hidden treasures in the form of bright tin lids. The mules strayed about at the water's muddy edge, putting in a drink on their own account whilst their masters, having emptied the loads, filled waterskins for the return journey. A big, lumbering sailing boat was being unloaded just below me; the men swung themselves to and fro together as they pitched heavy bales overboard. "Allah, Allah, Allah," they sang out as they swung. Round their heads circled and swooped white gulls talking of the sea. And now, through the distant broken bridge, clumsily floating down the current, came our raft, square and stubborn amongst the twirling, swiftly paddled goufas. Like a great, uncertain, bewildered animal, turning now this way and now that, guided by the unwieldy poplar poles, it lurched up the watering-place and stuck on the midden. From every corner of the narrow, winding street sprang out half-clothed, jabbering Arab forms; gesticulating, fighting, jostling, they proffered their services in the task of unloading. In a few moments all our belongings were removed; the cooking-pots, the rugs, the beds, all the personal requirements which had made it into our home for so many weeks. Stripped and deserted, looking almost ashamed of itself, it lay there in all its naked clumsiness. By to-morrow even this vestige of our journey will have disappeared for ever from the realms of historic evidence. The felt strips, the walls which have sheltered us through so many stormy nights, will be sold to the highest bidder; they will serve henceforth as carpets in some native hovel, on which the Mahomedan will kneel to say his prayers or squat to smoke his pipe. The poles and oars will go as firewood; and the skins, deflated, will return to the country we have left. Nothing will remain but the memory of it to a few human minds. We are glad that it is to be so; as it has been exclusively ours in the past, so will it remain ours only in the future. We made it what it was, and without us it will cease to be. The waters gave it a farewell lap as they passed on. We had stopped; but they went hurrying on, taking with them all those mixed memories of peace and danger, of contemplation and exertion, of idleness and hurry which they, and they only, had shared with us. They had borne us from the wilds and fastnesses of the unconquered East to the gateway of the Western invasion; through the dreariness and desolation of desert lands, through the magnificent isolation of gorgeous mountain scenery, past the ruined evidences of ancient Western civilisations still mocked by the persistence of squalid tribal huts; and now, having deposited us to draw our own conclusions in this decayed city of the Khalifs, they hurried on, lapping scornfully in their course at the rocking pleasure-boat of Messrs. Sassoon's representatives and the white steam launch of H.M. British Vice-Consulate. Impartially, as they had borne us up, so down here they bore up alike the brass trinkets shipped in their thousands from Manchester, the emissary of the British and Foreign Bible Society, the golf clubs and society papers for the English Club; and with an indescribable roar, as of grim laughter, rushed headlong into the salt blue waters of the Persian Gulf, where, surrendering irretrievably their own bounded individuality, they merged themselves in the larger life of the untrammelled Eastern seas. PART III BAGHDAD TO DAMASCUS "I read on a porch of a palace bold, In a purple tablet letters cast-- 'A house though a million years old, A house of earth comes down at last; Then quarry thy stones from the crystal All, And build the dome that shall not fall.'" CHAPTER XIX BABYLON The eastern gate of heaven was unbarred; Shamash, the Sun-god of Babylonia, flamed forth and stepped upon the Mount of Sunrise at the edge of the world. As he had poured the light of heaven upon the luxuriant gardens and fertile corn-lands of the Babylonians, so was he pouring it upon the same spot, now an arid and deserted wilderness. We were crossing it on our way to visit Babylon. It was pitch dark when we had left Baghdad in the procession of covered arabas which conveyed pilgrims to Kerbela and merchants to Hillah. We had been roused at 2 a.m., and had threaded our way silently through the sleeping streets by the light of a dim lantern. Huddled human forms lay about in angles and on doorsteps, and at every moment we stumbled over the outstretched limbs of a yellow dog. We crossed the Tigris in one of the round native boats, and landed within a few minutes' walk of the khan from where the arabas started. We had an araba to ourselves: an oblong wooden box on four wheels, with a light canvas top and canvas sides that could be rolled up or let down at pleasure; a narrow wooden plank, with a singularly sharp edge and an uncomfortably hard face, ran down each side, and was called a seat. We were going to sit on it for twelve hours. We were drawn by four mules harnessed abreast. Our driver had knotted the reins and hooked them on to his seat; his hands were rolled inside his cloak, and he sat huddled up on the box in the freezing air of sunrise. The mules galloped ahead at their own discretion; the araba lurched over ruts; sudden jerks shot us against one another, or threw us in the air, from whence we descended with some emphasis in the vacuum between the two sharp edges. Now the horizon on the left blazed orange and red, and the desert sands were pink. Stunted tufts of grey-green grass tried to assert themselves in the barren soil; mounds, marking the site of ancient villages, occurred at random; walls of sand, indicating the course of old irrigating canals, broke the level plain; they could almost be taken for the work of Nature, for the hand of Time had obliterated the marks of man. Every twenty minutes the arabas came to a sudden stop to give the mules breathing time; there is a general dismounting of the passengers; the plain is suddenly dotted with bending, praying forms, groups of excited talking Arabs, isolated, contemplative, smoking individuals, fussy superior Turkish officers flicking the specks of travel off their smart uniforms; veiled women peep from behind the curtain of a closely packed conveyance; a small Arab child plants himself with outstretched legs in front of us, and sucks his thumb in complete absorption as he gazes upon us like a little wild animal. Then the whole scene dissolves itself into a sudden rush for the carriages, as of so many rabbits bolting into a warren at the sound of an alarm, and off goes the whole train at a gallop; belated loiterers hang perilously on the step of any conveyance they can catch, and try to snatch the lash of the whip with which the driver good-humouredly flicks them. Finally, we approach a collection of mud huts; we dash through them, scattering hens and children, and draw up in a long line opposite a large khan in the centre of the village. This is one of the regular halting places for caravans, and we have a short wait while the mules are being changed. A stall close by is already closely besieged by our fellow-travellers clamouring for tea, which is sold in small glasses after the Persian custom. We buy a little blue dish of thick cream from an Arab girl in a blue smock, and make a sumptuous breakfast off it and dates. With a fresh set of mules we start off again; the party is more lively. We dash up the sides of an embankment, catch a glimpse of a silted-up canal as we waver for a moment on the top; then a fearful double lurch throws us about as the two front wheels go downwards whilst the two back ones are still going upwards. A short, sharp descent follows, then comes a level stretch; the driver boys shout and race one another, we overtake and are overtaken, we jeer and are jeered at. And the Sun-god pursues his journey in silence and unconcern across the dome of heaven. We pass bands of Persian pilgrims on their way to the sacred Tomb of Hosein, son of Ali and grandson of the Prophet. Many of them trudge along on foot, grasping only the stout staff which one's mind associates with pilgrims; these give a true feeling of sackcloth and ashes. Some ride mules and carry a few worldly goods in saddle-bags. There is a Pasha mounted on a fine Arab horse and followed by servants; large pack trunks on mules in his train make one doubt the existence of his hair shirts. The women sit in covered wicker cradles suspended on each side of mules; donkeys bear rude coffins strapped crossways over their backs, for the ambition of the true believer is not only to make the pilgrimage during life, but that after death his bones may rest in peace in the holy ground of Hosein's martyrdom. At Mushayhib we halt again to get a fresh relay of mules. Here the roads branch and we part company with the rest of the party, who are going to Kerbela. We jerk along over the ridged and rutty ground. I find myself wondering whether cushions in the chariots were amongst the luxuries of wicked Babylon; and if so, whether it was part of the punishment of the fourth generation that we should be deprived of them. We come to a marshy tract with water standing in pools; the driver thrashes the mules vigorously and shouts, the animals plunge forward, and the boy bends his body to and fro with them as they plunge. We go headlong into the marsh and stick; the boy uses his whip unsparingly; the light, energetic members of our party dismount, the fat and heavy ones remain seated; we all shout in anger or encouragement, and by means of these strenuous endeavours are landed on the other side. On the horizon in front we see a black line; it is formed, we are told, by the rows of palm-trees which border the Euphrates. We are now soberly trotting towards a great mound which, rising abruptly out of the level plain, appears in the distance like a sudden thought of Nature's, tired of the monotony of her own handiwork. But as we approach, its symmetrical sides and flat table-top proclaim it to be the work of man. Our native escort tell us, in subdued tones of awe, how Marut and Harut, the fallen angels, are suspended by their heels in the centre awaiting the Day of Judgment. We leave it at some distance to the right. In front of us stretches a tract of land more desolate and naked even than that through which we have been driving; small heaps are scattered amongst a few larger mounds, and all are enveloped in a network of high-banked canals, now mostly silted up. There are marshy pools here and there, and rough tussocks of coarse grass catch the blown sand. "And Babylon shall become heaps," said Jeremiah. It was the heaps of Babylon we were looking upon. Babylon, the "glory of nations," was laid out in front of us. The Sun-god had reached the pinnacle of his height, and covered the spot with the brightness of heaven. We made a detour round the edge to avoid the embankments and marshy places, and then struck to the right across the uneven ground, at a jolting foot's pace, towards a clump of palms on the banks of the river. The trees partially concealed the one stone house of the district, the home of three German professors who are superintending the work of excavation now going on. A mud wall separated it from a collection of mud huts; here live the natives employed in removing the sand which buries the architectural monuments of ancient times. We were at the foot of one of the larger mounds; it is called the Kasr by travellers and Mujelibe (the overturned) by the Arabs, and represents the only part of Babylon which is not altogether buried. We climbed up the great square mass composed entirely of the débris of former habitations; the surface was strewn with broken bricks and tiles; in the centre stood the remains of solid blocks of masonry. Looking down into a large ravine at the further end we saw--half-blocked with rubbish--walls, courtyards, doorways, pilasters, and buttresses built of pale yellow-coloured bricks, each bearing the name of Nebuchadnezzar. Here and there architectural ornaments were built in with the walls; bits of bright-coloured enamel and pieces of broken pottery lay about. We wandered amongst the huge ruin, balancing ourselves on the edges of low remaining walls and clambering from one courtyard to another. A jackal darted from under our feet with a shrill bark; he was answered from behind distant walls by innumerable hidden companions. An owl flew out of a dark corner and perched, blinking, a little way off; a great black crow hovered uneasily overhead. The broad walls of Babylon were indeed utterly broken, and her houses were indeed full of doleful creatures. We sat down and listened to the wild beasts crying in her desolate houses; it was indeed "a dwelling-place for dragons, an astonishment, and an hissing without an inhabitant." Shamash, the Sun-god, was nearing the western gate of heaven. The gate-bolts of the bright heavens were giving him greeting. The Euphrates and its wooded banks lay between us and the horizon; above the river-line we saw a row of jet black palms in an orange setting, and below it a row of jet black palms standing on their heads in the rippled golden water. Shamash has reached the summit of the Mount of Sunset; he slowly descends; the orange changes to red, the general conflagration becomes streaked and barred; the waters of the river grow black, almost as black as the reflected palms, the streaks slowly die away. Shamash has entered into the Kirib Shame, the "innermost part of heaven, that mysterious realm beyond the heavenly ocean, where the great gods dwell apart from mankind." "O Shamash, thou art the judge of the world, Thou directest the decisions thereof...." Thus prayed the dwellers of the city four thousand years ago. And with the same light with which you lit the pomp and splendour of the works of their time, you light the decay and ruin and hideous desolation of the present. "Verily there is a God which judgeth the earth," say we, four thousand years later. And as you smiled on those who worshipped you as the supreme God and Creator of all things, so you smile on us who look upon you, bound and fixed, with no will of your own, following the inevitable laws of Nature. Will you, four thousand years hence, light with the same light sojourners in this land, and will they wonder at our conception of your nature and function, as we wonder at the faith that your ancient worshippers had in you? Or will you, before them, have run your allotted course and consumed the whole world, whether in the fiery furnace of your wrath or in the uncontrolled madness of your broken bonds? The next morning we visited Babel, the mound we had passed the day before. We walked for more than a mile through the palm-groves by the river. Under the shade of the trees were numerous huts made of mud, covered and enclosed with piles of fine brushwood. There were various signs of human occupations. Two cows were toiling peacefully up and down an entrenchment, drawing water in skins over a rough windlass; the skins emptied themselves into a channel, and the water wandered about in vaguely directed irrigation. On the bank beside them lolled an Arab with a long pole, who prodded the sleepy beasts in the moments when he was more awake than they were. A large mass of brushwood was moving in front of us; it looked like one of the huts endowed with a pair of very thin brown legs. As we overtook it the mass half-turned towards us, and a woman's form, doubled in two, looked small in the middle of it. At the doors of the enclosures naked children sprawled about, all with gleaming white teeth and closely shaven heads, save for the one lock of hair, with which they are to be pulled up to heaven; women with tattooed faces and dangling ornaments pounded barley in primitive stone mortars, and baked thin cakes of bread on flat stones. Leaving the river-side we struck out to the right for half a mile across the bare, parched ground, where tufts of rough grass were trying to get a footing in the white, barren soil. We climbed up the mound, passing bands of workmen tunnelling in the sides and removing the bricks which lay about in tumbled heaps or in bits of standing walls. From the top of Babel we could look right over the tract of land once enclosed by the walls of Babylon. The descriptions of Herodotus enable the traveller to call up some sort of idea of the scene in his time. We learn from him that the city was built in the form of a square, surrounded by walls of enormous strength; each side of the square was fourteen miles long, each side had twenty-five gates of solid brass and was defended by square towers built above the wall; twenty-five streets went straight across the city each way from gate to gate. The city was thus cut into squares. The houses, three or four stories high, faced the street and were built at a little distance apart from each other; between them were gardens and plantations. A branch of the river ran through the city; its banks were one long quay. The larger buildings stood in the centre of a square, each apparently fortified and surrounded by walls of its own. It is of these smaller walls only that any trace can be detected. From the foot of Babel, where we stood, remains of earthen ramparts could be traced for two or three miles southwards; they then turned at right angles towards the river and extended as far as its eastern bank. The mounds they enclosed were presumably the site of the more important buildings. Babel itself is supposed to represent the temple of Belus. The Mujelibe, or Kasr, lying to the south of us, is identified with the Palace of Nebuchadnezzar and the hanging gardens; further south still was a lesser mound, Amram. We knew that Birs Nimroud, the great ruin which is looked upon as the Tower of Babel, lay beyond this again, although we could not see it from where we stood. The whole gleamed white in the strong sunshine. On our right the Euphrates rolled along, as unconcerned in his course as the Sun-god overhead. We could trace the direction of the river southwards to the horizon, marked by the palms along its banks. They made a thin, dark line across a wide, light plain--an alluvial tract which is only waiting to yield its hidden gifts on the day when Man joins hands with Nature and distributes the waters of the river. But not so the actual soil of Babylon; that soil, consisting as it does of building dust and débris, is of a nature which destroys vegetation. "The Lord of Hosts hath swept it with the besom of destruction," and it is doomed perpetually to be a "dry land, a wilderness, a land wherein no man dwelleth." As we looked upon the great plain which stretched away all round until it carried the eye on into the sky above, we could almost believe with the ancients that the edge of the earth joined the dome of heaven and that both were supported by the waters of Apsn--the deep. A great wave of silence rolled out of the desert and broke over us. It seemed natural to be immersed in silence; could anything else be expected from a land which had never been alive with the stir of humanity even in far-off ages, of which one might now feel the hush while listening for the echo? The desert had always been silent and would be silent for ever more--a dead, unconscious silence, with no significance save of absence of life. But when we looked at the site of Babylon stretched just beneath us, we became vividly conscious of a real, living silence; we were listening to the "hum of mighty workings"; voices of souls long since dead, the dust of whose bodies lay at our feet, were "wakening the slumbering ages." Had not Nebuchadnezzar entered into the House of the Dead in the great cavern Araltu, the Land of No Return? The dead had been stirred up, even the chief ones of earth, to greet him as he entered hell: "Art thou also become weak as we? Art thou become like unto us? Thy pomp is brought down to the grave, and the noise of thy viols: the worm is spread under thee, and the worms cover thee, ..." and they looked at him narrowly, saying, "Is this the man that made the earth to tremble?" And yet still for us "the wind uttered" and "the spirit heard" his vainglorious cry: "Is not this the great Babylon that I have built for the house of the kingdom by the might of my power and for the honour of my majesty?" The silent answer to it lay at our feet. And, listening, we heard the solemn warnings of Daniel, the sorrowful forebodings of Jeremiah, and, above all, the ironical voice of Isaiah:-- "Let them stand up and save thee, Mappers of heavens, Planet observers, Tellers of new moons, From what must befall thee." As we listened again we heard the noise "like as of a great people; a tumultuous noise of the kingdoms of nations gathered together.... "A sound of battle is in the land and of great destruction.... "A sound of a cry cometh from Babylon and great destruction from the land of the Chaldeans.... "One post ran to meet another post, and one messenger to meet another to shew the king of Babylon that his city is taken." Then we heard a sound of much feasting and revelling; we heard a solemn hush when there came forth fingers of a man's hand and wrote upon the wall. Even as we listened to the hush it seemed to grow into the great hush of ages, and we remembered that we stood alone in the living silence of these great dead, surrounded by the dead silence of an uninhabited land. Overhead the Sun-god silently vaunted his eternal existence; at our feet the Euphrates rolled fresh waters of oblivion from an eternal source to an eternal sea. CHAPTER XX THE SOUND OF THE DESERT The Syrian desert between Baghdad and Damascus; two white tents, a prowling jackal, and a starry sky. * * * * * There was a sense of stir in camp; a rattle of tins and a neighing of animals; a faint odour of lighted charcoal was wafted in at the tent door. I opened one eye; X still slumbered peacefully at the opposite side of the tent. Arten appeared at the door with a jug of water and a light. "One o'clock," he said laconically as he placed them on the ground and retired. The stars were still shining, my bed was very warm. True, it was one o'clock in Turkish time only, but no Christian ought to be roused at that hour. X fell out of bed with a determined thump. "It's late," she said. I made no response, but, knowing from experience that X was always right, tried to reconstruct my ideas about time and reconcile the fact that it was late with its being one o'clock in the morning. Besides, if X ordained that it was late, in another half-hour the tent ropes would be loosened regardless of the stage our toilet had reached, and a falling tent, when one has just got one's back hair into shape, is exasperating if not damaging. I got up, and just managed to hurl myself through the door, mostly clothed, as the tent collapsed on the ground. X was already seated cross-legged on a rug outside, holding one blue hand over a few charcoal embers while she munched a piece of dry bread held in the other. "You need not think I have eaten all the butter," she said, "because there wasn't any." Satisfied with the explanation, I munched my bread in silence and swallowed a cup of thick tea; we had been carrying water for three days and it was getting opaque. The stillness of the night which reigned outside was being invaded by the cries and movements of men; dark forms flitted about as they watered the animals and adjusted the nose-bags for the morning's feed. A horse, impatient of his tether, had broken loose and was galloping defiantly round the camp, inspired to further mischief by the methods of his pursuers, whose idea of reassuming their authority over him was to rush in his direction flourishing whips and uttering piercing cries. He was finally brought to bay entangled in some tent ropes, and a sudden lull fell on the disturbed atmosphere. The Oriental can work himself into a pitch of excitement which would keep a European in hysterics for several hours, and then suddenly drop the matter and become instantly silent and unconcerned. There seems no half-way stage between excessive noise and an indifferent silence. Somewhat awakened by this incident, the men set to work to pack up the camp; the mules were unloosed and stood about with looks of resignation as the loads were adjusted on the creaking pack-saddles and secured with ropes. There was a subdued din and confusion without any sense of hurry. "Allah! Allah!" the native cries when he exerts himself in any way. "Aha, aha!" he cries with equal ardour, mingled with satisfaction, when his task is accomplished. And now the last knot has been tied, the last cloak laid across the saddle; the last ember of the dying charcoal fire has been carefully raked out to light the cigarette, and we straggle slowly out into the gloom, leaving one charred spot and a sardine tin in the sandy waste. There had been a suggestion of redness in the gathering light for the last few moments; streaks of silver and bars of gold lined the dusky sky. It is disconcerting to be travelling westwards when one wishes to be aware of a rising sun. I twisted myself round in the saddle and, leaving my horse to pick his way, advanced backwards. The whole scene was soon a vast glow of colour, the yellow sand of the desert holding and reflecting the brilliant reds and yellows; and now the sun appeared on the horizon line and slowly rose, until the whole disc of fire stood out in glowing magnificence and then gradually grew paler as he shared his substance with the surrounding sky. The long straggling line of our caravan, which had looked like a black serpent twisting through a sea of fire, became less black in the growing light, and men and animals assumed individual shapes. In another half-hour the broad light of day showed the surroundings in their common aspect. I twisted round again in the saddle, and, having turned my back on poetry and romance, became only conscious of the temperature of my extremities. The cold was intense; X and the soldiers were far ahead; the caravan lagged behind; I was alone with cold hands and feet. Poets and philosophers have talked of being alone with the sun and the earth: if ever conditions were favourable for enjoying the sole companionship of these two elements, it might seem to be under the present circumstances. But in the desert one can be more alone even than this, for in some frames of mind the sky and the earth give one no sense of companionship. Cold and implacable the grim silent desert stretched away in front beyond the realms of space; the hard blue sky overhead stared into the abyss of Time, offering no link between Nature and Man. There was nothing one could take hold of; no cloud in the sky of which to ask the question "Whither?"; no shadow on the earth to which one could say "Whence?" You were thrown back on yourself, were only conscious of your beating heart and a void. The words of a great lover of nature rose up in my mind: "There is nothing human in nature. The earth, though loved so dearly, would let you perish on the ground and neither bring forth food nor water. Burning in the sky the great sun, of whose company I have been so fond, would merely burn on and make no motion to assist me." You felt keenly alive in the middle of this cold dead space, and you knew there was something alive in you which demanded something of it: had you no place in the economy of this great silent Universe? was there no way of making yourself heard or felt? Is it that the soul of man must be there to make things alive, and you were now crossing earth where no soul of man had crossed before, and all things were dead? From sheer agony I cried out; no answering echo followed; the sound fell flat and dead. The cold heavens stared placidly on, the surface of the earth was unruffled. I drew rein and listened intently: I heard the roar of London streets; the cry of the newsboy, the milkman's call, the tramp of a million hurrying feet; I heard the rush of trains and the screech of engines; I heard a thousand discordant voices in divers tongues where men were struggling and rushing after material ends. And dominating all this, infinitely louder and more distinct, making itself heard supreme and all powerful, filling the great space in which one had seemed eternally lost, I heard--the Silence of the desert. Why wish to make one's self heard?--better be still and listen to the voice of silence; let its words sink into you and become part of you, and so take some of its quiet and peace back with you into those crowded cities of men. If there is a link between anything in you and this grim stretch of barren sand and impassive depth of distant sky, it is the response of its silence to the silence in you. It is the material aspect of silence in its crudest form appealing to and recognising in you the unspeakable realms of silence which exist in the region you are dimly conscious of beyond your senses. As we pray to the sea for its depth and calm, to the wind for its freedom, to the sun for its light, so we pray to the desert for its silence. Let your nature expand to the width of this horizon, to the height and depth of this sky, and fill it all with the eternity of this silence. Ask of the sun why it shines, and if there is light in you it will answer; ask of the wind why it blows, and to fettered and free alike it gives its answer; ask of the desert why it is silent, and if there is silence in you you need no answer. Is there any calm for you in the sea until you put it there? Do you feel any freedom in the wind until you have created it? But can you, in any mood or under any circumstance, evade the silence of the desert? Its influence extends alike to those who receive it and those who resent it. The men who have no region of silence in themselves are under the power of its physical aspect; to them it is oppressive, wearying, and deadening; there is an absence of life, a presence of monotony from which there is no escape. But once we recognise its silence as being of the nature of what we possess in ourselves, the shadow of monotony and oppressiveness is lifted. Can its effect be better described than it is in that fundamental doctrine of Islam, where it almost coincides with the teachings of Christianity in its endeavour to give expression to the truth? "Islam," that is the resignation of our own will to that of one great power, the effacement of self, the futility of putting our own will or mind against that of the great, silent, all powerful, inevitable laws of Nature--the Moslem idea of Fate and Power--the Christian's blending of his own will with the Divine will--the scientist's recognition of Law--you may put it how you will; are they not but different interpretations of the unseen power, which, silent in itself and only understood in silence, holds supreme sway in moments of silence, and, when expressed in its physical aspect in these barren regions of the earth, appeals through our eyes and ears to the regions in us, beyond these senses, where it exists in its essential condition? I rode on; the sun had warmed my left side through and the right was beginning to thaw. My shadow, which had been keeping pace with the horse on the right, now began to creep in front as the sun rose higher. By the time its burning rays poured straight down overhead the foreshortened shadow seemed to be leading the way along the desert track. In time the heat became almost unbearable, and, suddenly awakening to the stern realities of physical discomfort, I brought my whip down on the horse's flank; he leaped, startled, in the air, and then flew after his shadow in a settled gallop. Air, of which one had become unconscious, rushed past one's face, and the muffled thud of his hoofs on the sand seemed to measure time and space. I dashed up to X and stopped dead beside her. She looked round inquiringly. "Let's eat," I said. She looked at her watch. "We have been riding four hours," she said; "we might stop at the next good place." I looked ahead significantly. "One place looks much the same as another," I said. "I think there is a dip in the ground further on," she answered, "where we might get a little shelter." There did seem to be a slight wave in the flat expanse and we rode on to it, but, like all dips in this country, when we arrived at it, it did not seem to be there. We had had so much experience in riding after delusive dips that we decided to stop here, and slid off our horses. The cook unpacked the lunch from his saddle-bags and placed hard-boiled eggs, biscuits, and dates beside us. He carefully filled a cup with a thick, brown liquid from the bottom of his waterskin. "Bitdi," he said, by which expression he conveyed that the fresh water was now finished. Then he and the men retired a few yards and ate their lunch. Nothing was heard but the steady munch of human jaws. Then they stretched themselves on the sand and absolute silence reigned, broken by occasional snores. We too lay back, each concealed from the other under two huge umbrellas, which seemed rather to focus the sun's rays than shade them from us. When one was alone the desert had seemed full of unqualified silence; in company with others the silence seemed even greater, for the slight sounds which there were made one more conscious of the sound which was not. The clank of the horses' bits, the quiet breathing of one's companions, the stir of a foot, made one realise the intensity of the silence of the whole vast expanse. The far-off tinkling of the mule bells in the approaching caravan gave one a sense of distance in a way one would hardly experience by simply gazing at an unapproachable horizon. The heat and the slight fatigue added a feeling of drowsiness which would make even the solid things around one seem shadowy and distant. It was a waking sleep; one's senses were numb because of the absence of anything to call them into play, though one might "see, hear, feel, outside the senses." In the same way that one is alone in a London street one can live in a whirl in the desert; the throb of humanity---- X's umbrella shut with a bang. "Wake up, the caravan is coming." A cloud of dust, a stamping of animals, a shouting of men, and we were off once more. It was our habit to keep pace with the camp in the latter half of the day, and for the next three hours we dawdled along at caravan pace. It was a motley crew. The muleteers trudge along behind the laden animals, taking turns on the back of a patient, sorrowful donkey, on which they ride sideways with dangling legs, pricking its side with a long needle, the secondary object of which is the repairing of broken straps. The pack-mules go doggedly on in front, jostling one another with their unwieldy loads. Occasionally one gets off the track and wanders aside, only to be urged back into line with yells and blows. Another stops dead, feeling its load slip round sideways. The men rush at it with shouts of "Allah! Allah!" the load is shoved up and the ropes tightened. There is a general din of shouting and swearing and jangling of bells; and above it all the disdainful camel moves deliberately on with measured step and arched neck, unmindful of the petty skirmishes so far below it; its owner, infected by its spirit, rocking on the top, surveys the whole scene with a dejected, uninterested air. Bringing up the rear, motionless and erect on small donkeys, ride one or two older Arabs, wrapped in long sheepskin cloaks, their faces entirely concealed in the folds of a keffiyeh, save where two stern and solemn eyes gaze unceasingly at you with expressionless imperturbability. Wild sons of the desert, product of this eternal silence, are you so much a part of it that you are unconscious of its power? The only gay and careless element is introduced by the Turkish soldiers. Mounted on splendid Arab mares they ride in front, sometimes dashing ahead at a wild gallop, holding out their rifles at arm's length, wheeling suddenly round and coming to a dead stop in front of an imaginary enemy, upright in their stirrups; in their more subdued moments breaking into song with the mournful Eastern refrains. And so, forming one small world of our own, we "follow and follow the journeying sun," and as it sinks lower on the horizon and its fierce rays cease to beat pitilessly down on the parched ground and thirsty animals, a silence falls on the moving band. The spirit of the desert again holds sway. The men cease quarrelling, the animals' heads sink lower, the donkey looks more resigned, the mule more dogged, the camel more superior, the silent Arab more stern and forbidding; the soldier hums where he sang before. Then at last the walls of a solitary guard-house heave in sight. The men hail it with joyful cries, the soldiers dash ahead, the pack-animals prick their ears and quicken their steps to an amble. There is a general rush and tumble, culminating in a dead halt on the ground which has formed the place for caravans since caravans crossed the desert. All is noise and confusion. The loads are unloosed and fall in promiscuous heaps amongst the medley of animals, who, released of their burdens, roll over on their backs kicking up the dust. A line of men draw water from the well, pulling at a squeaky chain and invoking the aid of Allah in chorus as they pull. A fight is going on in one corner; men are knocking one another down, encouraged by a circle of yelling spectators. The din of excited quarrelling voices, the hammering of tent pegs, dominates everything, broken at times by the sudden neigh of a horse bitten by its neighbour or the harsh, imperious cry of the camel for its supper. And in the middle of it all the Turkish soldier spreads his cloak upon the ground, turns his face to Mecca, and offers up his murmured prayer to Allah, the one restful form in this scene of chaos. "Allah Akbar" (God is great), prays this son of Islam, and with his hands upon his knees, he bows his head; "Subhana 'llah" (I praise God), and he falls upon his knees; "Allah Akbar" (God is great), and he bows his head to touch the earth; "Subhana 'llah, subhana 'llah, subhana 'llah," and he sits upon his heels; "Allah Akbar," and he again prostrates himself; "Allah Akbar, subhana 'llah." And on this scene the sun casts his final rays of gold and red. As the shades of night draw in, quiet reigns once more; the men collect round the blazing camp-fire, and in its light we see the outline of their dark forms seated cross-legged, as they eat out of the common bowl or take turns at the bubbling narghile; to one side the mules are tethered in two lines forming a half square; a muleteer is grooming them, and one hears the rattle of his scraper and the ever tinkling bell. The cook is stirring our evening meal in a pot on the fire outside our tent. Hassan fetches our rugs and spreads them on the ground; we lie down and he covers us over with his sheepskin cloak. "Rahat" (Rest), he says, and lifts his hands over us as if pronouncing a blessing. Then he sits down beside us and lights a cigarette. "Bourda ehe," he goes on, describing the universe with a sweep of his hand. "Kimse yok" (It is well here--there is no one). "Is Allah here?" asks X. "Allah is here," he answers with simple reverence, "Allah is everywhere"; and we all lie motionless under the stars, unwilling to probe the silence by the sound of uttered thoughts. The murmur of the men's voices gradually dies away as, one by one, they doze off; a jackal cries in the distance; a star falls down to earth. The day is over, and in this land of the Oriental there is no thought of the morrow. The passive silence of sleep; the active silence of communing souls; the silence of night--all fitful expressions of the one great Silence brooding over all, be one asleep or awake, by night and by day, in desert places and in busy haunts of men. CHAPTER XXI PALMYRA It burst upon us all at once, Palmyra, in the desert--a chaos of golden pillars in the glow of the setting sun. We had been riding all day towards an indefinite shape on the horizon; slowly it had resolved itself into a barrier of yellow rock with dark lines becoming distinguishable against it. We had passed through the patches of rising corn, making green holes in the brown desert; we had wound through the gardens of pomegranate and plantations of palm trees and turned the corner of the ugly konak which barred the ruins from our view; and there it lay, the desert-girt city, in the unutterable lonely magnificence of its reckless confusion. We drew rein under the Triumphal Arch; from here the eye is led on down the great colonnade from column to column, now upright, now fallen, to where a mile away a castle crowns a peak of the range under which Palmyra crouches--an old time harbour for the sand sea beyond. [Illustration: PALMYRA. TRIUMPHAL ARCH.] Behind us the present village of Tadmor was concealed inside the walls of the great Temple of the Sun; its mud hovels lie rotting behind the gigantic columns of the inner court in the dirt which chokes the massive archways. Here it is that the present life of Palmyra, such as it is, is slowly obliterating the remaining evidences of her past; while on the opposite side of the ruins, where the hills cleave to form a lonely valley, the dead of Palmyra, buried in a line of square tomb-towers, still keep alive the memory of her ancient greatness. * * * * * Was it the sun only, with its light on the yellow columns, that made one think of Palmyra purely as a city of gold? Or were one's thoughts unconsciously influenced by the fact that its traditions all rest on the getting of gold; its power was built up on trade; its great men were the successful traffickers of the desert; its statues and columns were raised to the memory of those who brought the caravans of goods from India and Persia unharmed through the dangers of the desert; its temples were dedicated to the Sun-god by those whose lives were spared in their getting of great wealth, or to the memory of those who perished in the attempt. Those were the days when it was a man's boast that the blood of a merchant ran in his veins--when a youth could aspire to no higher goal than that of being a merchant prince of his proud city. Her prosperity had been her ruin; the gold had led to her undoing; and now the Sun, to whom the temples had been raised at the time of her pride, mocked her ruins by giving them the semblance of scattered gold. * * * * * This is the best way to realise Palmyra--to make it the culmination of a long and tedious journey through the desert. The first sight of it under any conditions must indeed be wonderful, but coming in from Damascus, which is the natural approach for visitors to the ruins, one could never feel about it in quite the same way. Civilisation is only five days behind you; the country you pass through, moreover, although desert enough in a way, does not give you the same sense of being utterly cut off from everything in limitless space; there are chains of mountains to be seen in the distance, and cultivated patches stretching round villages are more frequent. Then when you arrive at Palmyra you ride first through the valley of tombs--it is the dead that give you the first greeting; you get glimpses through the opening ahead of the highest columns, and are slowly prepared for what is coming, until, emerging finally through the gap, the whole scene is laid out before you, with the gleaming desert beyond. * * * * * But approach it from the desert side, and all the meaning and force of its one time existence is borne in upon you with an overwhelming realisation. For three weeks you have been following the old trade route from the Persian Gulf. You have made one of a caravan amongst the doggedly jogging mules and the slow stepping camels, both heavily laden with the clumsy pack-saddles holding bales of merchandise; the sound of their jangling bells is the only sound you hear through the long, monotonous ride under the blazing sun; you have spent night after night in the circle round the camp-fire, with the men crouched under the bales of goods piled up on the ground to form a rude shelter; the places where you stop have been the regular halting places for caravans for all time--now they are oases big enough to support a village, now it is merely a well and a guard-house. As you ride through the immeasurable expanse every dark object on the horizon line forms a subject for speculation. Its appearance is a signal for the hasty consolidation of the straggling line of men and animals, arms are looked to, you all close up and ride on, apparently unconcerned, but equally prepared for a sudden onslaught or a friendly greeting. For it is not only the difficulties and dangers due to Nature's barrenness that have to be guarded against. What must it have been in the days when the countless hordes of wealth of a huge caravan were at stake, and when the whole desert was beset with marauding tribes specially on the look-out for such prey? What must have been the feelings of those responsible for its safe conduct when they once more saw the first dim outline of the Palmyra hills in the distance? The goal would be reached that day; the troubles, the anxieties, the sleeplessness of the watching nights would be over; proud and triumphant they would ride down the long colonnade, the pack animals jostling one another in the unaccustomed crush of the bounded way, and the noise of shouting drivers and jangling bells sounding strangely loud and near in the confining space. Down on them from the columns above would look the statues put up to honour those who had achieved the same feat which they themselves had just accomplished. Their names too would now be written up and handed down from generation to generation in remembrance of the service they had rendered their State. For such deeds as these had built up the great city, and their fellow-citizens honoured them in this way. [Illustration: HASSAN.] At first it would seem that Tadmor was merely an Arab encampment, a stopping place amongst others for the passing caravans. The abundance of its water and its position on the meeting point of two great trade routes would gradually cause it to become an important centre. Dues were levied on all goods passing in and out, and even the privilege of using the wells was heavily taxed. Slowly it became the market-place of the East and the West; its inhabitants were the carriers between the Persian Gulf and the Mediterranean Sea. As the foundations of the city were built up on trade, so commerce was a pursuit for its aristocracy, involved as it was with all the elements of warfare and danger. Its merchants would be pure Arabs of good blood, welcomed as equals by the shaykhs of the desert tribes through whose territory their goods had to pass. Palmyra had thus gradually built up her own existence as an independent State. Political events then added to her power. The wars of Rome with Persia made her an important military post; recognised by Rome more as a partner State than a dependency, she was able to pursue her own policy with such effect that she tried to assert her entire independence and cut herself adrift from the Western power. Taking advantage of the temporary ascendance of Persia over the Roman arms, the desert Queen, Zenobia, fulfilled her ambition as sole Queen of the East. After her defeat by Aurelian the town was partially destroyed; a change in the political factors which had contributed to her importance now hastened her downfall by lessening the significance of her geographical position; safer trade routes further south led to the decay of her commercial prosperity. Bit by bit she loses her place in historical records, and at the present day Palmyra stands a lonely ruin on a deserted trade route, inhabited by a score of Arab families. In one sense Time has dealt gently with her; there is no decay from the growth of vegetation in this dry climate. Neither moss nor ivy has softened the aspect of destruction; the overturned columns show as true and sharp a face now as the day they were set up, and the ornate carving stands out in the same relief. One thinks of the place as built entirely of columns; they lie in rank profusion everywhere, like a great forest of trunks overturned by a gale. The great central avenue runs from the Temple of the Sun in a north-westerly direction to the castle on the range of hills which bounds the city to the north. It has been calculated that it alone contains 1,500 columns. Much of this still remains standing, but the gaps become more frequent, until at the castle end the whole thing has collapsed, forming a perfect sea of broken columns and fragments of carved pilasters. It is evident that the minor streets also were lined with pillars in the same way; short rows of them stand up here and there in various directions. Groups of twos and threes suggest also their attachment to some public building or temple. The statues were placed on brackets projecting from the upper part of the pillars, and the inscriptions below, which have escaped destruction, give the names and dates of those whom they were intended to honour. * * * * * As we had entered Palmyra with a vivid conception of its life, so we left it with an equally vivid conception of its death. Standing guard like a row of sentinels at the base of the hills are the square tomb-towers in which Palmyra buried its dead. The proud merchants seem to have been imbued with two main ideas: the erection of columns in their lifetime and of resting places for their families in death. Many of the towers are over a hundred feet high and consist of five and six stories. The bodies were arranged in tiers in the recesses on either side of a central chamber. Some of these buildings are still nearly perfect, others are practically heaps of ruins. The bones of the proud merchants are mingled with the bones of the wild beasts who have sought refuge there through the long ages. We turn our backs on the city and ride away through the gap in the hills. The city is hidden from view, but the tomb-towers still stand in silent rows down the valley on either side. We forget the golden pillars and all the ruined magnificence; we can think of nothing but these ghostly towers seeing us out, as it were, from this city of the dead. High up on the hill above, in the still morning air, a shepherd boy pipes merrily at them, and flocks of goats and sheep browse unconcernedly at their feet. CHAPTER XXII AN ARMENIAN AND A TURK I. ARTEN. Arten was an Armenian; he was quick, thin, methodical, dirty, intelligent, and untruthful; he was also the cook. I say _the_ cook advisedly, for _a_ cook he was not. No doubt he would have made an excellent cook if he had known anything about the art; but it was not till after we had engaged him in this capacity that we discovered that he had not thought this qualification necessary. At any rate, he knew, being a hungry man himself, that we were in need of food of some sort at stated intervals. In this he was a decided improvement on the Greek cook we had just dismissed; this man had a habit of coming to us, after we had been waiting hours in momentary expectation of a meal, and saying with a languid air, "Do you wish to eat?" He was a good cook, but always seemed overcome with astonishment when we expected him to cook. Arten was a dirty man, and he looked dirtier than he was owing to his dark complexion and hairy hands; besides this, his unbrushed and greasy black European clothes showed off to disadvantage amongst the simpler Eastern garments of his companions. "Arten is not a clean cook," Hassan would say, and Arten would smile sadly. He must have been slightly conscious of this defect, for he never handed me a plate or a spoon without saying "Temiz" (clean) as a forestalling measure before I had even looked at it. He spent a good deal of time rubbing smeary plates with a blackish cloth, murmuring "Temiz, temiz." He had a sincere desire to please us; but he always imagined this object was attained by the vigorous assertion of any fact that seemed necessary for our pleasure. "Taze" (fresh) he would say every time he handed me an egg; and, when I cut off the top and an explosion followed, "Taze" he would say again. "Eat it yourself then," I would suggest, handing it back to him; after putting his great nose right into it, "Taze," he would say. But he never ate it; he kept it for omelettes. His nose was his chief feature. One saw the nose first and then the man behind it. On cold days, when we all wrapped our heads and faces entirely in keffiyehs, Arten would be always distinguishable from the others by this protrusion. He had a jet black drooping moustache which he was always wiping furtively with a jet black pocket-handkerchief, for Arten was a greedy man and the only person who loved the taste of his own cookery. "I like to see him getting fat," X would say; "he looked half starved when he came to us." But Hassan and I were not so charitable. "Look," Hassan would say, "the door of the tent is shut; that pig Arten is stealing the food," and he would go and kick at the tent until Arten looked out, guiltily wiping his moustache. "You are cold, I suppose," says Hassan with lofty sarcasm. Arten mops his perspiring brow--he was always perspiring. "How cold?" he answers with well feigned surprise. "Because you shut the tent door," answers Hassan. "Aman," rejoins Arten, "what am I to do? if the muleteers see me cooking they come and ask for food; they are such greedy men, the muleteers." Hassan returns to us snorting. "Arten says the muleteers are greedy men. Mashallah! greedy men! We know who is the greedy man!" And he slaps his thigh vehemently. Arten's notions of cookery were, as I have said, limited. His staple dish was a mixture of mutton, potatoes, onions, and rice, which were all cooked up together in the same pot, each ingredient being thrown in according to the length of time it took to cook. It certainly tasted very good, and I would suggest the method to those in England who dislike washing many saucepans. His other idea of cooking mutton was less satisfactory in results, though simpler in method, and I have no hesitation in not recommending it to English housewives, though I append the recipe as a matter of interest from its originality. Take a piece of sheep, and with an axe cut it into chunks, regardless of bones or gristle; take a chunk and throw it on to red-hot charcoal in a brazier; when there is a distinct smell of burning and the hissing has nearly ceased, turn it over on the other side. When it resembles a piece of burnt charcoal, remove it and serve at once; swallow whole, as if you try to bite it your teeth will remind you of it for a considerable time, and in any case you will be conscious of its resting-place for the remainder of the day. When staying at a consulate in the middle of our tour, the consul's wife, horrified at our fare, offered to let her cook teach Arten a few simple dishes which would considerably add to our comfort. Arten acquiesced with very good grace, and was inducted, amongst other things, in the art of making cutlets. On our departure our kind hostess, moreover, provided us with a piece of meat suitable for cutlets. The first evening there was an undercurrent of excitement in the air; there were to be cutlets for dinner. Arten had an important, self-conscious bustle about him and looked mysterious; the Zaptiehs seemed awed and asked questions under their breath; the greedy muleteers were distinctly interested; we pretended to be unmoved. Finally, with a modest air, through which bumptiousness glared furiously, Arten announced that supper was ready. There was a covered dish keeping warm under the brazier; Arten very deliberately placed it before us and with a dramatic flourish removed the cover. We were only conscious of a yellow-looking crumby paste. "Where are the cutlets?" we asked, keeping up our courage nobly. "That is cutlets, Pasha." We tasted it; it appeared to consist of fried eggs and breadcrumbs. We felt justified in contradicting him, but he still persisted that it was cutlets. "But we want the cutlets, like those the Effendi's cook showed you how to make." "Yes, that is it, Pasha; that is what the Effendi's cook showed me." "But cutlets are meat," we persisted. "Yes, Pasha; but that is cutlets without the meat." This reasoning was incontrovertible. We tried to fill up with dates and rice and went to bed crestfallen and hungry. The next day we returned to the charge. I undertook to show Arten how to cook cutlets, though I had not the smallest idea myself how it ought to be done. I had an inkling, however, that egg and breadcrumbs were in it somehow. "Arten," I said, "cut the meat as the Effendi's cook did for cutlets." Arten obeyed. "Make egg and breadcrumb," I said. He did this also. "Now do with it what the Effendi's cook did," I said. Arten smeared the meat with it. I began to see light and breathed more freely, but I had still one venture to make. "Now cook the meat as the Effendi's cook did," I said. I held my breath; for all I knew they might now have to be boiled in a saucepan or toasted on a fork. But Arten appeared to know what he was doing. He took a frying-pan and fried them in fat. A glow of satisfaction crept all over me as I watched them beginning to resemble the finished appearance I was acquainted with. When they were actually on a dish, I said loftily:-- "Please remember for the future that when we say we want cutlets, this is what we mean." "As you please," he answered affably; "I call them frisolen. I knew how to cook them before the Effendi's cook showed me," he went on. "Why did you never let us have them, then?" I said severely. "How could I know you would like them?" he answered with injured innocence. "How did you know we liked tough chunks burnt on a brazier?" was my icy retort. Arten shrugged his shoulders; there never has been any accounting for the whims of women. Small differences of opinion such as these were continually cropping up between us; and I would tell him in calm and measured tones, though in forcible English, what I thought of him. As the language was unintelligible to him, this method had the advantage of relieving my feelings without hurting his. But there were secret bonds of sympathy between us. We both suffered intensely from the cold, and Arten would carefully wrap things round me so that the apertures and crevices were not on the windward side. There is a good deal of art in this, and he did it very scientifically. "Little things feel the cold," he would say compassionately, and in such a kindly spirit that, for the moment, I forgave him his greed and forgot to feel undignified. We were also on common ground when I tried to cook dishes which I did not know how to cook. Currents of great sympathy ran between us when things did not seem to be turning out right and Arten would tentatively suggest various ways and means. But he never did what a foolish or disagreeable person would have done: he never expressed in his looks that I was no better than himself, which obviously would not have been true, since I did not pretend to be a cook, while Arten did. And then when the critical moments of our existence arrived and we placed the dish before X, we both watched with the same intensity for the expression of her face after the first mouthful. X was singularly appreciative, and, when she kept assuring us how excellent it was, Arten would glance at me encouragingly and appear to share the delight I experienced at my own prowess. X thought Arten's cookery good, too, but then she never knew what she was eating, and, if you do not know the name of the dish, how can you judge whether or not it is cooked as it ought to be? "What is this?" X would ask one day. "Mutton," Arten would answer. "What is this?" she would say the next day, when the identical substance was handed to her. "Chicken," Arten would answer. And X was perfectly satisfied. The next day it would be "tinned meat," and it was all the same to her--and to me; but then I knew what a liar Arten was. His kindness of heart and his desire to please us made it all the more difficult not to be irritated with him when circumstances did not draw out the better side of his nature. It is uncomfortable to despise people in a qualified manner, and I found it impossible to despise Arten unreservedly and therefore happily. There was no doubt that he was a horrible coward. If he had said, "I am a coward--I am afraid," he would have enlisted my sympathy for what it was worth, because I was a coward myself and admired sincerity. If he had even preserved a decent silence on the subject I should have been unable altogether to despise him, for that was the course I pursued myself. But when any real or imaginary danger was past he would come out with assumed and aggressive hilarity, and make tales about it and his prowess, which latter he had already made conspicuous enough by its absence. Yet his position was no doubt complicated: he knew that the Turks in our train despised not only him but his race; there was no one to suggest his courage if he did not do it himself, and, as he was unable to exhibit it in deeds, I have no doubt he saw no other course to pursue but that of publishing it by word of mouth. Moreover, he had suffered personally from bad treatment; the tale was a piteous one. Near his native town of Adana he had a small mill where he ground corn through the season. On one occasion he had done well and was on his way back to his wife and children in the town, carrying his earnings, which were to keep them through the winter. Half way home he was attacked by a band of robbers, who relieved him not only of his gold but of all his clothes. He had to remain in hiding by the roadside until some one passed from whom he could borrow a garment in which to return starved and penniless to his expectant family. Small wonder that the poor man shuddered at the word "Khursus" (brigand) which we laughingly joked about. "What is it to you?" he said one day; "you have rich relations, kind friends, and a just Government. If you are robbed, justice is done to you. But what can I expect but more abuse and ill-treatment?--and I have a wife and small children into the bargain!" When he was not posing as a hero, he was posing as a feature in the landscape. This was particularly exasperating, for no amount of pity for his condition would turn him into a picturesque martyr, even in the foreground of ancient ruins. No sooner was my camera produced than Arten produced himself. The only occasion on which I knew him keep out of sight was when I was trying to get a snap-shot of the band of Kurds who held us up on the Tigris. He seemed to have no desire to show himself, although I was considerate enough to invite him to occupy a prominent position for once. His appearance was not calculated to enhance the effect of any picture. He was like a starved black scarecrow dressed up in tight and clerical garments, with a fez on the top--and then there was the nose. He would have made any warm desert scene look cold, as it would not be obvious that he was perspiring, and in any group of picturesque natives he would look ludicrous. I recall, as I write, isolated moments of exasperation--when, for instance, he sat, singing a hymn, kicking up the dust with his heels, when we were trying to inflate ourselves with worthy feelings on the contemplation of Babylon, awed by the silence and desolation of the scene around us. Or again, how in a fit of nervousness he hurled the whole of our dinner in agitation on the floor, while we, after an unusually long fast, could have cried for food. But reviewing him calmly at a distance, one remembers a man that one alternately laughed at and pitied; who annoyed one by his transparent faults, but who commanded one's sympathy by his tragic condition, and one's admiration by his cheerful willingness in trying circumstances. A man who was meant by nature to be light-hearted and happy, kind to his fellows, energetic and interested in his work, ambitious for his children; but who fate dictated was to have his spirit quenched, his nature hardened, and mean and cowardly qualities developed owing to the fear, injustice, and poverty in which, like the rest of his countrymen, he was condemned to live. II. HASSAN. Hassan was an Albanian Turk; he belonged to one of the old Turkish families and looked every inch the gentleman that he was. Introduced to us by a common friend, he accompanied us during our seven months' wandering through Asiatic Turkey in a semi-professional capacity, but what that capacity was it would be difficult to define by any particular name. A dragoman he was not, though he called himself our "tergeman." "Tergeman," literally translated, being "interpreter," he could claim nothing entitling him to this function, for he spoke no European language, and it was not till we learnt Turkish that we could hold any spoken communication with him. Briefly, he acted as a sort of amateur dragoman without any of the qualifications usually expected of these gentlemen--and possessing a great many of the virtues in which, as a rule, they are sadly lacking. Essentially he was our Figure-head, and a splendid one he made, six foot six in stature and broad in proportion, as straight as a die and as supple as a willow, with a handsome head set well back on strong shoulders, and keen, kindly eyes which looked out very straight from under shaggy eyebrows. When he walked he put into his great stride a grace and dignity which soon earned for him the nickname of "the Prince." His chief characteristics were that gentleness which comes of great strength under perfect command; the courtesy which arises from a sense of other people's worth measured by a sense of his own; and an imperturbability which could be as irritating as it was admirable. "Ne faidet?" (what is the use?), was a favourite expression of his, and "ne faidet," he looked all over. In scenes of human quarrel, excitement, or danger, one was chiefly conscious of his calm indifference of mind and manner as he silently surveyed his companions in fear of brigands or in joy over a piece of meat. Yet he was a man full of the passions of his race, capable of an iron self-control when he thought fit to make use of it, but occasionally roused into a state of temper bordering on madness. On these occasions he would afterwards say his "jan" had had him by the throat, and he did not know what he was doing. A great man with a great imprisoned soul, as free and light-hearted as a careless boy when roaming in the great forests or on the bare mountain-side of his native home, fettered and fretful when the bonds of artificial civilisation held him. "What a Kallabalak! what is the use of this Kallabalak?" he would say with a wave of disgust when he got into the middle of a noisy crowd. "This is good, this is keyf," was his comment, with great gasps of enjoyment, when we three sat on the ground together in some lonely spot of a lonely desert. One felt he was breathing freely again. A silent man by nature, he could not bear loquacious people. "Burra, burra, burra," he would say, pointing his thumb at them; "burra, burra, burra, what is the use of all this talking?" If the remarks were addressed to him, they were always answered with stern courtesy. A talkative young Armenian rode with us one day and tried to draw him into conversation. "Is not that mirage in front of us? What a wonderful sight--trees and water and mountains! Do you not think it must be mirage, Effendi?" "With the eyes that Allah has given me, it does seem to be so, young man," was Hassan's grim answer, and he rode on without turning his head to right or left. Yet on occasion he enjoyed a refined "Kallabalak." One night in Cairo, when we had done for the time with camping and were seated in cleanliness and finery in the hotel garden, a confetti feast was going on. Serious young men and maidens, larky old men and festive matrons, were diverting themselves in the essentially hilarious proceeding of scattering confetti on one another. The garden was hung with Chinese lanterns; fireworks hissed and spluttered, shooting flames of colour. Hassan sat in convulsed enjoyment of the gay scene. It was a revelation to him of the lighter side of life. And when a charming young lady, bolder than the many who cast coy and curious glances at the handsome Turk, came and administered a dose of confetti down the back of his neck, he was overcome with glee and merriment. Afterwards, on subsequent wanderings in wilds and deserts, he would turn to us after hours of silence, and, bursting into a deep roar of laughter, would say, "Do you remember the paper and the foolish men and women?" His function, as I have said, was first and foremost that of Figure-head; he escorted us on our visits to Turkish officials and dignitaries, and, with grave dignity and courtly manner, unembarrassed by his own unshaven chin or the stains and dust of travel on our weather-worn and unwashed garments, he would make the most of anything entitling us to belong to "the great ones of England." He cast a general air of respectability over us, and we always felt it was largely due to him that we were shown so much consideration in a land where all travellers are treated with suspicion, and where women are not regarded in a particularly chivalrous light. But beside this, he was general caretaker of our personal comforts: he put up our camp-beds and arranged our tent; he always sat beside us at meals, which we took seated cross-legged on the ground, either outside by the camp-fire, or in bad weather on the floor of the tent. His first self-constituted duty was to peel the oranges with which we generally finished a meal; he removed the peel to form two cups, in which he neatly piled the sections and placed them beside us, carefully counting the pieces to make sure that he had treated us alike. "Shimdi" (now) he would say when we had finished the first course and we would ask for dates. "Shimdi" he would say again when the last of these were demolished. "Shimdi Kahiveh," and coffee would come in its turn. "Shimdi." "Nothing more." "Nothing," he would exclaim; "nothing?" "We will smoke now." "Tütün (tobacco), aha, Shimdi tütün," and he would light us each a cigarette. Then, when this too was finished, "Shimdi"--"Shimdi Rahat" (now rest), we answer--and he makes pillows for us with our saddle-bags and covers us over with rugs. This process was repeated every day until it became a stock joke. His jokes were all of this kind; there were certain standing ones which had to be gone through periodically. My Turkish was limited to about fifty words, so that conversation between us did not flow, but X, who had learned to speak more fluently, would ride with him for hours together, holding endless conversations on Turkish religion, habits, and ideas. When X and he fell out he would come and joke with me: one day I teazed him about being a better friend to her than to me. "How can that be?" he said gravely. "Because," I answered, "you quarrel with the Vali Pasha" (X was the Vali Pasha and I was the Padishah), "and then you make it up and are great friends again. But you are never cross with me. If I were your friend you would quarrel with me, too. But I am glad I am not your friend, or you would get angry with me." This idea seemed to tickle him immensely, and every day after this conversation there would be a moment when he would ride alongside of me, and, feigning an air of great disgust, would shrug his shoulders and say, "Istemen, istemen" (I do not want you). It was his singularly primitive way of acting a quarrel with me, and thereby showing that he and I were also friends. X would also attack him on the subject. "Why don't you go and scold the Padishah?" she said on one occasion; "she thinks the same as I do about these things, only she cannot talk Turkish, so she does not say them." "The Padishah is but a child," he answered; "it would hurt her. It would be a shame to hurt a child." As a matter of fact I was older than X in months, but her bodily proportions were larger than mine, and everything goes by size in the East. As time went on, however, we too had our little rubs, and his methods of making friends again were what one would expect from his schoolboy nature. If I was in the tent, he would throw stones at it until I looked out smiling; this was taken as a sign that the quarrel was over; he would roll up an extra large cigarette for me, and we would sit on the ground and have a smoke of peace together. Our friendship was of a silent nature. I made my fifty words express everything I had to say, and to simplify matters only used the verbs in the infinitive and nouns in the nominative. Long custom had established a certain meaning to various sentences between us which would have been unintelligible to any other Turk. "What Turkish, aman, what Turkish she speaks!" he used to say to X, holding up his hands in amused dismay. We taught him a few English sentences, of which he was very proud. "Pull it up," he invariably said when he held out his hand to help us off the ground. "Pull it down," was his formula when he arranged our habit skirts after mounting us. "Pull it off," when he helped us off with our oats. When he was in a temper I made him say, "I am a silly man," which he pronounced: "I am---- "A Silliman." Although he did not know the meaning of the words, he connected them with his own misdemeanours. "Silliman yok (not), silliman yok," he used to say fiercely when he was beginning to repent and get ashamed of himself. He always said "Good-bight" for "Goodbye," confusing it with "Good-night." Great was his pleasure whenever in the course of our travels we came across a European, or any one who could speak a language which I understood. "See now," he would exclaim at the unwonted sight of me talking with any one, "she has found a friend!" And then, when we parted and I relapsed into silence: "See now, how sad she looks! She is thinking of her friend." And he would ride up to me compassionately. "Where is your friend now, Padishah?" "Where, indeed?" I answer. "I have no friend; you must buy me one in the bazaars next time we get to a town." "And how much money must I give for him, Padishah?" "You must not give much, because I am poor, but you must get a very good one." "Aman, ama, see now what she says: I must get a good one, and yet not give much money. Do you hear, Vali Pasha?" And when he came back from the bazaars: "I have bought the friend, Padishah." "Where is he? I don't see him." "He is here, in my bag." "How much did you give for him?" "Ten piastres." "He cannot be a good one if he is as cheap as that, and so small that he will go in your bag." "Oh yes, he is a good friend," and he produces a roll of tobacco; "a good friend and little money. That was what you said, wasn't it, Padishah?" And I reflect that there is many a true word spoken in jest. "Has she no friend in England," he asked X one day, "or does she never speak in England either?" "Yes," said X, "she has a friend in England, and she does not speak because she is thinking of him." "And you, Vali Pasha, have you also a friend in England?" "Yes," I answered for X; "she has twenty-nine friends in England, and you are only the thirtieth." And Hassan would ride on in silence, pondering over the strange ways of English ladies. Amongst his other duties he had to purchase the food, pay the muleteers and soldiers, and give tips; and it fell to my lot to do up the accounts with him periodically. The unusual mental exertion required by this he found very trying. His imperturbability would forsake him completely. On the first occasion he broke down altogether. "What can I do with figures?" he said, the tears rolling down his cheeks; "let me go back to my hills and forests; I am only a poor hunter. She brings out her little book and I shall not know how the piastres have gone, and she will think I have taken her piastres," and he laid his head on his knees and groaned aloud. When we became better acquainted, however, "hisab" (accounts) became a joke, though they always caused him to perspire profusely. At first my entire ignorance of the language made our intercourse over the account-book somewhat difficult. We would sit on the ground opposite one another, and Hassan would fumble in the folds of his belt until he had found his spectacles and his account-book. "Are you ready?" "Yes." "Peki (very good), Effendim; yimurta (eggs), 2 piastres." I would write it down. "Yasdin me?" "Ne yasdin me?" (what is "yasdin me?"). "Yasdin me? yasdin me? yasdin me?" I have not the smallest idea what "yasdin me" means, but I pretend to write it down and then say: "How many piastres was it?" Hassan makes a gesture of despair. "Yasdin me? yasdin me? yasdin me?" he repeats again. "X," I shout across the tent, "what does 'yasdin me' mean? I suppose it's some sort of food, only he won't tell me how many piastres it costs." "It means 'Have you written it?'" said X calmly. "Yasdin me?" repeats Hassan again. "Yes," I answer meekly. "Aha, now she know," says Hassan, and he mops his forehead vigorously. "I say 'Yasdin me' and she says, 'How many piastres?' Aman, aman!" "Peki, Effendim" (very good), he goes on. "Etmek (bread), 3 piastres. Have you written it?" "Yes." "Peki, Effendim. Et (meat), 12 piastres. Have you written it?" "Yes." "Peki, Effendim. Pilij (chicken), 3 piastres." "Ne Pilij?" (what is pilij?). "Pilij, _pilij_, PILIJ." "Yes, but what is it?" "Pilij, pilij--she doesn't know pilij, and she learns it every day." He begins to crow like a cock. "Oh yes, I know." "Ah, ah, now she knows! Peki; pilij 3 piastres. Have you written it?" "Yes." "Peki, Effendim." And so we go on through all the items, and finally add up the total in our respective languages. By means of holding up our ten fingers a large number of times, we ascertain whether the results tally, for in those early days I could only count in Turkish up to twenty-nine, and knew the words for a hundred and a thousand. Then Hassan would give a great sigh, close his book, fold his spectacles, take off his fez, and wipe his head all over, and finally forget his troubles under the soothing influence of tobacco. [Illustration: ERECH. SYRIAN DESERT.] And so the days slipped away. At the end of six months we landed out of the Syrian desert into Damascus. An immense change came over Hassan when he was released from the anxieties of piloting us through impossible places and rumoured dangers. He became more boyish and cheerful and amused at everything. His first care on arriving at the end of our journey was, after spending several hours in a public bath, to go a clean and happy man to the Mosque, to return thanks to Allah for having brought us safely through. We had been to call at the consulate, and, as we drove up to the hotel on our return, I caught sight of Hassan in the street with a crowd round him; he was strutting up and down in his shirt-sleeves, with his head even more thrown back than usual and a wild look in his eye. "Good heavens," I said to X, "the Prince must have got into one of his tempers and killed a few people in the street," and I anxiously looked round for signs of gore. The Prince took no notice of us, but stalked up and down, the crowd making way before him with looks of awe. "What are we to do?" I said; "he looks as if he had gone off his head and would knock down any one who comes near him." "He does look like a prize-fighter," said X; "I have never seen him look like that before." Our cook was standing on the steps. "What is the matter with Hassan?" I said to him. The man stared. "Nothing," he said, "it's only his new shirt." We went inside, telling him to fetch Hassan to us. The Prince stalked into the room with the same air with which he had been stalking the streets, and stood in front of us with an excited and expectant expression. "The cook is right," said X; "it is his new shirt. He is overcome with pride and conceit; he is on parade, that's all." He certainly had something to be conceited about. The shirt was of fine silk in gorgeous yellow and red stripes; round his waist was a wide, bright-coloured kammerband, round his head a new keffiyeh flashed all the colours of the rainbow. Clean and shaven, his tight-fitting shirt showing up the strong outline of his muscular frame, he exhibited, to say the least of it, a striking spectacle. We were evidently expected to be overcome at the magnificence of his appearance, and certainly we did not disappoint him in this respect. "You are grand," said X to him in his own language; "you quite surprise us." Hassan put his hands into his trouser pockets and strutted up and down the room, speechless with delight. "Who would have thought you could be such a turkey-cock, you old gander!" I said in English. "What is she saying?" said Hassan to X. "She says you are just like a very magnificent bird we have in England," answered X. Hassan beamed triumphantly. "You have fine clothes," he said; "I must not disgrace you." "Is he always going about in his shirt-sleeves, I wonder?" I inquired. X asked him. "It is quite usual in my country not to wear a coat in hot weather," he said; "my coat is old and dirty, and my shirt is new and clean: why should I wear my coat?" And he rarely put it on again. He loved to see us in nice clothes, and took great delight in wandering about the bazaars with us buying presents for the "twenty-nine friends" in England. But we used to sigh over the good old camping days. "Hebsi bitdi" (all is over), he would say dolefully, when anything particularly brought them back to our thoughts. We rode down Palestine and took him over to Egypt with us. Evading with difficulty the importunities of Cook, and the rush of tourists on the beaten track, we tried to steal days which brought back a sense of our old free-and-easy times. But there came a day when there was an end to it all, an end to the long silent rides, an end to the quiet smokes in desert places, an end to the little daily jokes, an end to the serious talks and the foolish quarrels, an end to the Kallabalaks and the Keyfs. We stood on the steamer which was to take Hassan back to his old life in the forests of the Turkmendagh. "You will soon be going a long journey with some one else," said X cheeringly. Hassan shook his head. "No, indeed," he said; "I should take care not to go with two ladies again, and I shall not go with a man, for no man would be so much of a fool as to wish to go such a mad journey." The steamer gave vent to its first hideous whistle. We put our fingers to our ears. "Good-bight, little Padishah," he said, as we clasped hands for the last time; "good-bight. Go home to your friend in England; he will be glad to see you looking so fat." "Silly man," I said with a lump in my throat. "Silliman yok," he answered. The whistle blew again, we turned and went our different ways. If there had been a stone he would have thrown it after me; as it was, when I turned he made a face and shouted, "Istemen, istemen!" And now, looking back on those days, there rises invariably before us the memory of this companion in our many adventures--the memory of a simple-minded, honourable man, a trusted friend, a pleasant companion, and a devoted servant, who, whether he was sharing the discomforts and dangers of winter travel in a wild and lawless country, or experiencing the joyous freedom of the roaming desert life we loved so well, or enduring the terrors of critical and carping civilisation, invariably put us in the foremost place, and, without swerving an inch from the traditions of his race, never offended the susceptibilities of ours. CHAPTER XXIII RETROSPECTIVE Last night we were dirty, isolated, and free; to-night we are clean, sociable, and trammelled. Last night the setting sun's final message written in flaming signs of gold was burnt into us, and the starry heights carried our thoughts heavenward and made them free as themselves. To-night the sunset passed all unheeded and we gaze, as we retire from the busy rush of the trivial day, at a never-ending, twisting, twirling pattern on the four walls that imprison us, oppressed by the confining ceiling of our room in the Damascus Palace Hotel. We are no longer princesses whose hands and feet are kissed, whose word is law, sharing the simple hospitality of proud and dignified wayfarers in desert kingdoms. Our word is law according to the depth of our purses, our hands and feet are kissed according to the height of our floor in the hotel. We are no longer in a land where men and women are judged by their capacities for being men and women: the cost of our raiment apportions our rank. We are now no longer amongst people to whom we say what we mean and are silent when we have nothing to say. We are in surroundings where to say what you mean is an offence, where silence is not understood and looked upon askance as an uncanny visitor. The less we have to say, the more we make an effort to say it; and the more we have to say, the greater the effort to suppress it. Everything seems unreal or unnecessary, everything is dressed up. All these people moving about, sitting still, in a hurry, catching trains, eating long dinners, dressing themselves, looking at each other dressed--what does it all mean? Was all this going on when we were in that other world which we have just left, that great silent world where everything was itself and big, and not confused by accessories? Was all this din and bustle going on? It is strange that we should have had no inkling of it, for it seems of so much importance to all these people, idle with a great restlessness; it seems essential to them. It is hard, too, to realise that that other world still exists out there in the distance, and that it would be quite possible to reach it by merely riding out on a camel. Can it indeed be true that the same sun which lights all these moving streets, these buyers and sellers, these catchers of trains, is lighting the desert out there as imperturbably as it lit us, journeying on after it day after day in the silent places; did it see all these people from its inaccessible height, and, sharing its gifts equally with them and with us, give us no hint of what it was looking down upon? It showed then no more favour to us than to these dwellers in towns, and yet was it not more to us? Were we not more conscious of its innumerable gifts; and did we not receive more from it as a result of our greater appreciation? No bars of windows, no roofy outlines, no sleepy oblivion hid the glory of its first appearance for us. As far as its rays could range, so far, and further, could we see. Not a pale silver thread or wiry line of gold, or faint reflection of its glowing colours on the opposite horizon, was lost to our vision; and, as we rode through the chilly morning air, were we not conscious of every separate ray of warmth as it grew and grew until we were bathed in its delicious heat, and all day it served as our sole guide, indicating direction in boundless space and hour in limitless time. No finger-posts, no winding up of clocks; only this sun with its fixed and unalterable decrees. The sun, then, we share, although apparently in divers degrees. But was not the moon more for us alone? For they can shut it out from their lives altogether. It, too, looked down upon this city, but not on the noise and chaos of it. As far as it was concerned all the bustlers were dead, buried away in their roofed houses behind their shuttered windows. The silence of night is the moon's heritage, and it exercises its autocratic sway to the full; it admits no disturbing rush or unseemly hurry beneath its gaze. What do they know of you who pull down blinds and light up the gas and dwell in curtained rooms? Accident may cause a benighted traveller to look at you with a passing sense of rest, a casual tossing sleeper may be half conscious of your charm, the weary toiler at the end of a long day may momentarily bless your soothing light, and in so far as they take hold of you they make themselves akin with us out there. But you are not a part of them, as you are a part of us; you do not enter into the very heart of their existence and carry their minds up, night after night, to the realms where you live serene and calm, making us forget the saddle rubs, the parching thirst, the driven sand, the fire that would not light, the kettle that would not boil--all the little near things, the things which matter so much in the day, and which you remind us do not matter at night. But here they matter so much more at night, all shut up with us inside these confining walls--inside these muslin curtains. The darkness and the enclosed space make them assume exaggerated dimensions; all the little trivialities in the room accentuate their importance. We see them cropping up again and again in that blue flower on the wall paper, or running round and round the red coils on the dado. We raise our eyes to heaven and encounter the fixed, inane smile of a painted lady with a wand, seated in a wreath of flowers. We shut our eyes, determined to forget her, but a terrible fascination makes us peep again and again, and always that same inane smile; and when at last the kindly shades of night hide it altogether in darkness, we are still conscious of her only, smiling away there, looking at us while we cannot see her. And all the time outside the steadfast moon and the stars eternally twinkling are telling the same tale that they told out in that other world, but we have shut them out and will not listen to their silent teaching. In vain the Prophet of the Desert has said: "And we have adorned the lower heaven with lamps and set them to pelt the devils with ... we touched the heavens, and found them filled with a mighty guard and shooting stars, and we did sit in certain seats thereof to listen; but whoso of us listens now finds a shooting star for him on guard." Emblems of all the great abiding truths have been set up on high, where, one would have thought, every poor, striving mortal could not fail to see them; vastness and distance is displayed as a rest to those wearied with the smallness and nearness of things; solidity and eternity are there to comfort the grievers over passing men and disappointed hopes; the kindly darkness which hides us intermittently from our fellows is pierced with points of guiding light. And yet we do not habitually, and as a matter of course, accept these gifts for which no price is asked; we go blundering on, intensifying the grim blackness of night by shutting ourselves up with it, surrounded with all the small things of earth, and this when we might forget them by reason of their very smallness in the vast distances of the vaulted heavens. It almost seems as though we would deliberately wish to hide from ourselves and each other the few simple sufficient laws of existence, for in this as in other things we not only avoid the truth but appear ashamed of it, and dress it up in every possible accessory of human invention. We dress everything up--our bodies, our minds, our food. I look down this long _table d'hôte_, and what do I see? I see a crowd of people dressed up, exchanging dressed-up commonplaces, eating dressed-up food. I feel that nothing is real. But this unreality is so real that I ask: "Have, then, the unrealities, the non-essentials of existence become the realities, and have we, emerging from a world where only the essentials of existence concerned us, given them an undue importance? Coming out of a state of primitive civilisation, are we unable to appreciate the true meaning of our surroundings? These people wear the burdens of fashion so lightly, they talk these complicated nothings so simply, they toil so contentedly discontented through these endless disguised dishes: what is it behind it all that our minds cannot grasp?" I look again: I talk to them and they answer me; I eat another dressed-up dish. Here I feel a weary heart, there I touch a bored mind; now one gets a flash of intellect, now a gleam of soul, all alike so carefully wrapped up, and yet with a longing to be out. Why this unnatural dread of truth and simplicity? I am getting positively affected by it. I sit here amongst these smart people in my travelling clothes, and I confess to a new strange sense of discomfort in consequence. I feel ashamed of my old clothes. Opposite to me is a lady with a kindly face and a comfortable look about her; her mauve dress gives a pleasing sense of colour, but as she moves two beaded flaps keep jumping about, which detracts from the sense of repose suggested by her comfortable look; when she leans back an array of stitched beads catches on the carved projection of the chair, and she has to be disengaged by the waiter. Her sleeves drooping gracefully from the elbow require elaborate gymnastics to prevent them dipping into her plate as she eats, and twice they caught in the pepper-pot and overturned its contents on the floor. But she bore it all with a pleasant apologetic smile which called out my admiration for such a display of schooled temper under these trying circumstances. Then, with an unconscious transition of thought, I found myself comparing her to the Arab woman who brought the bowl of youart off which we supped last night. I recalled how I envied her the dignified carriage of her free unfettered form, the natural grace of her untrammelled manners. I recalled the simple graceful folds of her clinging single garment, so much a part of herself that she was quite unconscious of it, and I compare this lady trying to adapt herself to the elaborate creation in which she is enthralled. Long custom prevents her from realising how her form and movements are rendered artificial and ungraceful. As the Chinese lady, unconscious of her deformity in feet, would resent or wonder at our pity for her enslaved by the idea of a barbarous custom, so would my neighbour resent or wonder should I feel pity for her at this moment, equally a slave to a Western idea. * * * * * I glanced at my battered old coat and was pervaded with a sense of remorse at having been ashamed of it. Here, in the middle of this bewildering appearance of unreality, it was telling me of so many solid facts. How often had it not covered the aching pangs of hunger, and the satisfied sense of that hunger appeased; it had felt the thumping of my heart stirred by danger, or hastened by exhilarating motion; it had known the long-drawn breaths of quiet enjoyment at a peaceful scene. That tear was made on the rocks the day we climbed to the "written stone" at the top of the Boulghar Mountains, and I mended it one long quiet evening by the Euphrates. I lost this button the night we scrambled up to the castle at Palmyra, my little friend Maydi pulled me up a rock by it and it broke. That burnt mark was made by Mahmet, who dropped the live charcoal with which I was lighting my cigarette in the shaykh's hut at Harran. All this and more is what my coat says to me.... I am no longer ashamed of it. I feel sure if the kind lady opposite realised all this she would not regard me as an outcast, for there is something very honest about the coat. But I had got no further away from the feeling of unreality. I tried to recall what it had felt like to live in civilisation, but all I could remember was how difficult it had been to disentangle ourselves from it. While we were still in it, we had not known what we should want outside it. But, once outside, all these difficulties had disappeared: everything at once seemed to happen naturally; we missed nothing of the things we had left behind. And as it had been difficult while we were still in it to get disentangled from it, so now we experienced a difficulty in entering it again--a difficulty in once more taking up and using the things we had discarded for a time. It was as if we had never used them, so strange did they seem, and so little did we understand their meaning. Entering it differed, moreover, in this way from our entrance into the new life outside it; once in it nothing seemed to happen naturally. This was the more disconcerting since civilisation was not altogether a new world to us, in the sense that the other had been. We had spent many long years in it, and yet on returning we found it all strange and incomprehensible. * * * * * We rose and left the table. Hassan joined us at the door, and we all sat down on a red plush settee. Waiters hurried past us with trays of coffee and stronger drinks; ladies in bright colours rustled about the passage; and in the corners men in evening dress lounged and smoked. Hassan stroked the settee gingerly. "It is very soft," he said, "but the sand was better." Then he looked round and paused. "What are all these people doing?" he asked irritably; "why can't they sit down and be quiet. There is no quiet here; the sand was better." Earlier in the day he had been pleased with the bright colours and the sense of movement, but now they seemed to vex him. "Why do they keep on looking at us?" he went on; "is it because you are great Pashas?" "No," I answered, "they have no idea that we are great Pashas." "My countrymen in the desert looked at you because you were strangers from another country and they had not seen women like you before; but these are your own countrymen: why do they stare at you?" "It is because we are not dressed like them," I said; "we have not got our beautiful clothes yet; when these come they will no longer look at us." "But can they not see that you are travelling?" he said. "The people of my country, the Valis and the Kaimakams who prepared feasts for us, knew that you also had beautiful clothes in your own country." "Yes, but our travelling clothes are not quite the same as those worn by our countrymen here," I explained, "so they do not understand us." "But why," persisted Hassan, "should that cause them not to understand you?" "We all do alike in our country," I explained; "if one person wears no pockets and big sleeves, then we all do the same." "Who is this person then?" said Hassan; "he must be a very great Pasha." "We none of us know who he is," I said; "in fact, he is not any one particular person; it is more like a sort of jinn who spreads about an unwritten law." Hassan looked perplexed. "And are there no written words," he said, "to tell you the meaning of this law?" "Yes," I said; "the people in our land who have the most money write out the meaning of the law." "And if you do not follow the law, what then?" "Your fellow-creatures are rather afraid of you; they do not ask you to their feasts, neither do they give you places of command, however capable you may be." "Is it this jinn that makes your men wear the hard black hats and the tight black clothes?" I nodded assent. "And it is not only our clothes," I added; "the jinn says we may not think differently from other people, or if we do, we must hide it." "Is it a sin that your country has committed that it is thus condemned," he went on, "or is the jinn an evil spirit under whose curse it lies?" "We do not know," I said. "There are some of the younger men who are trying to discover; they do not do as the jinn says, and so they do not live happily amongst others; many of them live apart, and we call them cranks and are afraid of them." "Are they wicked men, then?" "No, they are good men as a rule, but in our country we do not understand the people who do not do what others do." "But if you all do the same," said Hassan, "how can you progress? We in the East have not changed our customs, so we do not progress. Do you never change then either, you in the West?" "We change very slowly," I answered, "because we tend to the thought that if a thing has always been, then it is good." "Aman, aman," said Hassan. APPENDIX ITINERARY OF JOURNEY KONIA TO TARSUS. Chumra. Kisilkeui. Karaman. Adeteppe. Buadjik. Eregli. Tchaym. Ulu Kishla. Boulghar Maden. Chiftekhan. Ak Kupru. Gulek Boghaz. A Khan. Tarsus. (These stages are from 5 to 8 hours.) ADANA TO DIARBEKR. (18 stages.) Hours. Missis 4 Small village with khan. Hamidieh 4-1/2 Cotton-mills and town. Kalakeui 5 Small Kurdish village. Osmanieh 1-1/2 Town. Bagtsche 6 Village. Shekasskeui 5 Village with khan. Avjilar 5 Small Kurdish village. No khan. Aintab 5 Town. Urral 5 Village with khan. Birejik 5 Town. Ferry across Euphrates. Abermor 6 Kurdish huts. Karekeui 6 Kurdish huts. Urfa 3-1/2 Town. Sheksheligher 7 Khan. Mismischen 7 Large khan. Severek 6 Town. Kaimach 7 Large khan. Gergeli 6 Small Kurdish village. Diarbekr 3-1/2 BAGHDAD TO DAMASCUS. (27 stages.) Hours. Menasseyeh No village. Fellujah 6 Village on Euphrates. Rumadeyeh 6 Village on Euphrates. _Hit_ 10 Town on Euphrates. Bagdadi 8 Ruined water-mill on Euphrates. Hadittah 8 Village on Euphrates. Fukaymeh 6-1/2 Large khan on Euphrates. _Ana_ 7 Town on Euphrates. Niteyah 8 Guard-house on Euphrates. Gayyim 9-1/2 Guard-house on Euphrates. Abu Kamal 5 Village on Euphrates. Salihiyyeh 7 Khan with a few Arab huts. Micardin 9-1/2 Village. Deir-el-Zor 7 Town. Pools of brackish water 2-1/2 Guard-house 8 Well of bad water. Bir Jeddid 8 Well of bad water. Suknak 9 Village with hot sulphur springs. Erek 8-1/2 Village. Tadmor 6 Palmyra. Baytha 6 Khan with bad water. Gusayr 16 (Camping-place half-way, where water is found early in the year). Karietein 7 Village. Nasariyeh 12 Village. Kutayfah 5 Village. Guard-house 2 Damascus 4 THE END. 
40285	----	[Illustration: Cover] THE SYRIAN CHRIST BY ABRAHAM MITRIE RIHBANY BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY The Riverside Press Cambridge 1916 COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY COMPANY COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY ABRAHAM MITRIE RIHBANY ALL RIGHTS RESERVED _Published October 1916_ {v} PREFACE This little volume is sent forth in the confident hope that it may throw fresh light on the life and teachings of Christ, and facilitate for the general public the understanding of the Bible. As may be readily seen, from its perusal, the present work is not intended to be a commentary on the Bible, nor even an exhaustive study of the subject with which it deals. That it leaves many things to be desired is very evident to the author, who fears that his book will be remembered by its readers more by the things it lacks than by the things it contains. Yet, from the cordial reception with which the opening chapters of this publication (which made their first appearance in the _Atlantic Monthly_) met from readers, of various religious affiliations, the author has been encouraged to believe that his aim has not only been clearly {vi} discerned, but thoroughly approved. The books which undertake the systematic "expounding of the Scriptures" are a host which no man can number, nor is there any lack of "spiritual lessons drawn from the Bible." Therefore, as one of the Master's fellow countrymen, and one who has enjoyed about twenty years of service in the American pulpit, I have for several years entertained the growing conviction that such a book as this was really needed. Not, however, as one more commentary, but as an Oriental guide to afford Occidental readers of the Bible a more intimate view of the original intellectual and social environment of this sacred literature. So what I have to offer here is a series of suggestions, and not of technically wrought Bible lessons. The need of the Western readers of the Bible is, in my judgment, to enter sympathetically and intelligently into the atmosphere in which the books of the Scriptures first took form: to have real intellectual, as well as spiritual, fellowship with those Orientals who sought {vii} earnestly in their own way to give tangible form to those great spiritual truths which have been, and ever shall be, humanity's most precious heritage. My task has not been a light one. It is comparatively easy to take isolated Bible texts and explain them, treating each passage as a detached unit. But when one undertakes to group a large number of passages which never were intended to be gathered together and treated as the kindred thoughts of an essay, the task becomes rather difficult. How far I have succeeded in my effort to relate the passages I have treated in this book to one another according to their intellectual and social affinities, the reader is in a better position to judge than I am. It may not be absolutely necessary for me to say that infallibility cannot justly be ascribed to any author, nor claimed by him, even when writing of his own experiences, and the social environment in which he was born and brought up. However, in Yankee, not in Oriental, {viii} fashion, I will say that _to the best of my knowledge_ the statements contained in this book are correct. Finally, I deem it necessary before I bring this preface to a close to sound a note of warning. So I will say that the Orientals' extensive use of figurative speech should by no means be allowed to carry the idea that _all_ Oriental speech is figurative. This manner of speech, which is common to all races of men, is only _more extensively_ used by Orientals than by Occidentals. I could wish, however, that the learned theologians had suspected more strongly the literal accuracy of Oriental utterances, and had thus been saved at times from founding a huge doctrinal structure on a figure of speech. Notwithstanding all this, the Gospel and the Christian faith still live and bless and cheer the hearts and minds of men. As an Oriental by birth, and as an American from choice, I feel profoundly grateful that I have been enabled to render this modest service to the Churches of {ix} America, and to present this book as an offering of love and homage to my Master, the Syrian Christ. ABRAHAM MITRIE RIHBANY BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS. {xi} CONTENTS PART I. THE SYRIAN CHRIST. I. Son of the East II. Birth of a Man Child III. The Star IV. Mystic Tones V. Filial Obedience VI. Feast and Sacrament VII. The Last Scene PART II. The Oriental Manner Of Speech. I. Daily Language II. Imprecations III. Love of Enemies IV. "The Unveracious Oriental" V. Impressions _vs._ Literal Accuracy VI. Speaking in Parables VII. Swearing VIII. Four Characteristics {xii} PART III. BREAD AND SALT I. The Sacred 'Aish II. "Our Daily Bread" III. "Compel Them to come in" IV. Delaying the Departing Guest V. Family Feasts PART IV. OUT IN THE OPEN I. Shelter and Home II. Resigned Travelers III. The Market Place IV. The Housetop V. The Vineyards and the Fields VI. The Shepherd PART V. SISTERS OF MARY AND MARTHA I. Woman East and West II. Paul and Woman III. Jesus and his Mother IV. "A Gracious Woman" PART VI. Here and There in the Bible Index {3} PART I THE SYRIAN CHRIST THE SYRIAN CHRIST CHAPTER I SON OF THE EAST Jesus Christ, the incarnation of the spirit of God, seer, teacher of the verities of the spiritual life, and preacher of the fatherhood of God and the brotherhood of man, is, in a higher sense, "a man without a country." As a prophet and a seer Jesus belongs to all races and all ages. Wherever the minds of men respond to simple truth, wherever the hearts of men thrill with pure love, wherever a temple of religion is dedicated to the worship of God and the service of man, there is Jesus' country and there are his friends. Therefore, in speaking of Jesus as the son of a certain country, I do not mean in the least to localize his Gospel, or to set bounds and limits to the flow of his spirit and the workings of his love. Nor is it my aim in these chapters to imitate {4} the astute theologians by wrestling with the problem of Jesus' personality. To me the secret of personality, human and divine, is an impenetrable mystery. My more modest purpose in this writing is to remind the reader that, whatever else Jesus was, as regards his modes of thought and life and his method of teaching, he was a Syrian of the Syrians. According to authentic history Jesus never saw any other country than Palestine. There he was born; there he grew up to manhood, taught his Gospel, and died for it. It is most natural, then, that Gospel truths should have come down to the succeeding generations--and to the nations of the West--cast in Oriental moulds of thought, and intimately intermingled with the simple domestic and social habits of Syria. The gold of the Gospel carries with it the sand and dust of its original home. From the foregoing, therefore, it may be seen that my reason for undertaking to throw fresh light on the life and teachings of Christ, and {5} other portions of the Bible whose correct understanding depends on accurate knowledge of their original environment, is not any claim on my part to great learning or a profound insight into the spiritual mysteries of the Gospel. The real reason is rather an accident of birth. From the fact that I was born not far from where the Master was born, and brought up under almost the identical conditions under which he lived, I have an "inside view" of the Bible which, by the nature of things, a Westerner cannot have. And I know that the conditions of life in Syria of to-day are essentially as they were in the time of Christ, not from the study of the mutilated tablets of the archæologist and the antiquarian, precious as such discoveries are, but from the simple fact that, as a sojourner in this Western world, whenever I open my Bible it reads like a letter from home. Its unrestrained effusiveness of expression; its vivid, almost flashy and fantastic imagery; its naïve narrations; the rugged unstudied simplicity of its parables; its unconventional (and {6} to the more modest West rather unseemly) portrayal of certain human relations; as well as its all-permeating spiritual mysticism,--so far as these qualities are concerned, the Bible might all have been written in my primitive village home, on the western slopes of Mount Lebanon some thirty years ago. Nor do I mean to assert or even to imply that the Western world has never succeeded in knowing the mind of Christ. Such an assertion would do violent injustice, not only to the Occidental mind, but to the Gospel itself as well, by making it an enigma, utterly foreign to the native spirituality of the majority of mankind. But what I have learned from intimate associations with the Western mind, during almost a score of years in the American pulpit, is that, with the exception of the few specialists, it is extremely difficult, if not impossible, for a people to understand fully a literature which has not sprung from that people's own racial life. As a repository of divine revelation the Bible knows no geographical limits. Its spiritual truths are {7} from God to man. But as a literature the Bible is an imported article in the Western world, especially in the home of the Anglo-Saxon race. The language of the Scriptures, the mentality and the habits of life which form the setting of their spiritual precepts, and the mystic atmosphere of those precepts themselves, have come forth from the soul of a people far removed from the races of the West in almost all the modes of its earthly life. You cannot study the life of a people successfully from the outside. You may by so doing succeed in discerning the few fundamental traits of character in their local colors, and in satisfying your curiosity with surface observations of the general modes of behavior; but the little things, the common things, those subtle connectives in the social vocabulary of a people, those agencies which are born and not made, and which give a race its rich distinctiveness, are bound to elude your grasp. There is so much in the life of a people which a stranger to that people must receive {8} by way of unconscious absorption. Like a little child, he must learn so many things by involuntary imitation. An outside observer, though wise, is only a photographer. He deals with externals. He can be converted into an artist and portray the life of a race by working from the soul outward, only through long, actual, and sympathetic associations with that race. From the foregoing it may be seen that I deem it rather hazardous for a six-weeks tourist in that country to publish a book on the _life_ of Syria. A first-class camera and "an eye to business" are hardly sufficient qualifications for the undertaking of such a task. It is very easy, indeed, to take a photograph, but not so easy to relate such a picture to the inner life of a race, and to know what moral and social forces lie behind such externals. The hasty traveler may easily state what certain modes of thought and life in a strange land mean to _him_, but does that necessarily mean that _his_ understanding of such things is also the understanding of the _people_ of that land themselves? {9} With the passing of the years, this thought gains in significance with me, as a Syrian immigrant. At about the end of my second year of residence in this country, I felt confident that I could write a book on America and the Americans whose accuracy no one could challenge. It was so easy for me to grasp the significance of certain general aspects of American life that I felt I was fully competent to state how the American people lived, what their racial, political, and religious tendencies were, what their idioms of speech meant, and to interpret their amorous, martial, dolorous, and joyous moods with perfect accuracy and ease. But now, after a residence of about twenty-four years in America--years which I have spent in most intimate association with Americans, largely of the "original stock"--I do not feel half so confident that I am qualified to write such a book. The more intimate I become with American thought, the deeper I penetrate the American spirit, the more enlightened my associations become with American fathers, mothers, {10} and children in the joys and sorrows of life, the more fully do I realize how extremely difficult, if not impossible, it is for one to interpret successfully the life of an alien people before one has actually _lived it_ himself. Many Westerners have written very meritorious books on the thought and life of the East. But these are not of the "tourist" type. Such writers have been those who, first, had the initial wisdom to realize that the beggars for _bakhsheesh_ in the thoroughfares of Syrian cities, and those who hitch a woman with an ox to the plough in some dark recesses of Palestine, did not possibly represent the deep soul of that ancient East, which gave birth to the Bible and to the glorious company of prophets, apostles, and saints. Second, such writers knew, also, that the fine roots of a people's life do not lie on the surface. Such feeders of life are both deep and fine; not only long residence among a people, but intimate association and genuine sympathy with them are necessary to reveal to a stranger the hidden {11} meaning of their life. Social life, like biological life, energizes from within, and from within it must be studied. And it is those common things of Syrian life, so indissolubly interwoven with the spiritual truths of the Bible, which cause the Western readers of holy writ to stumble, and which rob those truths for them of much of their richness. By sheer force of genius, the aggressive, systematic Anglo-Saxon mind seeks to press into logical unity and creedal uniformity those undesigned, artless, and most natural manifestations of Oriental life, in order to "understand the Scriptures." "Yet show I unto you a more excellent way," by personally conducting you into the inner chambers of Syrian life, and showing you, if I can, how simple it is for a humble fellow countryman of Christ to understand those social phases of the Scriptural passages which so greatly puzzle the august minds of the West. {12} CHAPTER II BIRTH OF A MAN CHILD In the Gospel story of Jesus' life there is not a single incident that is not in perfect harmony with the prevailing modes of thought and the current speech of the land of its origin. I do not know how many times I heard it stated in my native land and at our own fireside that heavenly messengers in the forms of patron saints or angels came to pious, childless wives, in dreams and visions, and cheered them with the promise of maternity. It was nothing uncommon for such women to spend a whole night in a shrine "wrestling in prayer," either with the blessed Virgin or some other saint, for such a divine assurance; and I remember a few of my own kindred to have done so. Perhaps the most romantic religious practice in this connection is the _zeara_. Interpreted literally, the word _zeara_ means simply a visit. In its social use it is the equivalent of {13} a call of long or short duration. But religiously the _zeara_ means a pilgrimage to a shrine. However, strictly speaking, the word "pilgrimage" means to the Syrians a journey of great religious significance whose supreme purpose is the securing of a blessing for the pilgrim, with no reference to a special need. The _zeara_ is a pilgrimage with a specific purpose. The _zayir_ (visitor to a shrine) comes seeking either to be healed of a certain ailment, to atone for a sin, or to be divinely helped in some other way. Unlike a pilgrimage also, a _zeara_ may be made by one person in behalf of another. When, for example, a person is too ill to travel, or is indifferent to a spiritual need which such a visit is supposed to fill, his parents or other close friends may make a _zeara_ in his behalf. But much more often a _zeara_ is undertaken by women for the purpose of securing the blessing of fecundity, or consecrating an approaching issue of wedlock (if it should prove to be a male) to God, and to the patron saint of the visited sanctuary. {14} Again the word "pilgrimage" is used only to describe a visit by a Christian to Jerusalem, or by a Mohammedan to Mecca, while the _zeara_ describes a visit to any one of the lesser shrines. The happy journey is often made on foot, the parties most concerned walking all the way "on the flesh of their feet"; that is, with neither shoes nor sandals on. This great sacrifice is made as a mark of sincere humility which is deemed to be pleasing to God and his holy saints. However, the wearing of shoes and even the use of mounts is not considered a sinful practice on such occasions, and is indulged in by many of the well-to-do families. The state of the heart is, of course, the chief thing to be considered. In the fourth chapter of the Second Book of Kings we are told that "the Shunammite woman" used an ass when she sought Elisha to restore her dead son to her. In the twenty-second verse (the Revised Version), we are told, "And she called unto her husband, and said, {15} Send me, I pray thee, one of the servants, and one of the asses, that I may run to the man of God, and come again.... Then she saddled an ass, and said to her servant, Drive, and go forward; slacken me not the riding, except I bid thee. So she went, and came unto the man of God to mount Carmel." Fasting and prayer on the way are often pronounced phases of a _zeara_. However, wine-drinking by the men in the company and noisy gayety are not deemed altogether incompatible with the solemnity of the occasion. The pious visitors carry with them presents to the abbot and to the monks who serve the shrine. A silver or even gold candlestick, or a crown of either metal for the saint, is also carried to the altar. The young mother in whose behalf the _zeara_ is undertaken is tenderly cared for by every member of the party. She is "the chosen vessel of the Lord." The _zûwar_ (visitors) remain at the holy shrine for one or two nights, or until the "presence" is revealed; that is, until the saint {16} manifests himself. The prayerfully longed-for manifestation comes almost invariably in a dream, either to the mother or some other worthy in the party. How like the story of Joseph all this is! In the first chapter of St. Matthew's Gospel, the twentieth verse, it is said of Joseph, "But while he thought on these things, behold, the angel of the Lord appeared unto him in a dream, saying, Joseph, thou son of David, fear not to take unto thee Mary thy wife: for that which is conceived in her is of the Holy Ghost. And she shall bring forth a son, and thou shalt call his name Jesus; for he shall save his people from their sins." In this manner the promise is made to the waiting mother, who "keeps these things, and ponders them in her heart." The promise thus secured, the mother and the father vow that the child shall be a _nedher_; that is, consecrated to the saint who made the promise to the mother. The vow may mean one of several things. Either that a sum of {17} money be "given to the saint" upon the advent of the child, or that the child be carried to the same sanctuary on another _zeara_ with gifts, and so forth, or that his hair will not be cut until he is seven years old, and then cut for the first time before the image of his patron saint at the shrine, or some other act of pious fulfillment. The last form of a vow, the consecration of the hair of the head for a certain period, is practiced by men of all ages. The vow is made as a petition for healing from a serious illness, rescue from danger, or purely as an act of consecration. In the eighteenth chapter of the Book of Acts, the eighteenth verse, we have the statement: "And Paul after this tarried there yet a good while, and then took his leave of the brethren, and sailed thence into Syria, and with him Priscilla and Aquila; _having shorn his head in Cenchrea: for he had a vow_." It was also in connection with this practice that Paul was induced by the "brethren" at Jerusalem to make a compromise which cost him dearly. {18} In the twenty-first chapter of Acts, the twenty-third verse, we are told that those brethren said to Paul, "We have four men who have a vow on them; them take, and purify thyself with them, and be at charges for them, that they may _shave their heads_." The last service of this kind which I attended in Syria was for a cousin of mine, a boy of twelve, who was a _nedher_, or as the word is rendered in the English Bible, a Nazarite. We assembled in the church of St. George of Sûk. The occasion was very solemn. A mass was celebrated after the order of the Greek Orthodox Church. Near the close of the service the tender lad was brought by his parents in front of the Royal Door at the altar. While repeating a prayer, the priest cut the hair on the crown of the boy's head with the scissors, in the shape of a cross. The simple act released the child and his parents of their solemn vow. "Twentieth-century culture" is prone to call all such practices superstitions. So they are to a large extent. But I deem it the higher {19} duty of this culture to _interpret_ sympathetically rather than to condemn superstition in a sweeping fashion. I am a lover of a rational theology and a reasonable faith, but I feel that in our enthusiasm for such a theology and such a faith we often fail to appreciate the deep spiritual longing which is expressed in superstitious forms of worship. What is there in such religious practices as those I have mentioned but the expression of the heart-burning of those parents for the spiritual welfare and security of their children? What do we find here but evidences of a deep and sincere yearning for divine blessings to come upon the family and the home? Thoughts of God at the marriage altar; thoughts of God when the promise of parenthood becomes evident; thoughts of God when a child comes into the world; thoughts of God and of his holy prophets and saints as friends and companions in all the changes and chances of the world. Here the challenge to modern rationalism is not to content itself with rebuking superstitions, but to give {20} the world deeper spiritual visions than those which superstitions reveal, and to compass childhood and youth by the gracious presence of the living God. In a most literal sense we always understood the saying of the psalmist, "Children are a heritage from the Lord." Above and beyond all natural agencies, it was He who turned barrenness to fecundity and worked the miracle of birth. To us every birth was miraculous, and childlessness an evidence of divine disfavor. From this it may be inferred how tenderly and reverently agreeable to the Syrian ear is the angel's salutation to Mary, "Hail, thou that art highly favored, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou among women!--Behold thou shalt conceive in thy womb and bring forth a son."[1] A miracle? Yes. But a miracle means one thing to your Western science, which seeks to know what nature is and does by dealing with secondary causes, and quite another thing to {21} an Oriental, to whom God's will is the law and gospel of nature. In times of intellectual trouble this man takes refuge in his all-embracing faith,--the faith that to God all things are possible. The Oriental does not try to meet an assault upon his belief in miracles by seeking to establish the historicity of concrete reports of miracles. His poetical, mystical temperament seeks its ends in another way. Relying upon his fundamental faith in the omnipotence of God, he throws the burden of proof upon his assailant by challenging him to substantiate his _denial_ of the miracles. So did Paul (in the twenty-sixth chapter of the Book of Acts) put his opponents at a great disadvantage by asking, "Why should it be thought a thing incredible with you, that God should raise the dead?" But the story of Jesus' birth and kindred Bible records disclose not only the predisposition of the Syrian mind to accept miracles as divine acts, without critical examination, but {22} also its attitude toward conception and birth,--an attitude which differs fundamentally from that of the Anglo-Saxon mind. With the feeling of one who has been reminded of having ignorantly committed an improper act, I remember the time when kind American friends admonished me not to read from the pulpit such scriptural passages as detailed the accounts of conception and birth, but only to allude to them in a general way. I learned in a very short time to obey the kindly advice, but it was a long time before I could swing my psychology around and understand why in America such narratives were so greatly modified in transmission. The very fact that such stories are found in the Bible shows that in my native land no such sifting of these narratives is ever undertaken when they are read to the people. From childhood I had been accustomed to hear them read at our church, related at the fireside, and discussed reverently by men and women at all times and places. There is nothing in the {23} phraseology of such statements which is not in perfect harmony with the common, everyday speech of my people. To the Syrians, as I say, "children are a heritage from the Lord." From the days of Israel to the present time, barrenness has been looked upon as a sign of divine disfavor, an intolerable calamity. Rachel's cry, "Give me children, or else I die,"[2] does not exaggerate the agony of a childless Syrian wife. When Rebecca was about to depart from her father's house to become Isaac's wife, her mother's ardent and effusively expressed wish for her was, "Be thou the mother of thousands of millions."[3] This mother's last message to her daughter was not spoken in a corner. I can see her following the bride to the door, lifting her open palms and turning her face toward heaven, and making her affectionate petition in the hearing of a multitude of guests, who must have echoed her words in chorus. In the congratulations of guests at a {24} marriage feast the central wish for the bridegroom and bride is invariably thus expressed: "May you be happy, live long, and have many children!" And what contrasts very sharply with the American reticence in such matters is the fact that shortly after the wedding, the friends of the young couple, both men and women, begin to ask them about their "prospects" for an heir. No more does a prospective mother undertake in any way to disguise the signs of the approaching event, than an American lady to conceal her engagement ring. Much mirth is enjoyed in such cases, also, when friends and neighbors, by consulting the stars, or computing the number of letters in the names of the parents and the month in which the miracle of conception is supposed to have occurred, undertake to foretell whether the promised offspring will be a son or a daughter. In that part of the country where I was brought up, such wise prognosticators believed, and made us all believe, that if the calculations resulted in an odd number the birth would be a son, but {25} if in an even number, a daughter, which, as a rule, is not considered so desirable. Back of all these social traits, and beyond the free realism of the Syrian in speaking of conception and birth, lies a deeper fact. To Eastern peoples, especially the Semites, reproduction in all the world of life is profoundly sacred. It is God's life reproducing itself in the life of man and in the living world below man; therefore the evidences of this reproduction should be looked upon and spoken of with rejoicing. Notwithstanding the many and fundamental intellectual changes which I have undergone in this country of my adoption, I count as among the most precious memories of my childhood my going with my father to the vineyard, just as the vines began to "come out," and hearing him say as he touched the swelling buds, "Blessed be the Creator. He is the Supreme Giver. May He protect the blessed increase." Of this I almost always think when I read the words of the psalmist, "The earth is the Lord's and the fullness thereof!" {26} Now I do not feel at all inclined to say whether the undisguised realism of the Orientals in speaking of reproduction is better than the delicate reserve of the Anglo-Saxons. In fact, I have been so reconstructed under Anglo-Saxon auspices as to feel that the excessive reserve of this race with regard to such things is not a serious fault, but rather the defect of a great virtue. My purpose is to show that the unreconstructed Oriental, to whom reproduction is the most sublime manifestation of God's life, cannot see why one should be ashamed to speak anywhere in the world of the fruits of wedlock, of a "woman with child." One might as well be ashamed to speak of the creative power as it reveals itself in the gardens of roses and the fruiting trees. Here we have the background of the stories of Sarah, when the angel-guest prophesied fecundity for her in her old age; of Rebecca, and the wish of her mother for her, that she might become "the mother of thousands"; of Elizabeth, when the "babe leaped in her womb," {27} as she saw her cousin Mary; and of the declaration of the angel to Joseph's spouse; "Thou shalt conceive in thy womb and bring forth a son." Here it is explained, also, why upon the birth of a "man-child," well-wishers troop into the house,--even on the very day of birth,--bring their presents, and congratulate the parents on the divine gift to them. It was because of this custom that those strangers, the three "Wise Men" and Magi of the Far East, were permitted to come in and see the little Galilean family, while the mother was yet in childbed. So runs the Gospel narrative: "And when they were come into the house, they saw the young child with Mary his mother, and fell down and worshipped him: and when they had opened their treasures, they presented unto him gifts,--gold, frankincense, and myrrh."[4] So also were the humble shepherds privileged to see the wondrous child shortly after birth. "And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them into heaven, the {28} shepherds said one to another, Let us now go to Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us. And they came with haste, and found Mary and Joseph and the babe lying in a manger."[5] In the twelfth verse of the second chapter of the Gospel of St. Luke, the English version says, "And this shall be a sign unto you; ye shall find a babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger." Here the word "clothes" is somewhat misleading. The Arabic version gives a perfect rendering of the fact by saying, "Ye shall find a _swaddled_ babe, _laid_ in a manger." According to general Syrian custom, in earliest infancy a child is not really clothed, it is only swaddled. Upon birth the infant is washed in tepid water by the midwife, then salted, or rubbed gently with salt pulverized in a stone mortar especially for the occasion. (The salt commonly used in Syrian homes is coarse-chipped.) Next the babe is sprinkled with {29} _rehan_,--a powder made of dried myrtle leaves,--and then swaddled. The swaddle is a piece of stout cloth about a yard square, to one corner of which is attached a long narrow band. The infant, with its arms pressed close to its sides, and its feet stretched full length and laid close together, is wrapped in the swaddle, and the narrow band wound around the little body, from the shoulders to the ankles, giving the little one the exact appearance of an Egyptian mummy. Only a few of the good things of this mortal life were more pleasant to me when I was a boy than to carry in my arms a swaddled babe. The "salted" and "peppered" little creature felt so soft and so light, and was so appealingly helpless, that to cuddle it was to me an unspeakable benediction. Such was the "babe of Bethlehem" that was sought by the Wise Men and the shepherds in the wondrous story of the Nativity. And in describing such Oriental customs it may be significant to point out that, in certain {30} localities in Syria, to say to a person that he was not "salted" upon birth is to invite trouble. Only a _bendûq_, or the child of an unrecognized father, is so neglected. And here may be realized the full meaning of that terrible arraignment of Jerusalem in the sixteenth chapter of the Book of Ezekiel. The Holy City had done iniquity, and therefore ceased to be the legitimate daughter of Jehovah. So the prophet cries, "The Lord came unto me, saying, Son of man, cause Jerusalem to know her abominations, and say, Thus saith the Lord God unto Jerusalem; Thy birth and thy nativity are of the land of Canaan; thy father was an Amorite, and thy mother a Hittite. And as for thy nativity, in the day thou wast born--neither wast thou washed in water to supple[6] thee; _thou wast not salted at all, nor swaddled at all_. No eye pitied thee, to do any of these things for thee, to have compassion upon thee; but thou wast cast out in the open field, to the loathing of thy person, in the day thou wast born." [1] Luke i: 28, 31. [2] Gen. xxx; 1. [3] Gen. xxiv: 60. [4] Matt. ii: 11. [5] Luke ii: 15-16. [6] "Cleanse" in the Revised Version. {31} CHAPTER III THE STAR How natural to the thought of the East the story of the "star of Bethlehem" is! To the Orientals "the heavens declare the glory of God," and the stars reveal many wondrous things to men. They are the messengers of good and evil, and objects of the loftiest idealization, as well as of the crudest superstitions. Those who have gazed upon the stars in the deep, clear Syrian heavens can find no difficulty in entering into the spirit of the majestic strains of the writer of the eighth Psalm. "When I consider thy heavens," says this ancient singer, "the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou hast ordained; what is man, that thou art mindful of him? and the son of man, that thou visitest him?" Deeps beyond deeps are revealed through that dry, soft, and clear atmosphere of the "land of promise," yet the constellations seem as near {32} to the beholder as parlor lamps. "My soul longeth" for the vision of the heavens from the heights of my native Lebanon, and the hills of Palestine. It is no wonder to me that my people have always considered the stars as guides and companions, and as awe-inspiring manifestations of the Creator's power, wisdom, and glory. "The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament sheweth his handywork. Day unto day uttereth speech and night unto night sheweth knowledge."[1] So great is the host of the stars seen by the naked eye in that land that the people of Syria have always likened a great multitude to the stars of heaven or the sand of the sea. Of a great assemblage of people we always said, "They are _methel-ennijoom_--like the stars" (in number). So it is written in the twenty-eighth chapter of Deuteronomy, the sixty-second verse, "And ye shall be left few in number, whereas ye were _as the stars of heaven for multitude_; because thou wouldst not obey the {33} voice of the Lord thy God." According to that great narrative in Genesis, God promised Abraham that his progeny would be as the stars in number. In the fifteenth chapter, the fifth verse, it is said, "And he brought him forth abroad, and said, Look now toward heaven, and tell the stars, if thou be able to number them: and he said unto him, So shall thy seed be." In speaking of the omniscience of God the writer of the one hundred and forty-seventh Psalm says, "He telleth the number of the stars; he calleth them all by their names. Great is our Lord, and of great power: his understanding is infinite." But the numberless lights of the firmament were brought even closer to us through the belief that they had vital connection with the lives of men on the earth. I was brought up to believe that every human being had a star in heaven which held the secret of his destiny and which watched over him wherever he went. In speaking of an amiable person it is said, "His star is attractive" (_nejmo jeddeeb_). Persons {34} love one another when "their stars are in harmony." A person is in unfavorable circumstances when his star is in the sphere of "misfortune" (_nehiss_), and so forth. The stars indicated the time to us when we were traveling by night, marked the seasons, and thus fulfilled their Creator's purpose by serving "for signs, and for seasons, and for days and years." In every community we had "star-gazers" who could tell each person's star. We placed much confidence in such mysterious men, who could "arrest" an absent person's star in its course and learn from it whether it was well or ill with the absent one. Like a remote dream, it comes to me that as a child of about ten I went out one night with my mother to seek a "star-gazer" to locate my father's star and question the shining orb about him. My father had been away from home for some time, and owing to the meagerness of the means of communication in that country, especially in those days, we had no news of him at all. During that afternoon {35} my mother said that she felt "heavy-hearted" for no reason that she knew; therefore she feared that some ill must have befallen the head of our household, and sought to "know" whether her fear was well grounded. The "star-arrester," leaning against an aged mulberry tree, turned his eyes toward the stellar world, while his lips moved rapidly and silently as if he were repeating words of awful import. Presently he said, "I see him. He is sitting on a cushion, leaning against the wall and smoking his _narghile_. There are others with him, and he is in his usual health." The man took pains to point out the "star" to my mother, who, after much sympathetic effort, felt constrained to say that she did see what the star-gazer claimed he saw. But at any rate, mother declared that she was no longer "heavy-hearted." In my most keen eagerness to see my father and his _narghile_ in the star, at least for mere intellectual delight, I clung to the arm of the reader of the heavens like a frightened kitten, {36} and insisted upon "seeing." The harder he tried to shake me off, the deeper did my organs of apprehension sink into his sleeve. At last the combined efforts of my mother and the heir of the ancient astrologers forced me to believe that I was "too young to behold such sights." It was the excessive leaning of his people upon such practices that led Isaiah to cry, "Thou art wearied in the multitude of thy counsels. Let now the astrologers, the star-gazers, the monthly prognosticators, stand up and save thee from these things that shall come upon thee. Behold, they shall be as stubble; the fire shall burn them; they shall not deliver themselves from the power of the flames." Beyond all such crudities, however, lies the sublime and sustaining belief that the stars are alive with God. The lofty strains of such scriptural passages as the nineteenth Psalm and the beautiful story of the star of Bethlehem, indicate that to the Oriental mind the "hosts of heaven" are no mere masses of dust, {37} but the agencies of the Creator's might and love. So the narrative of the Nativity in our Gospel sublimates the beliefs of the Orientals about God's purpose in those lights of the firmament, by making the guide of the Wise Men to the birthplace of the Prince of Peace a great star, whose pure and serene light symbolized the peace and holiness which, in the "fullness of time," his kingdom shall bring upon the earth. The presentation of a child at the temple, or the "admittance of an infant into the Church," is one of the most tender, most beautiful, and most impressive services of my Mother Church--the Greek Orthodox.[2] It is held for every child born within that fold, in commemoration of the presentation of Jesus at the temple in Jerusalem. As Luke tells us (11:22), "And when the days of her purification according to the law of Moses were accomplished, they brought him to Jerusalem, to present him to the Lord." {38} The purification period "according to the law of Moses" is forty days.[3] Until this is "accomplished," the mother is not permitted to enter into the house of worship. As a general rule the baptismal service, which takes place any time between the eighth day and the fortieth day after birth, is held at the home. On the first Sabbath day after the "forty days," the mother carries the infant to the door of the church during mass, where the robed priest, who has been previously applied to for the sacred rite, meets the mother and receives the child in his arms. After making the sign of the cross with the child at the door, the priest says, "Now enters the servant of God [naming the child] into the Holy Church, in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Amen." Then the priest walks into the church with the child, saying, in its behalf, "I will come into thy house in the multitude of thy mercy: and in thy fear will I worship toward thy holy temple."[4] As he {39} approaches the center of the church, he says again, "Now enters the servant of God," etc. Then standing in the center of the church, and surrounded by the reverently silent congregation, the priest says again, in behalf of the child, "In the midst of the congregation will I praise thee, O Lord."[5] Again, in front of the Royal Gate (the central door in the _anastasis_, or partition which screens the altar from the congregation) the priest says for the third time, "Now enters the servant of God," etc. After this the priest carries the infant through the north door, which is to the left of the Royal Gate, into the _mizbeh_, which corresponds to the "holy place" in the ancient temple. Here he walks around the _maideh_ (altar of sacrifice), makes the sign of the cross with the child, and walks out into the midst of the congregation, through the south door. In this position the priest utters as his final petition the words of the aged Simeon (Luke 11:29), "Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, {40} according to thy word: for mine eyes have seen thy salvation, which thou hast prepared before the face of all people; a light to lighten the gentiles, and the glory of thy people Israel." Then he delivers the child back to its mother. Female children are presented in front of the Royal Gate, but are not admitted into the _mizbeh_. [1] Ps. xix: 1-2. [2] See the author's autobiography, _A Far Journey_, p. 4. [3] Lev. xii: 2-4. [4] Ps. v: 7. [5] Ps. xx: 22. {41} CHAPTER IV MYSTIC TONES I love to listen to the mystic tones of the Christmas carol. The story of the "star of Bethlehem" is the medium of transmission of those deeper strains which have come into the world through the soul of that ancient East. I love to mingle with the social joys of the Christmas season and its spirit of good-will, the mystic accents of the ancient seers who expressed in the rich narratives of the New Testament the deepest and dearest hopes of the soul. I leave most respectfully to the "Biblical critic" the task of assigning to the narrative of the Nativity its rightful place in the history of the New Testament. My deep interest in this story centers in those spiritual ideals it reveals, which have through the ages exercised such beneficent influences over the minds of men. And I believe that both as a Christian {42} and as an Oriental, I have a perfect right to be a mystic, after the wholesome New Testament fashion. In the second chapter of St. Luke's Gospel the story of the Nativity is presented in a most exquisite poetical form. The vision of humble shepherds, wise men, and angels, mingling together in the joy of a new divine revelation, could have been caught only by a deep-visioned spiritual artist. Had this fragment of religious literature been discovered in this year of 1916, its appearance would have marked a significant epoch in the history of religion. It is the expression of a sublime and passionate desire of the soul for divine companionship and for infinite peace. "And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flocks by night. "And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. "And the angel said unto them, Fear not; {43} for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. "For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. "And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. "And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men." When the angel delivered his message to the effect that God had visited his people in the person of the new-born Christ, then the humble, unlettered shepherds heard the heavenly song, which gave God the glory, and prophesied peace and good-will for all mankind. Could there be anything more profoundly and accurately interpretative of the deepest hopes of the human soul than this picture? Even the uncouth shepherds, being living souls, could realize that when the divine and the {44} human met heaven and earth became one, and peace and good-will prevailed among men. What encouragement, what hope this vision holds out even to the humblest among men! What assurance that heaven with all its treasures of peace and love is so near to our dust! "And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you glad tidings." The shepherds looked up to heaven through the eyes of all mankind. It was the upward look of a world-old hope. No soul ever looked up to heaven with different results. The divine response always is, "Fear not, for I bring you good tidings!" No soul ever needs to dwell in doubt and fear. No soul ever needs to be lonely and forlorn. Heaven has nothing for us but "good tidings of great joy." The higher powers are near at hand, and the soul of man may have invisible companions. Again we learn from this New Testament passage that in the visit of the shepherds and the Wise Men to the holy child both were equally blest. Both those who were steeped {45} in the wisdom of that ancient East and the simple-minded sons of the desert stood at the shrine of a holy personality as naked souls, divested of all artificial human distinctions. There were no "assigned" pews in that little shrine. All those who came into it by way of the heart received a blessing, and went away praising God. Here we have a foregleam of that longed-for kingdom of God--the home of all aspiring and seeking souls, regardless of rank and station. "There is no great and no small To the soul that maketh all: And where it cometh, all things are; And it cometh everywhere." The Christmas carol is dear to the human heart because it is a song of spiritual optimism. To pessimism the heavens are closed and silent; the world has no windows opening toward the Infinite. Pessimism cannot sing because it has no hope, and cannot pray because it has no faith. And I deem it essential at this point to ask, {46} Whither is the spirit of the present age leading us? Are we drifting away from the mount of vision? There seems to be but little room in this vast and complex life of ours for spiritual dreams and visions. The combination of our commercial activities and the never-ceasing whir of the wheels of our industries close up our senses to the intimate whisperings of the divine spirit. We see, but with the outward eye. We hear, but with the outward ear. Our inward senses are in grave danger of dying altogether from lack of exercise. The things of this life are too much with us, and they render us oblivious to the gracious beckonings of the higher world. Let not the lesser interests of this life close our hearing to the angel-song which never dies upon the air. The star of hope never sets, and God's revelations are from everlasting to everlasting. {47} CHAPTER V FILIAL OBEDIENCE Of Jesus' life between the period spoken of in the narrative of the Nativity and the time when he appeared on the banks of the Jordan, seeking to be baptized by John, the New Testament says nothing. One single incident only is mentioned. When twelve years old, the boy Jesus went with his parents on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Annual pilgrimages to the great shrines are still very common in Syria. The Mohammedans go to Mecca, the Christians and the Jews to Jerusalem. But there are many other and more accessible sanctuaries which are frequented by the faithful in all those communions. However, a visit to any other sanctuary than Jerusalem and Mecca is called _zeara_, rather than a pilgrimage.[1] The simple record of Jesus' pilgrimage to Jerusalem with his parents is that of a typical {48} experience. In writing about it I seem to myself to be giving a personal reminiscence. In the second chapter of the Gospel of Luke, the forty-first verse, it is said: "Now his parents went to Jerusalem every year at the feast of the passover. And when he was twelve years old, they went up to Jerusalem after the custom of the feast. And when they had fulfilled the days, as they returned, the child Jesus tarried behind in Jerusalem; and Joseph and his mother knew not of it. But they, supposing him to have been in the company, went a day's journey; and they sought him among their kinsfolk and acquaintance. And when they found him not, they turned back again to Jerusalem, seeking him." In Syria male children are taken on a pilgrimage or _zeara_, and thus permitted to receive the blessing, which this pious act is supposed to bring upon them, as soon as they are able to make the journey. Full maturity is no essential condition. I went with my parents on two _zearas_ before I was fifteen. At the {49} present time there is no definite rule, at least among Christians, as to how many days should be spent at a sanctuary. Pilgrims usually "vow" to stay a certain number of days. In ancient Judaism, "the feast of the passover" occupied eight days, and it was that number of days which Mary and Joseph "fulfilled." According to Luke, on their return journey to Nazareth Jesus' parents went a day's journey before they discovered that he was not with them. This phase of the story seems to have greatly puzzled the good old commentator, Adam Clarke. "Knowing what a treasure they possessed," he observes, "how could they be so long without looking on it? Where were the bowels and tender solicitude of the mother? Let them answer this question who can." Clarke did not need to be so perplexed or so mystified. For one who knows the customs of the Syrians while on religious pilgrimages knows also that the experience of the "holy family" was not at all a strange one. The whole mystery is cleared up in the saying, {50} "And they sought him among their kinsfolk and acquaintance." Kinsfolk and acquaintances travel in large groups, and the young pilgrims, such as the twelve-year-old Jesus, are considered safe so long as they keep in close touch with the company. On such journeys, parents may not see their sons for hours at a time. The homogeneous character of the group, and the sense of security which faith gives, especially at such times, present no occasion for anxiety concerning the dear ones. The saying of Luke that Joseph and Mary "went a day's journey" before they discovered that Jesus was not in the company must, it seems to me, include also the time consumed in their return journey to Jerusalem to seek their son. Perhaps they discovered his absence about noontime when the company halted by a spring of water to partake of the _zad_ (food for the way). At such a time families gather together to break bread. And what I feel certain of also is that the boy Jesus must have been with his parents when they first {51} set out on their homeward journey early in the morning from Jerusalem, and that he detached himself from his kinsfolk and returned to the holy city shortly after the company had left that place. No Syrian family ever would start out on a journey before every one of its members had been accounted for. The evangelist's omission of these details is easily understood. His purpose was not to give a photographic account of all that happened on the way. It was rather to reveal the lofty spiritual ideals which led the boy Jesus to return to the temple, where he was found by his anxious parents "sitting in the midst of the doctors, both hearing them, and asking them questions." In this brief but significant record of all the filial graces which Jesus must have possessed one only is mentioned in the second chapter of the Gospel of Luke, where it is stated that he went down to Nazareth with his parents "and was subject unto them." This seemingly casual remark is full of {52} significance. With us in Syria, _ta'at-el-walideen_ (obedience to parents) has always been youth's crowning virtue. Individual initiative must not overstep the boundary line of this grace. Only in this way the patriarchal organization of the family can be kept intact. In my boyhood days in that romantic country, whenever my father took me with him on a "visit of homage" to one of the lords of the land, the most fitting thing such a dignitary could do to me was to place his hand upon my head and say with characteristic condescension, "Bright boy, and no doubt obedient to your parents." As regards the grace of filial obedience, I am not aware of a definite break between the East and the West. But there is a vital difference. To an Oriental who has just come to this country, the American youth seem to be indifferent to filial obedience. The strong passion for freedom, the individualistic sense which is a pronounced characteristic of the aggressive Anglo-Saxon, and the economic stress {53} which ever tends to scatter the family group, and which the East has never experienced so painfully as the West has, all convey the impression that parental love and filial obedience are fast disappearing from American society. But to those of us sons of the East who have intimate knowledge of the American family, its cohesion does not seem to be so alarmingly weak. The mad rush for "business success" is indeed a menace to the American home, but love and obedience are still vital forces in that home. The terms "father," "mother," "brother," and "sister," have by no means lost their spiritual charms in American society. The deep affection in which the members of the better American family hold one another and the exquisite regard they have for one another command profound respect. But the vital difference between the East and the West is that to Easterners filial obedience is more than a social grace and an evidence of natural affection. It is a _religious_ duty of far-reaching significance. God commands {54} it. "Thou shalt honor thy father and thy mother" is a divine command. The "displeasure" of a parent is as much to be feared as the wrath of God. This sense permeates Syrian society from the highest to the lowest of its ranks. The explanation of the origin of sin in the third chapter of Genesis touches the very heart of this matter. The writer ascribes the "fall of man," not to any act which was in itself really harmful, but to disobedience. Adam was commanded by his divine parent not to eat of the "tree of knowledge of good and evil"; but he did eat, and consequently became a stranger to the blessings of his original home. This idea of filial obedience has been at once the strength and weakness of Orientals. In the absence of the restraining interests of a larger social life this patriarchal rule has preserved the cohesion of the domestic and clannish group, and thus safeguarded for the people their primitive virtues. On the other hand, it has served to extinguish the spirit of {55} progress, and has thus made Oriental life a monotonous repetition of antiquated modes of thought. And it was indeed a great blessing to the world when Jesus broke away from mere formal obedience to parents, in the Oriental sense of the word, and declared, "Whosoever shall do the will of my Father in heaven, the same is my brother, and sister, and mother." [1] See above, p. 14. {56} CHAPTER VI FEAST AND SACRAMENT Of Jesus' public ministry and his characteristics as an Oriental teacher, I shall speak in later chapters. Here I will give space only to a portrayal of the closing scenes in his personal career. The events of the "upper room" on Mount Zion, and of Gethsemane, are faithful photographs of striking characteristics of Syrian life. The Last Supper was no isolated event in Syrian history. Its fraternal atmosphere, intimate associations, and sentimental intercourse are such as characterize every such gathering of Syrian friends, especially in the shadow of an approaching danger. From the simple "table manners" up to that touch of sadness and idealism which the Master gave that meal,--bestowing upon it the sacrificial character that has been its propelling force through the ages,--I find nothing which is {57} not in perfect harmony with what takes place on such occasions in my native land. The sacredness of the Last Supper is one of the emphatic examples of how Jesus' life and words sanctified the commonest things of life. He was no inventor of new things, but a discoverer of the spiritual significance of things known to men to be ordinary. The informal formalities of Oriental life are brimful of sentiment. The Oriental's chief concern in matters of conduct is not the correctness of the technique, but the cordiality of the deed. To the Anglo-Saxon the Oriental appears to be perhaps too cordial, decidedly sentimental, and over-responsive to the social stimulus. To the Oriental, on the other hand, the Anglo-Saxon seems in danger of becoming an unemotional intellectualist. Be that as it may, the Oriental is never afraid to "let himself go" and to give free course to his feelings. The Bible in general and such portions of it as the story of the Last Supper in particular illustrate this phase of Oriental life. {58} In Syria, as a general rule, the men eat their fraternal feasts alone, as in the case of the Master and his disciples at the Last Supper, when, so far as the record goes, none of the women followers of Christ were present. They sit on the floor in something like a circle, and eat out of one or a few large, deep dishes. The food is lifted into the mouth, not with a fork or spoon,--except in the case of liquid food,--but with small "shreds" of thin bread. Even liquid food is sometimes "dipped up" with pieces of bread formed like the bowl of a spoon. Here may be readily understood Jesus' saying, "He that dippeth his hand with me in the dish, the same shall betray me."[1] In his famous painting, The Last Supper, Leonardo da Vinci presents an Oriental event in an Occidental form. The high table, the chairs, the individual plates and drinking-glasses are European rather than Syrian appointments. From a historical standpoint, the picture is misleading. But Da Vinci's great {59} production was not intended to be a historical, but a character, study. Such a task could not have been accomplished if the artist had presented the Master and his disciples as they really sat in the "upper room"--in a circle. He seats them on one side of the table, divides them into four groups of three each--two groups on each side of the Master. As we view the great painting, we feel the thrill of horror which agitated the loyal disciples when Jesus declared, "Verily, I say unto you, that one of you shall betray me."[2] The gestures, the sudden change of position, and the facial expression reveal the innermost soul of each disciple. This is the central purpose of the picture. The artist gave the event a European rather than an Oriental setting, in order to make it more intelligible to the people for whom it was intended. But the appointments of the Great Supper were genuinely Oriental. The Master and his disciples sat on the floor and ate out of one or {60} a few large, deep dishes. In Mark's account of that event[3] we read: "And when it was evening he cometh with the twelve. And as they sat and were eating, Jesus said, Verily I say unto you, One of you shall betray me, even he that _eateth_ with me." The fact that they were _all_ eating with him is shown in the statement, "They began to be sorrowful, and to say unto him, Is it I? And he said unto them, It is one of the twelve, he that dippeth with me in the dish." The last sentence, "He that dippeth with me in the dish," has been construed to mean that it was Judas only (who was sitting near to Jesus) who was dipping in the dish out of which the Master was eating. This is altogether possible, but by no means certain. The fact is that according to Syrian customs on such occasions each of the few large dishes contains a different kind of food. Each one of the guests is privileged to reach to any one of the dishes and dip his bread in it. From this it may be {61} safely inferred that several or all of the disciples dipped _in turn_ in the dish which was nearest to Jesus. The fact that the other disciples did not know whom their Master meant by his saying that one of them should betray him, even after he had said, "He that dippeth with me in the dish," shows plainly that Judas was eating in the same fashion as all the other disciples were. Therefore the saying, "He that dippeth with me," etc., was that of disappointed love. It may be thus paraphrased: "I have loved you all alike. I have chosen you as my dearest friends. We have often broken bread and sorrowed and rejoiced together, yet one of you, my dear disciples, one who is now eating with me _as the rest are_, intends to betray me!" And that forlorn but glorious company who met in the upper room on Mount Zion on that historic night had certainly one cup out of which they drank. At our feasts we always drank the wine out of one and the same cup. We did not stay up nights thinking about {62} microbes. To us the one cup meant fellowship and fraternal communion. The one who gives drink (_sacky_) fills the cup and passes it to the most honored member of the company first. He drinks the contents and returns the cup to the _sacky_, who fills it again and hands it to another member of the group, and so on, until all have been served once. Then the guests drink again by way of _nezel_. It is not easy to translate this word into English. The English word "treating" falls very short of expressing the affectionate regard which the _nezel_ signifies. The one guest upon receiving the cup wishes for the whole company "health, happiness, and length of days." Then he singles out one of the group and begs him to accept the next cup that is poured as a pledge of his affectionate regard. The pourer complies with the request by handing the next cup to the person thus designated, who drinks it with the most effusive and affectionate reciprocation of his friend's sentiments. It is also customary for a gracious host to request as a {63} happy ending to the feast that the contents of one cup be drunk by the whole company as a seal of their friendship with one another. Each guest takes a sip and passes the cup to the one next to him until all have partaken of the "fruit of the vine." I have no doubt that it was after this custom that the disciples drank when Jesus "took the cup, and when he had given thanks, he gave to them: and they _all_ drank of it."[4] No account of fraternal feasting in Syria can be complete without mention of the _z[i-breve]kreh_ (remembrance). To be remembered by his friends after his departure from them is one of the Syrian's deepest and dearest desires. The _z[i-breve]kreh_ plays a very important part in the literature of the East, and expresses the tenderest spirit of its poetry. The expressions "I remember," "remember me," "your remembrance," "the remembrance of those days" and like phrases are legion among the Syrians. "O friends," cries the Arabian poet, {64} "let your remembrance of us be as constant as our remembrance of you; for such a remembrance brings near those that are far away." Rarely do friends who have been feasting together part without this request being made by those of them who do not expect to meet with their friends again for a time. "Remember me when you meet again," is said by the departing friend with unspeakable tenderness. He is affectionately grateful also when he knows that he is held in remembrance by his friends. So St. Paul pours out his soul in grateful joy for his friends' remembrance of him. "But now when Timotheus came from you unto us, and brought us good tidings of your faith and charity, and that _ye have good remembrance of us always, desiring greatly to see us, as we also to see you_."[5] This affectionate request, "remember me," signifies, "I love you, therefore I am always with you." If we love one another, we cannot {65} be separated from one another. The _z[)i]ikreh_ is the bond of fraternity between us. Was not this the very thing which the Master meant when he said, "This do in remembrance of me"?[6] The disciples were asked never to allow themselves to forget their Master's love for them and for the world: never to forget that if his love lived in their hearts he was always with them, present at their feasts, and in their struggles in the world to lead the world from darkness into light. "This do in remembrance of me," is therefore the equivalent of "Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world."[7] "Now there was leaning on Jesus' bosom one of his disciples, whom Jesus loved."[8] The posture of the "beloved disciple," John,--so objectionable to Occidental taste,--is in perfect harmony with Syrian customs. How often have I seen men friends in such an attitude. There is not in it the slightest infringement of the rules of propriety; the act was as natural {66} to us all as shaking hands. The practice is especially indulged in when intimate friends are about to part from one another, as on the eve of a journey, or when about to face a dangerous undertaking. They then sit with their heads leaning against each other, or the one's head resting upon the other's shoulder or breast. They talk to one another in terms of unbounded intimacy and unrestrained affection. The expressions, "My brother," "My eyes," "My soul," "My heart," and the like, form the life-centers of the conversation. "My life, my blood are for you; take the very sight of my eyes, if you will!" And lookers-on say admiringly, "Behold, how they love one another! By the name of the Most High, they are closer than brothers." Was it, therefore, strange that the Master, who knew the deepest secret of the divine life, and whose whole life was a living sacrifice, should say to his intimate friends, as he handed them the bread and the cup on that {67} momentous night, "Take, eat; this is my body"; and "Drink ye all of it; for this is my blood"? Here again the Nazarene charged the ordinary words of friendly intercourse with rare spiritual richness and made the common speech of his people express eternal realities. But let me here call attention to Da Vinci's master-stroke which changes for a moment John's posture and relieves the Last Supper of a feature which is so objectionable to Occidental taste. The artist seizes the moment when Peter pulled John from Jesus' breast by beckoning to the beloved disciple "that he should ask who it should be of whom he spoke" (the one who should betray him). John remains in the attitude of loving repose; he simply lifts his body for an instant, and inclines his head to hear Peter. The treachery of Judas is no more an Oriental than it is a human weakness. Traitors can claim neither racial nor national refuge. They are fugitives in the earth. But in the Judas episode is involved one of the most tender, {68} most touching acts of Jesus' whole life. To one familiar with the customs of the East, Jesus' handing the "sop" to his betrayer was an act of surpassing beauty and significance. In all my life in America I have not heard a preacher interpret this simple deed, probably because of lack of knowledge of its meaning in Syrian social intercourse. "And when he had dipped the sop, he gave it to Judas Iscariot, the son of Simon."[9] At Syrian feasts, especially in the region where Jesus lived, such sops are handed to those who stand and serve the guests with wine and water. But in a more significant manner those morsels are exchanged by friends. Choice bits of food are handed to friends by one another, as signs of close intimacy. It is never expected that any person would hand such a sop to one for whom he cherishes no friendship. I can never contemplate this act in the Master's story without thinking of "the love of Christ which passeth knowledge." To the one {69} who carried in his mind and heart a murderous plot against the loving Master, Jesus handed the sop of friendship, the morsel which is never offered to an enemy. The rendering of the act in words is this: "Judas, my disciple, I have infinite pity for you. You have proved false, you have forsaken me in your heart; but I will not treat you as an enemy, for I have come, not to destroy, but to fulfill. Here is my sop of friendship, and 'that thou doest, do quickly.'" Apparently Jesus' demeanor was so cordial and sympathetic that, as the evangelist tells us, "Now no man at the table knew for what intent he spake this unto him. For some of them thought, because Judas had the bag, that Jesus had said unto him, Buy those things that we have need of against the feast, or that he should give something to the poor."[10] Thus in this simple act of the Master, so rarely noticed by preachers, we have perhaps the finest practical example of "Love your enemies" in the entire Gospel. {70} Is it therefore to be wondered at that in speaking of Judas, the writer of St. John's Gospel says, "And after the sop Satan entered into him"? For, how can one who is a traitor at heart reach for the gift of true friendship without being transformed into the very spirit of treason? Again, Judas's treasonable kiss in Gethsemane was a perversion of an ancient, deeply cherished, and universally prevalent Syrian custom. In saluting one another, especially after having been separated for a time, men friends of the same social rank kiss one another on both cheeks, sometimes with very noisy profusion. When they are not of the same social rank, the inferior kisses the hand of the superior, while the latter at least pretends to kiss his dutiful friend upon the cheek. So David and Jonathan "kissed one another, until David exceeded." Paul's command, "Salute one another with a holy kiss," so scrupulously disobeyed by Occidental Christians, is characteristically Oriental. As a child I always felt {71} a profound reverential admiration for that unreserved outpouring of primitive affections, when strong men "fell upon one another's neck" and kissed, while the women's eyes swam in tears of joy. The passionate, quick, and rhythmic exchange of affectionate words of salutation and kisses sounded, with perhaps a little less harmony, like an intermingling of vocal and instrumental music. So Judas, when "forthwith he came to Jesus, and said, Hail, Master, and kissed him,"[11] invented no new sign by which to point Jesus out to the Roman soldiers, but employed an old custom for the consummation of an evil design. Just as Jesus glorified the common customs of his people by using them as instruments of love, so Judas degraded those very customs by wielding them as weapons of hate. [1] Matt. xxvi: 23. [2] Matt. xxvi: 21. [3] Revised Version, xiv: 17-20. [4] Mark xiv: 23. [5] 1 Thess. iii: 6. [6] Luke xxii: 19. [7] Matt. xxviii: 10. [8] John xiii: 23. [9] John xiii: 26. [10] John xiii: 28, 29. [11] Matt. xxvi: 49. {72} CHAPTER VII THE LAST SCENE Perhaps nowhere else in the New Testament do the fundamental traits of the Oriental nature find so clear an expression as in this closing scene of the Master's life. The Oriental's _dependence_, to which the world owes the loftiest and tenderest Scriptural passages, finds here its most glorious manifestations. As I have already intimated, the Oriental is never afraid to "let himself go," whether in joy or sorrow, and to give vent to his emotions. It is of the nature of the Anglo-Saxon to suffer in silence, and to kill when he must, with hardly a word of complaint upon his lips or a ripple of excitement on his face. He disdains asking for sympathy. His severely individualistic tendencies and spirit of endurance convince him that he is "able to take care of himself." During my early years in this country the reserve of Americans in times of sorrow {73} and danger, as well as in times of joy, was to me not only amazing, but appalling. Not being as yet aware of their inward fire and intensity of feeling, held in check by a strong bulwark of calm calculation, as an unreconstructed Syrian I felt prone to doubt whether they had any emotions to speak of. It is not my purpose here to undertake a comparative critical study of these opposing traits, but to state that, for good or evil, the Oriental is preëminently a man who craves sympathy, yearns openly and noisily for companionship, and seeks help and support outside himself. Whatever disadvantages this trait may involve, it has been the one supreme qualification that has made the Oriental the religious teacher of the whole world. It was his childlike dependence on God that gave birth to the twenty-third and fifty-first Psalms, and made the Lord's Prayer the universal petition of Christendom. It was also this dependence on companionship, human and divine, which inspired the great commandments, {74} "Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and thy neighbor as thyself." Now it is in the light of this fundamental Oriental trait that we must view Christ's utterances at the Last Supper and in Gethsemane. The record tells us that while at the Supper he said to his disciples, "With desire I have desired to eat this passover with you before I suffer,"[1]--or, as the marginal note has it, "I have heartily desired," and so forth, which brings it nearer the original text. Again, "He was troubled in spirit, and testified and said, Verily, verily, I say unto you, that one of you shall betray me." "This is my body ... This is my blood ... Do this in remembrance of me." We must seek the proper setting for these utterances, not merely in the upper room in Zion, but in the deepest tendencies of the Oriental mind. And the climax is reached in the dark hour of Gethsemane, in the hour of intense suffering, imploring need, and ultimate triumph in {75} Jesus' surrender to the Father's will. How true to that demonstrative Oriental nature is the Scriptural record, "And being in an agony he prayed more earnestly: and his sweat was as it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground."[2] The faithful and touching realism of the record here is an example of the childlike responsiveness of the Syrian nature to feelings of sorrow, no less striking than the experience itself. It seems to me that if an Anglo-Saxon teacher in similar circumstances had ever allowed himself to agonize and to sweat "as it were great drops of blood," his chronicler in describing the scene would have safeguarded the dignity of his race by simply saying that the distressed teacher was "visibly affected"! The darkness deepened and the Master "took with him Peter and the two sons of Zebedee, and began to be sorrowful and very heavy. Then saith he unto them, My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death; tarry {76} ye here, and watch with me."[3] Three times did the Great Teacher utter that matchless prayer, whose spirit of fear as well as of trust vindicates the doctrine of the humanity of God and the divinity of man as exemplified in the person of Christ: "O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me: nevertheless not as I will, but as thou wilt!"[4] The sharp contrast between the Semitic and the Anglo-Saxon temperament has led some unfriendly critics of Christ to state very complacently and confidently that he "simply broke down when the critical hour came." In this assertion I find a very pronounced misapprehension of the facts. If my knowledge of the traits of my own race is to be relied on, then in trying to meet this assertion I feel that I am entitled to the consideration of one who speaks with something resembling authority. The simple fact is that while in Gethsemane, as indeed everywhere else throughout his ministry, Jesus was not in the position of one {77} trying to "play the hero." His companions were his intimate earthly friends and his gracious heavenly Father, and to them he spoke as an Oriental would speak to those dear to him,--_just as he felt_, with not a shadow of show or sham. His words were not those of weakness and despair, but of confidence and affection. The love of his friends and the love of his Father in heaven were his to draw upon in his hour of trial, with not the slightest artificial reserve. How much better and happier this world would be if we all dealt with one another and with God in the warm, simple, and pure love of Christ! As the life and words of Christ amply testify, the vision of the Oriental has been to teach mankind not science, logic, or jurisprudence, but a simple, loving, childlike faith in God. Therefore, before we can fully know our Master as the cosmopolitan Christ, we must first know him as the Syrian Christ. [1] Luke xxii: 15. [2] Luke xxii: 44. [3] Matt. xxvi: 37-38. [4] _Ibid._ 39. {81} PART II THE ORIENTAL MANNER OF SPEECH CHAPTER I DAILY LANGUAGE The Oriental I have in mind is the Semite, the dweller of the Near East, who, chiefly through the Bible, has exerted an immense influence on the life and literature of the West. The son of the Near East is more emotional, more intense, and more communicative than his Far-Eastern neighbors. Although very old in point of time, his temperament remains somewhat juvenile, and his manner of speech intimate and unreserved. From the remote past, even to this day, the Oriental's manner of speech has been that of a worshipper, and not that of a business man or an industrial worker in the modern Western sense. To the Syrian of to-day, as to his ancient ancestors, life, with all its activities and cares, revolves around a religious center. Of course this does not mean that his religion {82} has not always been beset with clannish limitations and clouded by superstitions, or that the Oriental has always had a clear, active consciousness of the sanctity of human life. But it does mean that this man, serene or wrathful, at work or at play, praying or swearing, has never failed to believe that he is overshadowed by the All-seeing God. He has never ceased to cry: "O Lord, Thou hast searched me, and known me. Thou knowest my downsitting and mine uprising; Thou understandest my thought afar off. Thou hast beset me behind and before, and laid thine hand upon me. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is high, I cannot attain unto it!"[1] And it is one of the grandest, most significant facts in human history that, notwithstanding his intellectual limitations and superstitious fears, because he has maintained the altar of God as life's center of gravity, and never let die the consciousness that he was compassed about by the living God, the Oriental {83} has been the channel of the sublimest spiritual revelation in the possession of man. The histories of races are the records of their desires and rewards, of their seeking and finding. The law of compensation is all-embracing. In the long run "whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap."[2] "He which soweth sparingly shall reap also sparingly; and he which soweth bountifully shall reap also bountifully."[3] In the material world the Oriental has sown but sparingly, and his harvests here have also been very meager. He has not achieved much in the world of science, industry, and commerce. As an industrial worker he has remained throughout his long history a user of hand tools. Previous to his very recent contact with the West, he never knew what structural iron and machinery were. As a merchant he has always been a simple trader. He has never been a man of many inventions. His faithful repetition of the past has left no gulf between him and his remote ancestors. {84} The implements and tools he uses to-day are like those his forefathers used in their day. The supreme choice of the Oriental has been religion. To say that this choice has not been altogether a conscious one, that it has been the outcome of temperament, does by no means lessen its significance. From the beginning of his history on the earth to this day the Oriental has been conscious above all things of two supreme realities--God and the soul. What has always seemed to him to be his first and almost only duty was and is to form the most direct, most intimate connection between God and the soul. "The fear of the Lord," meaning most affectionate reverence, is to the son of the East not "the beginning of wisdom" as the English Bible has it, but the _height_ or _acme_ of wisdom. His first concern about his children is that they should know themselves as living souls, and God as their Creator and Father. An unbeliever in God has always been to the East a strange phenomenon. I never heard of atheism or of an atheist before {85} I came in touch with Western culture in my native land. My many years of intimate and sympathetic contact with the more varied, more intelligent life of the West has not tended in the least to lessen my reverence for religion nor to lower my regard for culture. Culture gives strength and symmetry to religious thought, and religion gives life and beauty to culture. And just as I believe that men should pray without ceasing, so also do I believe that they should strive to make their religious faith ever more free and more intelligent. Yet the history of the Orient compels me to believe that the soil out of which scriptures spring is that whose life is the active sympathy of religion, regardless of the degree of acquired knowledge. When the depths of human nature are thoroughly saturated with this sympathy, then it is prepared both to receive and to give those thoughts of which scriptures are made. Industry and commerce have their good uses. But an industrial and {86} commercialistic atmosphere is not conducive to the production of sacred books. Where the chief interests of life center in external things, religion is bound to become only one and perhaps a minor concern in life. The Oriental has always lived in a world of spiritual mysteries. Fearful or confident, superstitious or rational, to him God has been all and in all. "The judgments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether. In keeping of them there is great reward."[4] The son of the East has been richly rewarded. He is the religious teacher of all mankind. Through him all scriptures have come into being. All the great, living religions of the world originated in Asia; and the three greatest of them--Judaism, Christianity, and Mohammedanism--have come into the world through the Semitic race in that little country called Syria. The perpetual yearning of the Oriental for spiritual dreams and visions has had its rewards. He sowed bountifully, he reaped bountifully. {87} Note the Syrian's daily language: it is essentially Biblical. He has no _secular_ language. The only real break between his scriptures and the vocabulary of his daily life is that which exists between the classical and the vernacular. When you ask a Syrian about his business he will not answer, "We are doing well at present," but "_Allah mûn 'aim_" (God is giving bounteously). To one starting on a journey the phrase is not "Take good care of yourself," but "Go, in the keeping and protection of God." By example and precept we were trained from infancy in this manner of speech. Coming into a house, the visitor salutes by saying, "God grant you good morning," or "The peace of God come upon you." So it is written in the tenth chapter of Matthew, "And as ye enter into the house, salute it. And if the house be worthy, let your peace come upon it; but if it be not worthy, let your peace return unto you." In saluting a day laborer at work we said, "_Allah, yaatik-el-afie_" (God give you health {88} and strength). In saluting reapers in the field, or "gatherers of the increase" in the vineyards or olive groves, we said just the words of Boaz, in the second chapter of the Book of Ruth, when he "came from Bethlehem and said unto the reapers, The Lord be with you. And they answered him, The Lord bless thee." Or another Scriptural expression, now more extensively used on such occasions, "The blessing of the Lord be upon you!" It is to this custom that the withering imprecation which is recorded in the one hundred and twenty-ninth Psalm refers: "Let them all be confounded and turned back that hate Zion: let them be as the grass upon the housetops which withereth afore it groweth up: wherewith the mower filleth not his hand, nor he that bindeth sheaves his bosom. Neither do they which go by say, The blessing of the Lord be upon you: we bless you in the name of the Lord." In asking a shepherd about his flock we said, "How are the blessed ones?" or a parent about his children, "How are the preserved ones?" {89} They are preserved of God through their "angels," of whom the Master spoke when he said, "Take heed that ye despise not one of these little ones; for I say unto you that in heaven their angels do always behold the face of my Father."[5] Speaking of a good man we said, "The grace of God is poured upon his face." So in the Book of Proverbs,[6] "Blessings are upon the head of the just." Akin to the foregoing are such expressions as these. In trying to rise from a sitting posture (the Syrians sit on the floor with their legs folded under them), a person, using the right arm for leverage, says, as he springs up, "Ya _Allah_" (O God [help]). In inquiring about the nature of an object, he says, "_Sho dinû_?" (what is its religion?) And one of the queerest expressions, when translated into English, is that employed to indicate that a kettleful of water, for example, has boiled beyond the required degree: "This water has turned to be an infidel" (_kaffer_). It may be noticed here {90} that it is not the old theology only which associates the infidel with intense heat. So this religious language is the Oriental's daily speech. I have stated in my autobiography that the men my father employed in his building operations were grouped according to their faith. He had so many Druses, so many Greek Orthodox, Maronites, and so forth. The almost total abstinence from using "pious" language in ordinary business and social intercourse in America may be considered commendable in some ways, but I consider it a surrender of the soul to the body, a subordination of the spirit of the things which are eternal to the spirit of the things which are temporal. In my judgment, the superior culture of the West, instead of limiting the vocabulary of religion to the one hour of formal worship on Sunday, and scrupulously shunning it during the remainder of the week, should make its use, on a much higher plane than the Orient has yet discovered, coextensive with all the activities of life. [1] Ps. cxxxix: 1-6. [2] Gal. vi: 7. [3] 2 Cor. ix: 6. [4] Ps. xix: 9, 11. [5] Matt. xviii: 10. [6] x: 6. {91} CHAPTER II IMPRECATIONS Again, the Oriental's consideration of life as being essentially religious makes him as pious in his imprecations and curses as he is in his aspirational prayer. Beyond all human intrigue, passion, and force, the great avenger is God. "Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord."[1] "See now that I, even I, am he, and there is no God with me: I kill and I make alive; I wound and I heal; neither is there any that can deliver out of my hand."[2] By priests and parents these precepts have been transmitted from generation to generation in the Orient, from time immemorial. We all were instructed in them by our elders with scrupulous care. Of course as weak mortals we always tried to avenge ourselves, and the idea of _thar_ (revenge) lies deep in the Oriental nature. But to us our vengeance was nothing {92} compared with what God did to our "ungodly" enemies and oppressors. The Oriental's impetuosity and effusiveness make his imprecatory prayers, especially to the "unaccustomed ears" of Americans, blood-curdling. And I confess that on my last visit to Syria, my countrymen's (and especially my countrywomen's) bursts of pious wrath jarred heavily upon me. In his oral bombardment of his enemy the Oriental hurls such missiles as, "May God burn the bones of your fathers"; "May God exterminate your seed from the earth"; "May God cut off your supply of bread (_yakta rizkak_)"; "May you have nothing but the ground for a bed and the sky for covering"; "May your children be orphaned and your wife widowed"; and similar expressions. Does not this sound exactly like the one hundred and ninth Psalm? Speaking of his enemy, the writer of that psalm says, "Let his days be few, and let another take his office. Let his children be fatherless, and his wife a widow. Let his children be continually {93} vagabonds, and beg; let them seek their bread also out of their desolate places. Let there be none to extend mercy unto him; neither let there be any to favor his fatherless children. Let his posterity be cut off; and in the generation following let their name be blotted out." The sad fact is that the Oriental has always considered his personal enemies to be the enemies of God also, and as such their end was destruction. Such sentiments mar the beauty of many of the Psalms. The enemies of the Israelites were considered the enemies of the God of Israel, and the enemies of a Syrian family are also the enemies of the patron saint of that family. In that most wonderful Scriptural passage--the one hundred and thirty-ninth Psalm--the singer cries, "Surely thou wilt slay the wicked, O God: depart from me, ye bloody men. For they speak against thee wickedly, and thine enemies take thy name in vain. Do not I hate them, O Lord, that hate thee? and am I not grieved with those that rise against thee? _I hate them with perfect hatred: {94} I count them mine enemies._" Yet this ardent hater of his enemies most innocently turns to God and says in the next verse: "Search me, O God, and know my heart: try me and know my thoughts: _and see if there be any wicked way in me_, and lead me in the way everlasting." This mixture of piety and hatred, uttered so naïvely and in good faith, is characteristically Syrian. Such were the mutual wishes I so often heard expressed in our neighborhood and clan fights and quarrels in Syria. When so praying, the persons would beat upon their breasts and uncover their heads, as signs of the total surrender of their cause to an avenging Omnipotence. Of course the Syrians are not so cruel and heartless as such imprecations, especially when cast in cold type, would lead one to believe. I am certain that if the little children of his enemy should become fatherless, the imprecator himself would be among the first to "favor" them. If you will keep in mind the juvenile temperament of the Oriental, already mentioned, and his habit of turning to {95} God in all circumstances, as unreservedly as a child turns to his father, your judgment of the son of Palestine will be greatly tempered with mercy. The one redeeming feature in these imprecatory petitions is that they have always served the Oriental as a safety-valve. Much of his wrath is vented in this manner. He is much more cruel in his words than in his deeds. As a rule the Orientals quarrel much, but fight little. By the time two antagonists have cursed and reviled each other so profusely they cool off, and thus graver consequences are averted. The Anglo-Saxon has outgrown such habits. In the first place the highly complex social order in which he lives calls for much more effective methods for the settling of disputes, and, in the second place, he has no time to waste on mere words. And just as the Anglo-Saxon smiles at the wordy fights of the Oriental, the Oriental shudders at the swiftness of the Anglo-Saxon in using his fists and his pistol. Both are needy of the grace of God. [1] Rom. xii: 19. [2] Deut. xxxii: 39. {96} CHAPTER III LOVE OF ENEMIES The preceding chapter makes it very clear why Jesus opened the more profound depths of the spiritual life to his much-divided and almost hopelessly clannish countrymen, by commanding them to love their enemies. He who taught "as one having authority, and not as the scribes," knew the possibilities and powers of divine love as no man did. It is in such immortal precepts that we perceive his superiority to his time and people and the divinity of his character. His knowledge of the Father was so intimate and his repose in the Father's love so perfect that he could justly say, "I and my father are one." "Ye have heard," he said to his followers, "that it hath been said, Thou shalt love thy neighbor [in the original, _quarib_--kinsman] and hate thine enemy: but I say unto you, love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do {97} good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you and persecute you; that ye may be the children of your father which is in heaven."[1] Here we have the very heart and soul of the Gospel, and the dynamic power of Jesus' ministry of reconciliation. Yet to many devout Christians, as well as to unfriendly critics of the New Testament, the command, "Love your enemies," offers a serious perplexity. An "independent" preacher in a large Western city, after reading this portion of the Sermon on the Mount to his congregation, stated that Jesus' great discourse should be called, "The Sarcasm on the Mount." Is not love of enemies beyond the power of human nature? This question is pertinent. And it is an obvious fact that we cannot love by command; we cannot love to order. This mysterious flow of soul which we call love is not of our own making; therefore we cannot _will_ to love. Such a discussion, however, falls outside the scope {98} of this publication. What I wish to offer here is a linguistic explanation which I believe will throw some light on this great commandment. The word "love" has been more highly specialized in the West than in the East. In its proper English use it means only that ardent, amorous feeling which cannot be created by will and design. In the West the word "love" has been relieved of the function of expressing the less ardent desires such as the terms "to like," "to have good-will toward," and "to be well-disposed toward" imply. Not so in the East. The word "like," meaning "to be favorably inclined toward," is not found either in the Bible or in the Arabic tongue. In the English version it is used in two places, but the translation is incorrect. In the twenty-fifth chapter of Deuteronomy the seventh verse, "If the man like not to take his brother's wife," should be rendered, "If the man _consent_ not"; and in the fourth chapter of Amos, the fifth verse, "For this liketh you, O ye children of Israel," is in the original, "For this ye {99} _loved_, O ye children of Israel." In any standard concordance of the Bible, the Hebrew verb _Aheb_ (to love) precedes these quotations. So to us Orientals the only word which can express any cordial inclination of approval is "love." One loves his wife and children, and loves grapes and figs and meat, if he likes these things. An employer says to an employee, "If you _love_ to work for me according to this agreement, you can." It is nothing uncommon for one to say to a casual acquaintance whom he likes, "I must say, _Sahib_ [friend], that I love you!" I know of no equivalent in the Arabic for the phrase, "I am interested in you." "Love" and "hate" are the usual terms by which to express approval and disapproval, as well as real love and hatred. The Scriptural passages illustrative of this thought are not a few. In the ninth chapter of the Epistle to the Romans, the thirteenth verse, it is said, "As it is written, Jacob have I loved, but Esau have I hated." God does not "hate." The two terms here, "loved" and {100} "hated," mean "approved" and "disapproved." It is as a father approves of the conduct of one of his children and disapproves that of another of them. Another example of this use of the word "hate" is found in the twenty-first chapter of Deuteronomy, the fifteenth verse: "If a man have two wives, one beloved, and another hated, and they have born him children, both the beloved and the hated; and if the firstborn son be hers that was hated: then it shall be, when he maketh his sons to inherit that which he hath, that he may not make the son of the beloved firstborn before the son of the hated, which is indeed the first-born: but he shall acknowledge the son of the hated for the firstborn, by giving him a double portion of all that he hath." Here it is safe to infer that the writer meant to distinguish between the wife who was a "favorite" and the one who was not. There could be no valid reason why a husband should live with a wife whom he really hated when he could very easily divorce her, according to the Jewish {101} law, and marry another. In such a case the husband was simply partial in his love. The hatred which is felt toward an enemy and a destroyer does not apply here. Another Scriptural passage which illustrates the free use of the word "love" is the story of the rich man in the tenth chapter of St. Mark's Gospel. Beginning with the seventeenth verse, the passage reads: "And when he was gone forth into the way, there came one running, and kneeling to him, and asked him, Good Master, what shall I do that I may inherit eternal life? And Jesus said unto him, Why callest thou me good? there is none good but one, that is, God. Thou knowest the commandments, Do not commit adultery, Do not kill, Do not steal, Do not bear false witness, Defraud not, Honor thy father and mother. And he answered and said unto him, Master, all these have I observed from my youth. _Then Jesus, beholding him, loved him_, and said unto him, One thing thou lackest"; and so forth. Apparently the brief conversation with the young man {102} showed Jesus that his questioner was both polite and intelligent, so the Master liked him. Stating the case in Western phraseology it may be said that the young Hebrew seeker was an agreeable, or likable man. Quite different is the import of the word "love" in such of the Master's sayings as are found in the fifteenth chapter of St. John's Gospel: "As the Father hath loved me, so have I loved you: continue ye in my love. This is my commandment, That ye love one another, as I have loved you." Here the term "love" is used in its truest and purest sense. From all this it may be seen that when the Great Oriental Teacher said to his countrymen, who considered all other clans than their own as their enemies, "Love your enemies," he did not mean that they should be enamored of them, but that they should have good will toward them. We cannot love by will and design, but we certainly can will to be well disposed even toward those who, we believe, have ill will toward us. He who really thinks this {103} an impossibility gives evidence not of superior "critical knowledge," but of being still in the lower stages of human evolution. But I have something more to say on this great subject. Whether used in a general or a highly specialized sense the word "Love" speaks indeed of the "greatest thing in the world." When the Master of the Art of Living said, "Love your enemies," he urged upon the minds of men the divinest law of human progress. Yet compliance with this demand seems, to the majority of men, to be beyond the reach of humanity. When you are admonished to love your enemies, you will be likely to think of the meanest, most disagreeable human being you know and wonder as to how you are going to love _such_ a person. But the Master's law far transcends this narrow conception of love. Its deeper meaning, when understood, renders such a conception shallow and childish. It is to be found, not in the freakish moods of the sensibility, but in the realm of permanent ideals. {104} There are in the world two forces at work, love and hatred. Hatred destroys, love builds; hatred injures, love heals; hatred embitters life, love sweetens it; hatred is godlessness, love is godliness. The supreme question, therefore, is, not as to whether there are unlovable persons in the world or not, but rather, which one of these two forces would you have to rule your own life and the life of humanity at large, love or hatred? Which nutrition would you give your own soul and the souls of those who are near and dear to you, that of hatred, or that of love? Can it be your aim in life to aid that power which injures, destroys, embitters life and estranges from God, or the power which heals, builds up, sweetens life and makes one with God? You say you have been injured through the malicious designs of others, you are pained by the injury, and a sense of hatred impels you to avenge yourself. But what formed such designs against you, love or hatred? Hatred! You enjoy, idealize, adore the love of those who {105} love you. The designs of love give you joyous satisfaction, and not pain. You know now by actual personal experience that the fruits of hatred are bitter, and the fruits of love are sweet. Is it your duty, therefore, to give your life over to the power of hatred, and thus increase its dominion among men and multiply its bitter, poisonous fruit in the world, or to consecrate your life to the power of love, which you idealize and adore, and whose fruits are joy and peace? This, therefore, is the Master's law of love: Give your life and service to that power which merits your holiest regard and engages your purest affections, regardless of the "evil and the undeserving." Recognize no enemies, and you shall have none. The only power which can defeat the designs of hatred is love. The foams of hatred and fumes of vengeance are destined to pass away with all their possessors; only love is permanent and sovereign good. The man of hatred is destined, sooner or {106} later, to lose his nobler qualities, his own self-respect and the respect of others, and to occupy the smallest and most undesirable social sphere. Therefore love, and do not hate! Exercise good will toward those even who have injured you. You may not be able to reach and redeem by your generous thoughts and designs such persons as have injured you, but a hundred others may learn from you the law of redeeming love. Let your children grow to know you as a man of love. Let your employees and fellow citizens think of you as a man of peace and good will, a builder and not a destroyer. Let your fireside be ever cheered by the music of love. When the shadows of night fall and you come to enter into the unknown land of sleep, let loving thoughts be your companions; let them course into the deepest recesses of your nature and leaven your entire being. Be a man of love! Love even your blind and misguided enemies! [1] Matt. v: 43-45. {107} CHAPTER IV "THE UNVERACIOUS ORIENTAL" The Oriental's juvenile temperament and his partial disregard for concrete facts have led his Anglo-Saxon cousin to consider him as essentially unveracious. "You cannot believe what an Oriental says." "The Orientals are the children of the 'Father of Lies.'" "Whatever an Oriental says, the opposite is likely to be the truth"; and so forth. I do not wish in the least to undertake to excuse or even condone the Oriental's unveracity, any more than to approve of the ethics of American politicians during a political campaign. I have no doubt that the Oriental suffers more from the universal affliction of untruthfulness than does the Anglo-Saxon, and that he sorely needs to restrict his fancy, and to train his intellect to have more respect for facts. Nevertheless, I feel compelled to say that a {108} clear understanding of some of the Oriental's modes of thought will quash many of the indictments against his veracity. His ways will remain different from the ways of the Anglo-Saxon, and perhaps not wholly agreeable to the latter; but the son of the East--the dreamer and writer of scriptures--will be credited with more honesty of purpose. It is unpleasant to an Anglo-Saxon to note how many things an Oriental says, but does not mean. And it is distressing to an Oriental to note how many things the Anglo-Saxon means, but does not say. To an unreconstructed Syrian the brevity, yea, even curtness, of an Englishman or an American, seems to sap life of its pleasures and to place a disproportionate value on time. For the Oriental, the primary value of time must not be computed in terms of business and money, but in terms of sociability and good fellowship. Poetry, and not prosaic accuracy, must be the dominant feature of speech. There is much more of intellectual inaccuracy than of moral delinquency in the Easterner's {109} speech. His misstatements are more often the result of indifference than the deliberate purpose to deceive. One of his besetting sins is his _ma besay-il_--it does not matter. He sees no essential difference between nine o'clock and half after nine, or whether a conversation took plate on the housetop or in the house. The main thing is to know the substance of what happened, with as many of the supporting details as may be conveniently remembered. A case may be overstated or understated, not necessarily for the purpose of deceiving, but to impress the hearer with the significance or the insignificance of it. If a sleeper who had been expected to rise at sunrise should oversleep and need to be awakened, say half an hour or an hour later than the appointed time, he is then aroused with the call, "Arise, it is noon already--_qûm sar edh-hir_." Of a strong and brave man it is said, "He can split the earth--_yekkid elaridh_." The Syrians suffer from no misunderstanding in such cases. They _discern_ one another's meaning. {110} So also many Scriptural passages need to be _discerned_. The purpose of the Oriental speaker or writer must be sought often beyond the letter of his statement, which he uses with great freedom. In the first chapter of St. Mark's Gospel, the thirty-second and thirty-third verses, it is said, "And at even, when the sun did set, they brought unto him all that were diseased, and them that were possessed of devils. And _all the city_ was gathered together at the door." The swiftness with which the poor people in Eastern communities bring their sick to a healer, be he a prophet or only a physician, is proverbial. Because of the scarcity of physicians, as well as of money with which to pay for medical attendance, when a healer is summoned to a home many afflicted persons come or are brought to him. The peoples of the East have always believed also in the healing of diseases by religious means. When a prophet arises the first thing expected of him is that he should heal the sick. Both the priest and the physician {111} are appealed to in time of trouble. To those who followed and believed in him Jesus was the healer of both the soul and the body. But note the account of the incident before us. The place was the city of Capernaum, and we are told that "_all the city_ was gathered together at the door" of the house where Jesus was bestowing the loving, healing touch upon the sick. Was the _whole city_ at the door? Were _all_ the sick in that large city brought into that house for Jesus to heal them? Here we are confronted by a physical impossibility. An Anglo-Saxon chronicler would have said, "Quite a number gathered at the door," which in all probability would have been a _correct_ report. But to the Oriental writer the object of the report was not _to determine the number_ of those who stood outside, nor to insist that each and every sick person in Capernaum was brought into the humble home of Simon and Andrew. It was rather to glorify the Great Teacher and his divine work of mercy, and not to give a photographic report of the attendant {112} circumstances. The saying, "Quite a number gathered at the door," may be correct, but to an Oriental it is absolutely colorless and tasteless, an inexcusably parsimonious use of the imagination. Take another Scriptural passage. In the seventeenth chapter of St. Matthew's Gospel, the first verse, we read: "And after six days Jesus taketh Peter, James, and John his brother, and bringeth them up into an high mountain apart, and was transfigured before them; and his face did shine as the sun." "After six days" from what time? In the preceding chapter a general reference to time is made in the thirteenth verse, where it is said: "When Jesus came into the coasts of Cæsarea Philippi, he asked his disciples, saying, Whom do men say that I the Son of man am?" But here no definite date is given. Chapter sixteenth ends with those great words, "For whosoever will save his life shall lose it: and whosoever will lose his life for my sake shall find it. For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and {113} lose his own soul?" The two last verses of this chapter promise the speedy coming of the Kingdom. "After six days" from what time? Well, what does it matter from what time? Do you not see that the object of the record is to give a glimpse of what happened on that "high mountain" where the light and glory of the unseen world were reflected in the face of the Christ? The intelligent lay reader of the New Testament cannot fail to notice, especially in the Gospels, gaps and abrupt beginnings such as "In those days"; "Then came the disciples to Jesus"; "And it came to pass"; and many similar expressions which seem to point nowhere. The record seems to be rather incoherent. Yes, such difficulties, which are due largely to the Oriental's indifference to little details, exist in the Bible, but they are very unimportant. The central purpose of these books is to enable the reader to perceive the secret of a holy personality, whose mission was, is, and forever shall be, to emancipate the soul of man from the {114} bondage of a world of fear, weakness, sin, and doubt, and lead it onward and upward to the realms of faith, hope, and love. This purpose the Scriptures abundantly subserve. {115} CHAPTER V IMPRESSIONS _vs._ LITERAL ACCURACY A Syrian's chief purpose in a conversation is to convey an impression by whatever suitable means, and not to deliver his message in scientifically accurate terms. He expects to be judged not by what he _says_, but by what he _means_. He does not expect his hearer to listen to him with the quizzical courtesy of a "cool-headed Yankee," and to interrupt the flow of conversation by saying, with the least possible show of emotion, "Do I understand you to say," etc. No; he piles up his metaphors and superlatives, reinforced by a theatrical display of gestures and facial expressions, in order to make the hearer _feel_ his meaning. The Oriental's speech is always "illustrated." He speaks as it were in pictures. With him the spoken language goes hand in hand with the more ancient gesture language. His profuse gesticulation is that phase of his life which first {116} challenges the attention of Occidental travelers in the East. He points to almost everything he mentions in his speech, and would portray every feeling and emotion by means of some bodily movement. No sooner does he mention his eye than his index finger points to or even touches that organ. "Do you understand me?" is said to an auditor with the speaker's finger on his own temple. In rebuking one who makes unreasonable demands upon him, a Syrian would be likely to stoop down and say, "Don't you want to ride on my back?" One of the most striking examples of this manner of speech in the Bible is found in the twenty-first chapter of the Book of Acts. Beginning with the tenth verse, the writer says: "And as we tarried there [at Cæsarea] many days, there came down from Judea a certain prophet, named Agabus. And when he was come unto us, he took Paul's girdle, and bound his own hands and feet, and said, Thus saith the Holy Ghost, So shall the Jews at Jerusalem bind the man that owneth this girdle, and shall {117} deliver him into the hands of the Gentiles." Now an Occidental teacher would not have gone into all that trouble. He would have said to the great apostle, "Now you understand I don't mean to interfere with your business, but if I were you I would n't go down to Jerusalem. Those Jews there are not pleased with what you are doing, and would be likely to make things unpleasant for you." But in all probability such a polite hint would not have made Paul's companions weep, nor caused him to say, "What mean ye to weep and to break mine heart? for I am ready not to be bound only, but also to die at Jerusalem for the name of the Lord Jesus." It is also because the Syrian loves to speak in pictures, and to subordinate literal accuracy to the total impression of an utterance, that he makes such extensive use of figurative language. Instead of saying to the Pharisees, "Your pretensions to virtue and good birth far exceed your actual practice of virtue," John the Baptist cried: "O generation of vipers, who hath warned {118} you to flee from the wrath to come? Bring forth, therefore, fruits meet for repentance: and think not to say within yourselves, We have Abraham to our father: for I say unto you that God is able _of these stones_ to raise up children unto Abraham." Just as the Oriental loves to flavor his food strongly and to dress in bright colors, so is he fond of metaphor, exaggeration, and positiveness in speech. To him mild accuracy is weakness. A host of illustrations of this thought rise in my mind as I recall my early experiences as a Syrian youth. I remember how those jovial men who came to our house to "sit"--that is, to make a call of indefinite duration--would make their wild assertions and back them up by vows which they never intended to keep. The one would say, "What I say to you is the truth, and if it is not, I will cut off my right arm"--grasping it--"at the shoulder." "I promise you this,"--whatever the promise might be,--"and if I fail in fulfilling my promise I will pluck out my right eye." {119} To such speech we always listened admiringly and respectfully. But we never had the remotest idea that in any circumstances the speaker would carry out his resolution, or that his hearers had a right to demand it from him. He simply was in earnest; or as an American would say, "He meant that he was right." Such an Oriental mode of thought furnishes us with the background for Jesus' saying, "If thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out, and cast it from thee. If thy right hand offend thee, cut it off, and cast it from thee."[1] To many Western Christians, especially in the light of the Protestant doctrine of the infallibility of the letter of the Bible, these sayings of Christ present insurmountable difficulties. To such the question, "How can I be a true disciple of Christ, if I do not obey what he commands?" makes these misunderstood sayings of Christ great stumbling blocks. Some time ago a lady wrote me a letter saying that at a prayer-meeting which she attended, the minister, after {120} reading the fifth chapter of Matthew, which contains these commands, said, "If we are true Christians we must not shrink from obeying these explicit commands of our Lord." My informant stated also that on hearing that, she asked the preacher, "Suppose the tongue should offend, and we should cut it off; should we be better Christians than if we did endeavor to atone for the offense in some other way?" The preacher, after a moment of perplexed silence, said, "If there is no one here who can answer this question, we will sing a hymn." The best commentary on these sayings of Christ is given by Paul in the sixth chapter of his Epistle to the Romans. This is precisely what the Master meant: "Neither yield ye your members as instruments of unrighteousness unto sin; but yield yourselves unto God, as those that are alive from the dead, and your members as instruments of righteousness unto God." Cutting or mutilation of the body has nothing to do with either passage, nor indeed with the Christian life. The amputation of an {121} arm that steals is no sure guaranty of the removal of the desire to steal; nor would the plucking out of a lustful eye do away with the lust which uses the eye for an instrument. With this should be classed also the following commands: "Whosoever shall smite thee on the right cheek, turn to him the other also." "If any man will sue thee at the law, and take away thy coat, let him have thy cloak also; and whosoever shall compel thee to go a mile, go with him twain."[2] The command to give the coat and the cloak to a disputant, rather than to go to law with him, will seem much more perplexing when it is understood that these words mean the "under garment" and the "upper garment." The Orientals are not in the habit of wearing a coat and a cloak or overcoat. In the Arabic version we have the _thaub_ ("th" as in "throw") and the _rada'_. The _thaub_ is the main article of clothing--the ample gown worn over a shirt next to the body. The _rada'_ is the cloak worn {122} on occasions over the _thaub_. The Scriptural command literally is, "To one who would quarrel with thee and would take thy _thaub_, give him the _rada'_ also." It may be clearly seen here that literal compliance with this admonition would leave the non-resistant person, so far as clothes are concerned, in a pitiable condition. The concluding portion of this paragraph in the fifth chapter of St. Matthew's Gospel--the forty-second verse--presents another difficulty. It says, "Give to him that asketh thee, and from him that would borrow of thee turn not thou away." Of all those whom I have heard speak disparagingly of this passage I particularly recall a lawyer, whom I knew in a Western State, whose dislike for these words of Christ amounted almost to a mental affliction. It seems to me that on every single occasion when he and I discussed the Scriptures together, or spoke of Christianity, I found him armed with this passage as his most effective weapon against the innocent Nazarene. "What was Jesus thinking of," he would say, "when he {123} uttered these words? What would become of our business interests and financial institutions if we gave to every one that asked of us, and lent money without good security to every Tom, Dick, and Harry?" The thought involved in this text suffers from the unconditional manner in which it is presented, and which gives it its Oriental flavor. Seeing that he was addressing those who knew what he meant, the writer did not deem it necessary to state exactly the reason why this command was given. It seems, however, that when Jesus spoke those words he had in mind the following passage: "And if thy brother be waxed poor, and his hand fail with thee; then thou shalt uphold him: as a stranger and a sojourner shall he live with thee. Take thou no interest of him or increase, but fear thy God: that thy brother may live with thee. _Thou shalt not give him thy money upon interest_, nor give him thy victuals for increase."[3] According to this legal stipulation, an Israelite could not {124} lawfully charge a fellow Israelite interest on a loan. Therefore, "as a matter of business," the money-lenders preferred to lend their money to the Gentiles, from whom they were permitted to take interest, and to "turn away" from borrowers of their own race. And as the teachers of Israel of his day often assailed Jesus for his non-observance of the law, he in turn never failed to remind them of the fact that their own practices did greater violence to the law than his own liberal interpretation of it in the interest of man. From all that I know of Oriental modes of thought and life I cannot conceive that Jesus meant by all these sayings to give brute force the right of way in human life. He himself drove the traders out of the temple by physical force. These precepts were not meant to prohibit the use of force in self-defense and for the protection of property, but were given as an antidote to that relentless law of revenge which required "an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth." The Master does not preach a gospel {125} of helplessness, but enjoins a manly attitude toward peace and concord, in place of a constantly active desire for vengeance and strife. Again let me say that an Oriental expects to be judged chiefly by what he means and not by what he says. As a rule, the Oriental is not altogether unaware of the fact that, as regards the letter, his statements are often sadly lacking in correctness. But I venture to say that when a person who is conversing with me knows that I know that what he is saying is not exactly true I may not like his manner of speech, yet I cannot justly call him a liar. A neighbor of mine in a Mount Lebanon village makes a trip to Damascus and comes to my house of an evening to tell me all about it. He would not be a Syrian if he did not give wings to his fancy and present me with an idealistic painting of his adventure, instead of handing me a photograph. I listen and laugh and wonder. I know his statements are not wholly correct, and he knows exactly how I feel about it. We both are aware, however, that {126} the proceedings of the evening are not those of a business transaction, but of an entertainment. My friend does not maliciously misrepresent the facts; he simply loves to speak in poetic terms and is somewhat inhospitable to cross-examination. Certainly we would not buy and sell sheep and oxen and fields and vineyards after that fashion, but we like to be so entertained. Beyond the wide margin of social hospitality and the latitude of intellectual tolerance, I am aware of the fact that in all the flourish of metaphor and simile, what my visitor really meant to say was either that his trip to Damascus was pleasant or that it was hazardous, and that there were many interesting things to see in that portion of the world; all of which was indubitably true. While on a visit to Syria, after having spent several years in this country, where I had lived almost exclusively with Americans, I was very strongly impressed by the decidedly sharp contrast between the Syrian and the American modes of thought. The years had worked many {127} changes in me, and I had become addicted to the more compact phraseology of the American social code. In welcoming me to his house, an old friend of mine spoke with impressive cheerfulness as follows: "You have extremely honored me by coming into my abode [_menzel_], I am not worthy of it. This house is yours; you can burn it if you wish. My children also are at your disposal; I would sacrifice them all for your pleasure. What a blessed day this is, now that the light of your countenance has shone upon us"; and so forth, and so on. I understood my friend fully and most agreeably, although it was not easy for me to translate his words to my American wife without causing her to be greatly alarmed at the possibility that the house would be set on fire and the children slain for our pleasure. What my friend really meant in his effusive welcome was no more or less than what a gracious American host means when he says, "I am delighted to see you; please make yourself at home." {128} Had the creed-makers of Christendom approached the Bible by way of Oriental psychology, had they viewed the Scriptures against the background of Syrian life, they would not have dealt with Holy Writ as a jurist deals with legislative enactments. Again, had the unfriendly critics of the Bible real acquaintance with the land of its birth, they would not have been so sure that the Bible was "a mass of impossibilities." The sad fact is that the Bible has suffered violence from literalists among its friends, as from its enemies. For example, in their failure to heal a sick lad[4] the disciples came to Jesus and asked him why they could not do the beneficent deed. According to the Revised and the Arabic versions, the Master answered, "Because of your unbelief; for verily I say unto you, If ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed, ye shall say unto this mountain, Remove hence to yonder place, and it shall remove." Colonel Robert Ingersoll never tired of challenging the Christians {129} of America to put this scripture to a successful test, and thus _convince_ him that the Bible is inspired. In the face of such a challenge the "believer" is likely to feel compelled to admit that the church does not have the required amount of faith, else it could remove mountains. To one well acquainted with the Oriental manner of speech this saying was not meant to fix a rule of conduct, but to idealize faith. In order to do this in real Syrian fashion, Jesus spoke of an infinitesimal amount of faith as being capable of moving the biggest object on earth. His disciples must have understood him clearly, because we have no record that they ever tried to remove mountains by faith and prayer. It would be most astounding, indeed, if Christ really thought that those disciples, who forsook all and followed him, had not as much faith as a grain of mustard seed, and yet said to them, "Ye are the light of the world. Ye are the salt of the earth." Of a similar character is the Master's saying, {130} "It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God,"[5] which has quickened the exegetical genius of commentators to mighty efforts in "expounding the Scriptures." Judging by the vast number of persons in this country who have asked my opinion, as a Syrian, concerning its correctness, and the fact that I have myself seen it in print, the following interpretation of this passage must have been much in vogue. The walled cities and feudal castles of Palestine, the explanation runs, have large gates. Because of their great size, such gates are opened only on special occasions to admit chariots and caravans. Therefore, in order to give pedestrians thoroughfare, a smaller opening about the size of an ordinary door is made in the center of the great gate, near to the ground. Now this smaller door through which a camel cannot pass is the eye of the needle mentioned in the Gospel. {131} I once heard a Sunday-School superintendent explain this passage to his scholars by saying that a camel could pass through this eye of a needle--meaning the door--if he was not loaded. Therefore, and by analogy, if we cast off our load of sin outside, we can easily enter into the kingdom of heaven. Were the camel and the gate left out, this statement would be an excellent fatherly admonition. There is perhaps no gate in the celestial city large enough to admit a man with a load of sin strapped to his soul. However, the chief trouble with these explanations of the "eye-of-the-needle" passage is that they are wholly untrue. This saying is current in the East, and in all probability it was a common saying there long before the advent of Christ. But I never knew that small door in a city or a castle gate to be called the needle's eye; nor indeed the large gate to be called the needle. The name of that door, in the common speech of the country, is the "plum," and I am certain the {132} Scriptural passage makes no reference to it whatever. The Koran makes use of this expression in one of its purest classical Arabic passages. The term employed here--_sûm-el-khiat_--can mean only the sewing instrument, and nothing else. Nothing can show more clearly the genuine Oriental character of this New Testament passage and that of the Teacher who uttered it, than the intense positiveness of its thought and the unrestrained flight of its imagery. I can just hear the Master say it. Jesus' purpose was to state that it was extremely difficult "for them that trust in riches to enter into the Kingdom of God."[6] To this end he chose the biggest animal and the smallest opening known to his people and compared the impossibility of a camel passing through the eye of a needle with that of a man weighted down with earthly things becoming one with God. The Master's rebuke of the scribes and pharisees, {133} "Ye blind guides, which strain at a gnat and swallow a camel,"[7] expresses a similar thought in a different form and connection. There is no need here to puzzle over the anatomical problem as to whether the throat of a Pharisee was capacious enough to gulp a camel down. The strong and agreeable Oriental flavor of this saying comes from the sharp contrast between the size of the gnat and that of the camel. So the Master employed it in order to show the glaring contradictions in the precepts and practices of the priests of his day, who tithed mint and rue, but "passed over judgment and the love of God." One of the most interesting examples of Oriental speech is found in the eighteenth chapter of St. Matthew's Gospel, the twenty-first verse: "Then came Peter and said to him, Lord how oft shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? till seven times? Jesus saith unto him, I say not unto thee, until seven times; but, until seventy times seven." Did Jesus {134} really mean that an offender should be forgiven four hundred and ninety times? Would it be to the interest of the offender himself and to society at large to forgive an embezzler, a slanderer or a prevaricator four hundred and ninety times? Is not punishment which is guided by reason and sympathy, and whose end is corrective, really a great aid in character-building? Let us try to interpret this passage with reference to certain scenes in Jesus' own life. In the sixteenth chapter of Matthew, the twenty-first verse, we read: "From that time forth began Jesus to show unto his disciples, how that he must go unto Jerusalem, and suffer many things of the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and be raised again the third day. Then Peter took him, and began to rebuke him, saying, Lord: this shall not be unto thee. But he turned, and said unto Peter, _Get thee behind me, Satan: thou art an offence to me_: for thou savourest not the things that be of God, but those that be of men." In the second chapter of St. John's Gospel, {135} the thirteenth verse, we are told: "And the Jews' passover was at hand, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem, and found in the temple those that sold oxen and sheep and doves, and the changers of money sitting: _and when he had made a scourge of small cords, he drove them all out of the temple_, and the sheep, and the oxen; and poured out the changers' money, and overthrew the tables; and said unto them that sold doves, Take these things hence; make not my Father's house an house of merchandise." The forgiving "seventy times seven" did not apply, as it seems, in these cases. In the very chapter from which this saying comes,[8] the Master gives us two superb examples of certain and somewhat swift retribution for offenses. In the fifteenth verse, he says: "Moreover, if thy brother shall trespass against thee, go tell him his fault between thee and him alone: if he shall hear thee, thou hast gained thy brother. But if he will not hear thee, then take with thee one or two more, that in the mouth {136} of two or three witnesses every word may be established. And if he neglect to hear them, tell it unto the church; but if he neglect to hear the church, _let him be unto thee as an heathen man and a publican_." The parable of the "certain king" and the "wicked servant" follows immediately the "seventy times seven" passage. "Therefore is the kingdom of heaven likened unto a certain king, which would take account of his servants. And when he had begun to reckon, one was brought unto him, which owed him ten thousand talents. But forasmuch as he had not to pay, his lord commanded him to be sold, and his wife, and children, and all that he had, and payment be made. The servant therefore fell down and worshipped him, saying, Lord, have patience with me, and I will pay thee all. Then the Lord of that servant was moved with compassion, and loosed him, and forgave him the debt. But the same servant went out, and found one of his fellowservants, which owed him an hundred pence: and he laid hands on him, {137} and took him by the throat, saying, Pay me that thou owest. And his fellowservant fell down at his feet, and besought him, saying, Have patience with me, and I will pay thee all. And he would not: but went and cast him into prison, till he should pay the debt. So when his fellowservants saw what was done, they were very sorry, and came and told unto their lord all that was done. Then his lord, after that he had called him, said unto him, O thou wicked servant, I forgave thee all that debt, because thou desiredst me: shouldest not thou also have had compassion on thy fellow-servant, even as I had pity on thee? _And his lord was wroth, and delivered him to the tormentors, till he should pay all that was due unto him_. So likewise shall my heavenly Father do also unto you, if ye from your hearts forgive not every one his brother their trespasses." Now as a matter of fact the lord of the wicked servant did not forgive him seventy times seven, but "delivered him to the tormentors" for his first offense. Will the heavenly Father do {138} _likewise_? Do we not have irreconcilable contradictions in these Scriptural passages? No doubt there are difficulties here. But once the "seventy-times-seven" passage is clearly understood, the difficulties will, I believe, disappear. In harmony with his legalistic preconception, Peter chose the full and sacred number "seven" as a very liberal measure of forgiveness. Apparently Jesus' purpose was to make forgiveness a matter of disposition, sympathy, and discretion, rather than of arithmetic. To this end he made use of an Oriental saying which meant _indefiniteness_, rather than a fixed rule. This saying occurs in one of the most ancient Old Testament narratives, and, most fittingly, in a bit of poetry:[9] "And Lamech said unto his wives: Adah and Zillah, hear my voice; Ye wives of Lamech, hearken unto my speech: For I have slain a man for wounding me, And a young man for bruising me: If Cain shall be avenged sevenfold Truly Lamech seventy and sevenfold." {139} In both Testaments the meaning of the saying is the same--indefiniteness. It is one of that host of Bible passages and current Oriental sayings which must be judged by what they _mean_, and not by what they _say_. The writer of the eighteenth chapter of Matthew grouped those seemingly contradictory passages together, because they all dealt with forgiveness. That they must have been spoken under various circumstances is very obvious. The object of the admonition concerning the trespassing brother (verses 15-17) is to encourage Christians to "reason together" in a fraternal spirit about the differences which may arise between them, and, _if at all possible_, to win the offending member back to the fold. And the object of the parable of the "wicked servant" is to contrast the spirit of kindness with that of cruelty. [1] Matt. v: 29-30. [2] Matt. v: 39-41. [3] Lev. xxv: 35; Revised Version. [4] Matt. xvii: 19. [5] Matt. xix: 24. [6] Mark x: 24. [7] Matt. xxiii: 24. [8] Matt. xviii. [9] Gen. iv: 23; Revised Version. {140} CHAPTER VI SPEAKING IN PARABLES Teaching and conversing in parables and proverbs is a distinctly Oriental characteristic. A parable is a word picture whose purpose is not to construct a definition or to establish a doctrine, but to convey an impression. However, the Oriental makes no distinction between a proverb and a parable. In both the Hebrew and the Arabic, the word _mathel_ signifies either a short wise saying, such as may be found in the Book of Proverbs, or a longer utterance, such as a New Testament parable. In the Arabic Bible, the wise sayings of the Book of Proverbs are called _amthal_, and the parabolic discourses of Jesus are also called _amthal_. This term is the plural of _mathel_ (parable or proverb). This designation includes also any wise poetical saying, or any human state of fortune or adversity. Thus a very generous man becomes a _mathel bilkaram_ (a parable of generosity); and a man {141} of unsavory reputation becomes a _mathel beinennass_ (a saying or a by-word among the people). In the forty-fourth Psalm, the fourteenth verse, the poet cries: "Thou makest us a by-word among the nations, a shaking of the head among the people." A fine illustration of the _mathel_ as a poetical saying, although not strictly allegorical, is the opening passage of the twenty-ninth chapter of the Book of Job, where it is said:-- "And Job again took up his parable and said, Oh that I were as in the months of old, As in the days when God watched over me; When his lamp shined upon my head, And by his light I walked through darkness; As I was in the ripeness of my days, When the friendship of God was upon my tent; When the Almighty was yet with me, And my children were about me; When my steps were washed with butter, And the rock poured me out rivers of oil!"[1] Where in human literature can we find a passage to surpass in beauty and tenderness this introspective utterance? {142} Parabolic speech is dear to the Oriental heart. It is poetical, mystical, sociable. In showing the reason why Jesus taught in parables, Biblical writers speak of the indirect method, the picture language, the concealing of the truth from those "who had not the understanding," and so forth. But those writers fail to mention a most important reason, namely, the _sociable_ nature of such a method of teaching, which is so dear to the Syrian heart. In view of the small value the Orientals place upon time, the story-teller, the speaker in parables, is to them the most charming conversationalist. Why be so prosy, brief, and abstract? The spectacular charm and intense concreteness of the parable of the Prodigal Son is infinitely more agreeable to the Oriental mind than the general precept that God will forgive his truly penitent children. How romantic and how enchanting to me are the memories of those _sehrat_ (evening gatherings) at my father's house! How simple and how human was the homely wisdom of the stories and the parables which were spoken on {143} those occasions. The elderly men of the clan loved to speak of what "was said in the ancient days" (_qadeem ezzeman_). "_Qal el-wathel_" (said the parable) prefaced almost every utterance. And as the speaker proceeded to relate a parable and to reinforce the ancient saying by what his own poetic fancy could create at the time of kindred material, we listened admiringly, and looked forward with ecstatic expectation to the _maana_ (meaning, or moral). Oral traditions, the Scriptures, Mohammedan literature, and other rich sources are drawn upon, both for instruction in wisdom and for entertainment. In picturing the condition of one who has been demoralized beyond redemption, the entertaining speaker proceeds in this fashion: "Once upon a time a certain man fell from the housetop and was badly injured. The neighbors came and carried him into the house and placed him in bed. Then one of his friends approached near to the injured man and said to him, 'Asaad, my beloved friend, how is your condition [_kief halak_]?' The much-pained man {144} opened his mouth and said, 'My two arms are broken; my back and one of my legs are broken; one of my eyes is put out; I am badly wounded in the breast, and feel that my liver is severed. But I trust that God will restore me.' Whereupon his friend answered, 'Asaad, I am distressed. But if this is your condition, it will be much easier for God to make a new man to take your place than to restore you!'" One of the most beautiful parables I know, and which I often heard my father relate, bears on the subject of partiality, and is as follows:-- "Once upon a time there were two men, the one named Ibrahim, the other Yusuf. Each of the men had a camel. It came to pass that when Yusuf fell sick he asked of his neighbor Ibrahim, who was about to journey to Alappo, to take his camel with him also, with a load of merchandise. Yusuf begged Ibrahim to treat the camel in exactly the same manner as he did his own, and promised him that if God kept him alive until he came back he would repay him both the good deed, and the cost of the {145} camel's keep. Ibrahim accepted the trust, and took his journey to Alappo, with the two camels. Upon his return Yusuf saw that his own camel did not look so well as Ibrahim's. So he spoke to his friend: 'Ibrahim, by the life of God, what has happened to my camel? He is not as good as your camel. O Ibrahim, did you care for my camel as you did for your camel?' Then Ibrahim answered and said, 'By the life of God, O Yusuf, I fed, and watered, and groomed your camel as I did my camel. God witnesseth between us, Yusuf, this is the truth. But I will say to you, you my eyes, my heart, that when night came and I lay me down on my cloak to sleep between the two camels, I placed my head nearer to my camel than to yours.'" It was the desirableness to Orientals of this type of speech which prompted the writer of the Gospel of Matthew to say of Jesus, "And without a parable spake he not unto them."[2] This utterance itself is characteristically {146} Oriental. As a matter of fact, Jesus _did_ often speak to the multitude _without_ parables. But his strong tendency to make use of the parable, and its agreeableness to his hearers, seemed to the Scriptural writer to be a sufficient justification for his sweeping assertion. Of the New Testament parables some are quoted in this work in connection with other subjects than that with which this chapter deals. I will mention here a few more of these sayings as additional illustrations of the present subject, and with reference to the allusions to Oriental life which they contain. In the thirteenth chapter of Matthew, we have the parable of the wheat and the tares: "The kingdom of heaven is likened unto a man which sowed good seed in his field: but while men slept, his enemy came and sowed tares among the wheat, and went his way. But when the blade was sprung up, and brought forth fruit, then appeared the tares also." The tare (_zewan_) is a grain which when ground with the wheat and eaten causes dizziness {147} and nausea, a state much like seasickness. For this reason this plant is hated by the Syrians, although they use tares very extensively as chicken feed. Wheat merchants are likely to sell _kameh mizwen_ (wheat mixed with tares) in hard times, because they can buy it for less money than pure wheat. I do not believe there is a family among the common people of Syria which has not suffered at one time or another from "tare-sickness." Having tasted the gall of this affliction a few times myself, I do not at all wonder at the Syrians' belief that tares must have come into the world by the Devil. And what I still remember with both amusement and sympathy are the heartfelt, withering imprecations which the afflicted ones always showered upon the seller of the "tarey wheat." When the food had taken real effect and the staggering, nauseated members of a family felt compelled to allow nature to take its course, the gasps and groans punctuated the ejaculations, "May God destroy his home!" "May the gold turn into dust in his hands!" {148} "May he spend the price of what he sold us at the funerals of his children!"--and so forth. Do you feel now the force of the allusion to the tares in the parable? "So the servants of the householder came and said unto him, Sir, didst not thou sow good seed in thy field? from whence then hath it tares? He said unto them, An enemy hath done this." Enemies are of course always disposed to injure one another, and in an agricultural country like Syria harm is often done to property for revenge. So the scattering of tares for this purpose in a newly sown wheat-field is not utterly unnatural or unthinkable. But the reference in the parable is to a belief which is prevalent in some districts in Syria, to the effect that in spite of all that the sower can do to prevent it, the tares do appear mysteriously in fields where only wheat had been sown. Some evil power introduces the noxious plant. Once I listened to a heated controversy on the subject between some Syrian landowners and an American missionary. The landowners clung to the belief {149} that tares would appear in a field even if no tare seed was ever planted in that field, while the son of the West insisted that no such growth could take place without the seed having first been introduced into the field in some natural way. The fight was a draw. "The servants said unto him, Wilt thou then that we go and gather them up? But he said, Nay, lest while ye gather up the tares, ye root up also the wheat with them." The attempt is often made to pull up the hated tares from among the wheat, but in vain. The concluding admonition in the parable may well be taken to heart by every hasty reformer of the type of a certain regenerator of society, who, when asked to proceed slowly, said, "The fact is I am in a hurry, and God is not!" In the same chapter (Matt. XIII) occurs the parable of the "leaven." "The kingdom of heaven is like unto leaven, which a woman took, and hid in three measures of meal, till the whole was leavened." The setting of this short {150} parable in Syrian life is given in another chapter.[3] But I mention it here in order to give my comment on a rather strange interpretation of the parable which came recently to my knowledge. In the course of a conversation I had with a prominent Baptist minister not long since, he stated to me that certain interpreters assert that the leaven in this parable meant the corruption which has come into the Christian Church, etc. My friend was anxious to know whether to my knowledge the Syrians associated leaven with corruption. This interpretation echoes an ancient idea of leaven of which modern Syrians have no knowledge. They hold the leaven in high and reverential esteem.[4] To them it is the symbol of growth and fecundity. In many of the rural districts of Syria, upon approaching the door of her future home the bride is given the _khamera_ (the lump of leaven) which she pastes on the upper doorsill and passes under it into the house. As she performs the solemn act her {151} friends exclaim, "May you be as blessed and as fruitful as the _khamera_!" However, it is a well-known fact to readers of ancient records that in the earliest times bread was entirely unleavened. When the Israelites were roaming tribes they ate and offered to Jehovah unleavened bread. The Arab tribes of to-day on the borders of Syria eat no leavened bread. They believe that it tends to reduce the vitality and endurance of the body. Perhaps the real reason for preferring the unleavened bread is that it is much easier to make, and dispenses with taking care of the lump of leaven between bakings, which is not so convenient for roaming tribes to do. The use of unleavened bread for so many generations among the Israelites constituted its sacredness, and it was the conservatism of religion which still called for unleavened bread for the offering, even after leavened bread had become universally the daily food of the people. So to the ancients the fermentation in the process of leavening was considered corruption. {152} It was something which entered into the lump and soured it. The New Testament use of the word "leaven" as meaning corruption is purely figurative, and signifies influence, or bad doctrine. It was in this sense that Jesus used the word when he said to his disciples:[5] "Take heed and beware of the leaven of the Pharisees and of the Sadducees"; and again:[6] "Take heed, beware of the leaven of the Pharisees, and of the leaven of Herod." The fact that the disciples did not understand at first what the Master meant shows that to the general public "leaven" and "corruption" were not synonymous terms. Had they been, it is certain that Jesus never would have said, "The kingdom of heaven is like unto leaven." The fifteenth chapter of St. Luke's Gospel contains the parables of the lost sheep, the lost coin, and the prodigal son. The parable of the lost sheep is discussed in another chapter.[7] The parable of the lost coin portrays a very familiar scene in the ordinary Syrian home. "What {153} woman," says the Master, "having ten pieces of silver, if she lose one piece, doth not light a candle, and sweep the house, and seek diligently till she find it? And when she hath found it, she calleth her friends and her neighbors together, saying, Rejoice with me; for I have found the piece which I had lost." The candle spoken of here is a little olive-oil lamp--an earthen saucer, with a protruding lip curled up at one point in the rim for the wick. How often have I held that flickering light for my mother while she searched for a lost coin or some other precious object. The common Syrian house has one door and one or two small windows, with wooden shutters, without glass.[8] Consequently the interior of the house is dimly lighted, especially in the winter season. The scarcity of money in the hands of the people makes the loss of a coin, of the value of that which is mentioned in the parable (about sixteen cents), a sad event. The {154} little house is searched with eager thoroughness--"diligently." The straw mats, cushions, and sheepskins which cover the floor are turned over, and the earthen floor swept. The search continues, with diligence and prayerful expectations, until the lost coin is found. The Arabic Bible states that the gladdened woman "calls her _women_ neighbors and friends (_jaratiha wesedikatiha_), saying, Rejoice with me; for I have found the piece which I had lost." The singling out of the _women_ neighbors is significant here. As a rule the loss of a precious coin by a woman calls her husband's wrath upon her, regardless of whether the coin had been earned by her or by him. The _women friends_ have a keen fellow-feeling in such matters. They keep one another's secrets from the men, and rejoice when one of their number escapes an unpleasant situation. The total meaning of this parable is plain as it is most precious. Through this common occurrence in a Syrian home, Jesus impresses upon the minds of his hearers, as well as upon {155} the consciousness of all mankind, the infinite worth of the human soul, and the Father's love and care for it. "Likewise, I say unto you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth." The parable of the prodigal son follows immediately that of the lost coin. "A certain man had two sons: and the younger of them said to his father, Father, give me the portion of goods that falleth to me. And he divided unto them his living." The first thing in this parable to challenge the attention is the father's quick compliance with the request of his son. "And he divided unto them his living." The custom of a father dividing his property among his grown sons before his death prevails much more extensively in the East than in the West. As a rule neither the law nor custom gives legal standing to a will. Sometimes the father's wishes with regard to how his property should be divided after his death are carried out by his sons. But as a general rule the father who does not divide his property legally between his sons before his {156} death leaves to them a situation fraught with danger. Litigation in such cases is very slow and uncertain. It was such a situation, no doubt, which led the man referred to in the twelfth chapter of Luke, the thirteenth verse, to say to Jesus, "Master, speak to my brother, that he divide the inheritance with me. And he said unto him, Man, who made me a judge or a divider over you?" And we may easily infer what Jesus thought of that particular case from his saying which follows immediately his answer to this man. "And he said unto them, Take heed, and beware of covetousness: for a man's life consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he possesseth." So the father of the prodigal son acted normally when he divided his substance between his two sons. "And not many days after the younger son gathered all together, and took his journey into a far country, and there wasted his substance with riotous living." The singling out of the younger son for this adventure comports with {157} a highly cherished Oriental tradition. The elder son, who was the first-born male child in this household, could not very well be made to commit such an act. In a Syrian family the _bikkr_ (the first-born son) stands next to the father in the esteem, not only of the members of his own household, but of the community at large. He cannot be supposed to be so rash, so unmindful of his birthright, as to break the sacred family circle, and to waste his inheritance in riotous living. "And when he had spent all, there arose a mighty famine in that land; and he began to be in want. And he went and joined himself to a citizen of that country; and he sent him into his fields to feed swine. And he would fain have been filled with the husks that the swine did eat; and no man gave unto him." To be a swineherd, or a "swine-shepherd," is the most contemptible occupation an Oriental can think of. It is no wonder at all to me that the Gospel writers make the destination of the "legion" of devils which Jesus cast out of the {158} man "in the country of the Gadarenes," a herd of swine.[9] You cannot hire a Syrian to make a pet of a "little piggie." If he did, he would be called "_Abu khenzier_" (pig man) for the rest of his life, and transmit the unenviable title to his posterity, "even unto the third and fourth generation." The word "husks" in the English version is not a correct rendering of the original term. The marginal note in the Revised Version reads, "the pods of the carob tree." The Arabic version says simply _kherrûb_ (carob). The carob tree is very common in the lowlands of Syria. It is a large tree of dense foliage, and round, glossy, dark-green leaves. The pods it bears measure from five to ten inches in length, are flat, and largely horn-shaped. I do not know why the English translators of the Bible called those pods "husks." They are sold in almost every town in western Syria for food. Children are very fond of _kherrûb_. Some of the pods contain no small amount of sugar. In my boyhood {159} days, a pocketful of _kherrûb_, which I procured for a penny, was to me rather a treat. The older people, however, do not esteem _kherrûb_ so highly as do the children. The bulk of it is so out of proportion to the sugar it contains that its poverty is proverbial in the land. Of one whose conversation is luxuriant in words and barren of ideas it is said, "It is like eating _kherrûb_; you have to consume a cord of wood in order to get an ounce of sweet." By eating these pods, the poor people seem to themselves "to have been filled" while in reality they have received but little nutrition. Therefore _kherrûb_ is generally eaten by animals. It may be observed that the saying in the parable, "and he would fain have been filled with _kherrûb_ that the swine did eat: and no man gave unto him," simply describes the prodigal's poverty. For as a "swine-shepherd" the "_kherrûb_ that the swine did eat" was certainly very accessible to him. The purpose of the passage is to draw the contrast between the rich parental home which the prodigal had willingly {160} left and the extremely humble fare on which in his wretched state he was compelled to subsist. The return of the prodigal son to his father's house, impoverished but penitent, the affectionate magnanimity of the father toward his son, and the spreading of the feast in honor of the occasion, are acts of humility and generosity which cannot be said to be exclusively Oriental. But the command of the father to his servants, "Bring hither the fatted calf and kill it; and let us eat and be merry," brings out the idea of the _zebihat_ (animal sacrifice) with which the West is not familiar. The ancient custom, whose echoes have not yet died out in the East, was that the host honored his guest most highly by killing a sheep at the threshold of the house, upon the guest's arrival, and inviting him to step over the blood into the house. This act formed the "blood covenant" between the guest and his host. It made them one. To us one of the most cordial and dignified expressions in {161} inviting a guest, especially from a distant town, was, "If God ever favors us with a visit from you, we will kill a _zebihat_!" In his great rejoicing in the return of his son, the father of the prodigal is made to receive him as he would a most highly honored guest. "The fatted calf"--and not only a sheep--is killed as the _zebihat_ of a new covenant between a loving father and his son, who "was dead and is alive again; was lost, and is found."[10] The parable of the "treasure hid in a field"[11] alludes to a very interesting phase of Syrian thought. "Again, the kingdom of heaven is like unto a treasure hid in a field, the which when a man hath found, he hideth, and for joy thereof goeth and selleth all that he hath, and buyeth that field." I cannot refrain from quoting again in this connection the famous commentator, Adam Clarke. Speaking of this parable, he says: "We are not to imagine that the _treasure_ here {162} mentioned, and to which the gospel salvation is likened, means a _pot_ or _chest_ of money hidden in the field, but rather a gold or silver _mine_, which he who found out could not get at, or work, without turning up the field, and for this purpose he bought it. Mr. Wakefield's observation is very just: 'There is no sense in the _purchase_ of a field for a _pot_ of _money_, which he might have carried away very _readily_ and as _honestly_, too, as by overreaching the owner by an unjust purchase.' ... From this view of the subject, the translation of this verse, given above, will appear proper--a _hidden treasure_, when applied to a _rich mine_, is more proper than a _treasure hid_, which applies better to a _pot of money_ deposited there, which I suppose was our translator's opinion; and _kept secret_, or _concealed_, will apply better to the subject of his discovery till he made the purchase, than _hideth_, for which there could be no occasion, when the pot was already _hidden_, and the place known only to himself." I have inserted here this double quotation, {163} italics and all, in order to show how when the real facts are not known to a writer the temptation to play on words becomes irresistible. In this exposition the simple parable is treated as a legal document. Every word of it is subjected to careful scrutiny. "Hid" is converted into "hidden," and "concealed" is summoned to supplant "hideth," in order to make the "treasure" mean a vast deposit of gold ore, and get the poor Syrian peasant into the mining business. The facts in the case, however, stand opposed to this explanation. I am absolutely safe in saying that every man, woman, and child in Syria understands that this parable refers simply and purely to a treasure of gold and silver which had been buried in a field by human hands. The entanglement of the commentator just quoted in the literary fault of the parable is inexcusable. The New Testament writer might have said, not that the man in the parable _found_ the treasure, but that he was _led_ by certain {164} signs _to believe_ that a treasure lay hidden in the field. However, this is not the Oriental way of stating things, nor should the speaker in parables be denied the freedom of the poet and the artist to manipulate the particulars in such a way as to make them serve the central purpose of his production. I could fill a book with the stories of hidden treasures which charmed my boyhood days in Syria. I have already put into print[12] a detailed account of my personal experience in digging for a hidden treasure, which will clearly show that the securing of such riches is not always so easy to diggers as the quotation just cited would make one believe. In order to show the attitude of Syrians in general toward this subject, I will quote the following from my own personal account:-- "In Syria it is universally believed that hidden treasures may be found anywhere in the land, and especially among ancient ruins. This {165} belief rests on the simple truth that the tribes and clans of Syria, having from time immemorial lived in a state of warfare, have hidden their treasures in the ground, especially on the eve of battles. "Furthermore, the wars of the past being wars of extermination, the vanquished could not return to reclaim their hidden wealth; therefore the ground is the keeper of vast riches. The tales of the digging and finding of such treasures fill the country. There are thrilling tales of treasures in various localities. Gold and other valuables are said to have been dug up in sealed earthen jars, often by the merest accident, in the ground, in the walls of houses, under enchanted trees, and in sepulchers. From earliest childhood the people's minds are fed on these tales, and they grow up with all their senses alert to the remotest suggestions of such possibilities." The writer of the parable did not need to explain the situation to his Oriental readers. The mere mention of a "hidden treasure" was {166} sufficient to make them know what the words meant. His supreme purpose was to impress them with the matchless worth of the kingdom of heaven which Christ came to reveal to the world. [1] Revised Version. [2] Matt. xiii: 34. [3] See page 198. [4] See page 199. [5] Matt. xvi: 6. [6] Mark viii: 15. [7] See page 308. [8] See the author's autobiography, _A Far Journey_, chap. 1, entitled "My Father's House." [9] Matt. viii: 32; Mark v: 13; Luke viii: 33. [10] For the reason why the mother of the prodigal is not mentioned in the parable, see pages 207 and 334. [11] Matt. xiii: 44. [12] _Atlantic Monthly_, December, 1915. This story, with other essays, will soon appear in book form. {167} CHAPTER VII SWEARING Perhaps the one phase of his speech which lays the Oriental open to the charge of unveracity is his much swearing. Of course this evil habit knows no geographical boundaries and no racial limits. However, probably because of their tendency to be profuse, intense, and positive in speech, the Orientals no doubt have more than their legitimate share of swearing. But it should be kept in mind that in that part of the world swearing is not looked upon with the same disapproval and contempt as in America; swearing by the name of the Deity has always been considered the most sacred and solemn affirmation of a statement. It is simply calling God to witness that what has been said is the sacred truth. Thus in the twenty-first chapter of the book of Genesis Abimelech asks Abraham, "Now therefore swear unto me here by God that thou wilt not deal falsely with me, nor {168} with my son, nor with my son's son." "And Abraham said, I will swear." St. Paul employs this type of speech in a milder form, after the New Testament fashion, in the opening verse of the twelfth chapter of his Epistle to the Romans, where he says: "I beseech you, therefore, brethren, _by the mercies of God_, that ye present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto God, which is your reasonable service." In the opening verse of the ninth chapter of the Epistle to the Romans, Paul succeeds in an elegant manner in dispensing with swearing altogether, when he says: "I say the truth in Christ, I lie not, my conscience also bearing me witness in the Holy Ghost." Generally speaking, however, the custom of swearing after the manner of the Old Testament has undergone no change in Syria since the days of Abraham. Swearing is an integral element in Oriental speech. Instinctively the speaker turns his eyes and lifts his hands toward heaven and says, "By Allah, what I have {169} said is right and true. _Yeshhedo-Allah_ [God witnesseth] to the truth of my words." In a similar manner, and as in a score of places in the Old Testament, the maker of a statement is asked by his hearer to swear by God as a solemn assurance that his statement is true and sincere. The Mohammedan law, which is the law of modern Syria, demands swearing in judicial contests. The judge awards the accuser--that is, the plaintiff--the right to lead the defendant to any shrine he may choose, and cause him to swear the _yemîn_ (solemn oath) as a final witness to his innocence. By this act the plaintiff places his adversary in the hands of the Supreme Judge, whose judgments are "true and righteous altogether." A false oath is supposed to bring awful retribution upon its maker and upon his posterity. Of such importance is this mode of speech to Orientals that the Israelites thought of Jehovah Himself as making such affirmations. In the twenty-second chapter of Genesis we have the words, "By myself have I sworn, saith the {170} Lord." Further light is thrown on this point by the explanation given to the verse just quoted in the sixth chapter of the Epistle to the Hebrews, where it is said, "For when God made promise to Abraham, because he could swear by no greater, he swore by himself." I have no doubt that this thought of God swearing by himself sprang from the custom of Oriental aristocrats of sealing a vow, or solemnly affirming a statement, or an intention to do some daring deed, by saying, "I swear by my head"--an oath which, whenever I heard it in my youth, filled me with awe. Thus, also, in the sixty-second chapter of Isaiah we have the words, "The Lord hath sworn by his right hand, and by the arm of his strength." Among the Mohammedans, swearing "by the most high God" and "by the life of the Prophet" and "by the exalted Koran" in affirmation of almost every statement, is universal. The Christians swear by God, Christ, the Virgin, the Cross, the Saints, the repose of their dead, the Holy City, the Eucharist, {171} Heaven, great holidays, and many other names. A father swears by the life of a dear child, and sons of distinguished fathers swear by them. "By the life of my father, I am telling the truth," is a very common expression. The antiquity of this custom is made evident by the passage in the thirty-first chapter of Genesis and the fifty-third verse: "And Jacob sware by the fear of his father Isaac." However, the word "fear" does violence to the real meaning of the verse, which the Arabic version rescues by saying, "And Jacob swore by the _heybet_ [benignity, or beautiful dignity] of his father." He swore by that which he and others loved, and not feared, in his father. But what must seem to Americans utterly ridiculous is the Oriental habit of swearing by the mustache and the beard, which is, however, one phase of swearing by the head. To swear by one's mustache, or beard, means to pledge the integrity of one's manhood. "I swear by this," is said solemnly by a man with his hand upon his mustache. Swearing by the {172} beard is supposed to carry more weight because, as a rule, it is worn by the older men. To speak disrespectfully of one's mustache or beard, or to curse the beard of a person's father, is to invite serious trouble. The sacredness of the beard to Orientals goes back to the remote past when all the hair of the head and the face was considered sacred. Growing a beard is still esteemed a solemn act in Syria, so much so that, having let his beard grow, one cannot shave it off without becoming a by-word in the community. To speak of the scissors or of a razor in the presence of one wearing a beard, especially if he be a priest, or of the aristocracy, is considered a deep insult to him. Such unseemly conduct seldom fails to precipitate a fight. In 2 Samuel, the tenth chapter, fourth verse, we have the record of Hanun's disgraceful treatment of David's men, whom he had thought to be spies. "Wherefore Hanun took David's servants, and shaved off the one half of their beards, and cut off their garments in the middle, even to their buttocks, {173} and sent them away. When they told it unto David, he sent to meet them, because the men _were greatly ashamed_: and the king said, Tarry at Jericho _until your beards be grown_, and then return." It is because of this ancient conception of the hair that the Syrians still swear by the mustache and the beard, although the majority of them know not the real reason why they do so. I remember distinctly how proud I was in my youth to put my hand upon my mustache, when it was yet not even large enough to be respectfully noticed, and swear by it _as a man_. I recall also to what roars of laughter I would provoke my elders at such times, to my great dismay. Here it may easily be seen that swearing in the Orient had so lost its original sacredness and become so vulgar, even as far back as the time of Christ, that He deemed it necessary to give the unqualified command, "Swear not at all: neither by heaven, for it is God's throne, nor by the earth, for it is his footstool: neither by {174} Jerusalem, for it is the city of the great King. Neither shalt thou swear by thy head, because thou canst not make one hair white or black. But let your communication be yea, yea; nay, nay; for whatsoever is more than these cometh of evil." This was perhaps the most difficult command to obey that Jesus ever gave to his countrymen. {175} CHAPTER VIII FOUR CHARACTERISTICS Of the other characteristics of Oriental speech, I wish to speak of four before I bring this part of my book to a close. The first, the many and picturesque dialects. The entire absence of the public school, the scarcity of other educational institutions, as well as of books and periodicals, and the extreme slowness of transportation, have always tended to perpetuate the multitude of dialects in the speech of the Syrian people. The common language of the land is the Arabic, which is divided into two types--the classical and the common, or the language of learning and that of daily speech. The classical language is one, but the common language is a labyrinth of dialects. Each section of that small country has its _lehjah_ (accent), and it is no exaggeration to say that each town within those sections has a _lehjah_ of its own. Certain letters of the {176} alphabet are also sounded differently in different localities. Thus, for an example, the word for "stood" is pronounced _qam_ in certain localities, and _aam_ in others. The word for "male" is pronounced _zeker_ by some communities, and _deker_ by others. That such a state of things prevailed also in ancient Israel and in New Testament times is very evident. In the twelfth chapter of the Book of Judges we have the record of a fight between the Gileadites and the Ephraimites, in which we find the following statement: "And the Gileadites took the passages of Jordan before the Ephraimites: and it was so, that when those Ephraimites which were escaped said, Let me go over; that the men of Gilead said unto him, Art thou an Ephraimite? If he said, Nay; then said they unto him, Say now Shibboleth: and he said Sibboleth: _for he could not frame to pronounce it right_. Then they took him, and slew him." This simple means of identification might be used in present-day Syria with equal success. {177} In the fourteenth chapter of St. Mark's Gospel we have another striking illustration of this characteristic of Oriental speech, in Peter's experience in the palace of the high priest. In the fifty-third verse it is said: "And they led Jesus away to the high priest: and with him were assembled all the chief priests and the elders and the scribes. And Peter followed him afar off, even into the palace of the high priest." The record continues (verses 66-71): "And as Peter was beneath in the palace, there cometh one of the maids of the high priest: and when she saw Peter warming himself, she looked upon him, and said, And thou also wast with Jesus of Nazareth. But he denied, saying, I know not, neither understand I what thou sayest. And he went out into the porch.... And a little after, they that stood by said again to Peter, Surely thou art one of them: for thou art a Galilaean, _and thy speech agreeth thereto_.[1] But he began to curse and to swear, saying, I know not this man of whom ye speak." {178} Poor Peter! the more he swore and cursed the more clearly he revealed his identity. His cowardice might have concealed him, but for his dialect. He spoke the dialect of Galilee in the city of Jerusalem, and so far as the identification of his person was concerned, even a certificate from the authorities of the town of his birth, testifying to his being a native of Galilee, could not have so effectively served that purpose. The second characteristic is the juvenile habit of imploring "in season and out of season" when asking a favor. To try to exert "undue" influence, virtually to beg in most persuasive tones, is an Oriental habit which to an American must seem unendurable. Of the many illustrations of this custom which fill my memory I will relate the following incident, which I once heard a man relate to my father. This man had bought, for six hundred piasters, a piece of land which had been given as a _nezer_ (vow) to our Greek Orthodox Church. After he had given his note for the {179} sum and secured the deed, it occurred to him that the price was too high, and, being himself a son of the Church, that he ought to secure the land for four hundred piasters. So, as he stated, he went to Beyrout, the seat of our bishop, where he stayed three days. By constant petitioning, he secured the privilege of interviewing the bishop four times on the subject. With great glee he stated that at the last interview he refused to rise from his seat at the feet of that long-suffering ecclesiastic until his petition was granted. One of the most striking examples of this characteristic is the parable of the unrighteous judge, in the eighteenth chapter of Luke. "There was in a city a judge, which feared not God, neither regarded man: and there was a widow in that city, and she came unto him saying, Avenge me [the original is "do me justice"] of mine adversary. And he would not for a while: but afterward he said within himself, Though I fear not God, nor regard man, yet because this widow troubleth me, I will {180} avenge her, _lest by her continual coming she weary me_." Here is a case--by no means a rare exception in that country--where a judge rendered a verdict against his own best judgment in sheer self-defense. And I must say that, knowing such Oriental tendencies as I do, especially as manifested by widows, I am in deep sympathy with the judge. Yet it was this very persistence in petitioning the Father of all men which gave mankind the lofty psalms and tender prayers of our Scriptures. It was this persistent filial pleading and imploring which made Israel turn again and again to the "God of righteousness" and say, "We have sinned," and ask for a deeper revealing of his ways to them. Job's cry, "Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him," may not be the proper language of modern etiquette, but it certainly is the language of religion. In the very parable just quoted, Jesus recommends to his disciples the insistence of the widow as a means to draw the benediction of heaven upon {181} them, and to secure for them justification at the hands of the righteous judge. Honest seekers after spiritual gifts should not be averse to imitating this Oriental trait. They should never be afraid to come to their Father again and again for his gracious blessing, or refrain from "storming the gates of heaven with prayer." The third characteristic of Oriental speech is its intimacy and unreserve. Mere implications which are so common to reserved and guarded speech leave a void in the Oriental heart. It is because of this that the Orientals have always craved "signs and wonders," and interpreted natural phenomena in terms of direct miraculous communications from God to convince them that He cared for them. Although Gideon was speaking with Jehovah Himself, who promised to help him to save his kinsmen from the Midianites, he asked for a more tangible, more definite sign. We are told in the sixth chapter of Judges, thirty-sixth verse: "And Gideon said unto God, If thou wilt save Israel by mine hand, as thou hast spoken, behold, I will put a {182} fleece of wool on the threshing-floor; if there be dew on the fleece only, and it be dry upon all the ground, then shall I know that thou wilt save Israel by mine hand, as thou hast spoken. And it was so." But Gideon, still unsatisfied, speaks again in childlike simplicity and intimacy; "Let not thine anger be kindled against me, and I will speak but this once: let me make trial, I pray thee, but this once with the fleece; let it now be dry only upon the fleece, and upon all the ground let there be dew. And God did so that night." It is not at all uncommon for old and tried friends in Syria to give and ask for affectionate assurances, that they do love one another. Such expressions are the wine of life. Especially when new confidences are exchanged or great favors asked, a man turns with guileless eyes to his trusted friend and says, "Now you love me; I say you love me, don't you?" "My soul, my eyes," answers the other, "you know what is in my heart toward you; you know and the Creator knows!" Then the request is made. {183} One of the noblest and tenderest passages in the New Testament, a passage whose spirit has fed the strength of the Christian missionaries throughout the ages, is that portion of the twenty-first chapter of St. John's Gospel where Jesus speaks to Peter in this intimate Syrian fashion. How sweet and natural it sounds to a son of the East! "So when they had dined, Jesus saith to Simon Peter, Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me?" How characteristic also is Peter's answer, "Yea, Lord; thou knowest that I love thee." Then came the precious request, "Feed my lambs." Three times did the affectionate Master knock at the door of Peter's heart, till the poor impetuous disciple cried, "Lord, thou knowest all things; thou knowest that I love thee. Jesus saith unto him, Feed my sheep." The fourth characteristic of Oriental speech is its unqualified positiveness. Outside the small circles of Europeanized Syrians, such qualifying phrases as "in my opinion," "so it seems to me," "as I see it," and the like, are {184} almost entirely absent from Oriental speech. The Oriental is never so cautious in his speech as a certain American editor of a religious paper, who in speaking of Cain described him as "the _alleged_ murderer of Abel"! Such expressions, also, are rarely used in the Bible, and then only in the New Testament, in which Greek influence plays no small part. Thus in the seventh chapter of his second Epistle to the Corinthians, Paul, in giving his opinion on marriage said, "_I suppose_, therefore, that this is good for the present distress," and so forth. I am not aware that this form of speech is used anywhere in the entire Old Testament. The language of the Oriental is that of sentiment and conviction, and not of highly differentiated and specialized thought. When you say to him, "I think this object is beautiful," if he does not think it is so, he says, "No, it is not beautiful." Although he is expressing his own individual opinion, he does not take the trouble to make that perfectly clear: if an object is not beautiful to him, it _is not_ beautiful. {185} From an intellectual and social standpoint, this mode of speech may be considered a serious defect. So do children express themselves. But it should be kept in mind that the Oriental mind is that of the prophet and the seer, and not of the scientist and the philosopher. It is the mind which has proven the most suitable transmissive agency of divine revelation. When the seer beholds a vision of the things that are eternal, he cannot speak of it as a supposition or a guess, or transmit it with intellectual caution and timidity. "Thus saith the Lord." "The word of the Lord came unto me saying, Son of man, prophesy." When we speak of the deepest realities of life, we do not beset our utterances with qualifying phrases. True love, deep sorrow, a real vision of spiritual things transcend all speculative speech; they press with irresistible might for direct and authoritative expression. Take for an example Jesus' matchless declaration: "The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he hath anointed me to preach the {186} gospel [glad tidings] to the poor; he hath sent me to heal the broken-hearted, to preach deliverance to the captives, and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty them that are bruised, to preach the acceptable year of the Lord."[2] How would this great utterance sound if given in the nice, cautious language of an "up-to-date" thinker? What force would it carry if put in this form, "It seems to me, although I may be entirely mistaken, that something like what may be termed the 'Spirit of the Lord' is upon me, and I feel that, in my own limited way, I must preach the Gospel"? Of course reckless, dogmatic assertions from the pulpit are never wise nor profitable. Ultimately, whether in the realms of science or spiritual experience, the facts are the things which will count. Nevertheless, it must be admitted that the modern pulpit suffers to a large extent from overcautiousness. By many ministers the facts are evaluated more in an intellectual than in a spiritual sense. Hence that {187} cautiousness in utterance which is seriously threatening the spirit of prophecy and the authority of real spiritual _experience_ in the religious teachers of the present day. Legitimate intellectual caution should never be allowed to degenerate into spiritual timidity, nor the knowledge of outward things to put out the prophetic fire in the soul. There is, no doubt, much food for thought in the following legend. It is said of a preacher, who was apparently determined not to make "rash statements," that in speaking to his people on repentance he had this for his final word: "If you do not repent, as it were, and be converted, in a measure, you will be damned, to a certain extent." The congregation that has such a preacher is damned already! And I perceive some difference between such a preacher and Him who says, "Verily, I say unto you, except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven."[3] This seeming weakness in Oriental speech {188} and in the Bible is in reality tremendous spiritual strength. Through our sacred Scriptures we hear the voices of those great Oriental prophets who spoke as they saw and felt; as seers, and not as logicians. And it was indeed most fortunate for the world that the Bible was written in an age of instinctive listening to the divine Voice, and in a country whose juvenile modes of speech protected the "rugged maxims" of the Scriptures from the weakening influences of an overstrained intellectualism. [1] See also Matt. xxvi: 73. [2] Luke iv: 18. [3] Matt. xviii: 3. {191} PART III BREAD AND SALT CHAPTER I THE SACRED 'AISH To an Oriental the phrase "bread and salt" is of sacred import. The saying, "There is bread and salt between us," which has been prevalent in the East from time immemorial, is equal to saying, "We are bound together by a solemn covenant." To say of one that he "knows not the significance of bread and salt" is to stigmatize him as a base ingrate. A noble foe refuses to "taste the salt" of his adversary--that is, to eat with him--so long as he feels disinclined to be reconciled to him. Such a foe dreads the thought of repudiating the covenant which the breaking of bread together forms. In the rural districts of Syria, much more than in the cities, is still observed the ancient custom that a man on an important mission should not eat his host's bread until the errand is made known. The covenant of "bread and salt" should not be entered into {192} before the attitude of the host toward his guest's mission is fully known. If the request is granted, then the meal is enjoyed as a fraternal affirmation of the agreement just made. So in the twenty-fourth chapter of the Book of Genesis we are told that Abraham's servant, who had gone to Mesopotamia, "unto the city of Nahor," to bring a wife of his master's kindred to his son Isaac, refused to eat at Laban's table before he had told his errand. With characteristic Oriental hospitality the brother of Rebekah, after hearing his sister's story, sought Abraham's faithful servant, "and, behold, he stood by the camels at the well. And he said, Come in, thou blessed of the Lord; wherefore standest thou without? for I have prepared the house, and room for the camels. And the man came into the house.... And there was set meat before him to eat: but he said, _I will not eat, until I have told mine errand_."[1] The errand having been told, "the servant brought forth jewels of silver, and jewels of gold, and raiment, and {193} gave them to Rebekah.... _And they did eat and drink_, he and the men that were with him."[2] Of all his enemies, the writer of the forty-first Psalm considered the "familiar friend" who went back on his simple covenant to be the worst. "Yea," he cries, mournfully, "mine own familiar friend, in whom I trusted, which did eat my bread, hath lifted up his heel against me." As the son of a Syrian family I was brought up to think of bread as possessing a mystic sacred significance. I never would step on a piece of bread fallen in the road, but would pick it up, press it to my lips for reverence, and place it in a wall or some other place where it would not be trodden upon. What always seemed to me to be one of {194} the noblest traditions of my people was their reverence for the _'aish_ (bread; literally, "the life-giver"). While breaking bread together we would not rise to salute an arriving guest, whatever his social rank. Whether spoken or not, our excuse for not rising and engaging in the cordial Oriental salutation before the meal was ended, was our reverence for the food (_hirmetel-'aish_). We could, however, and always did, invite the newcomer most urgently to partake of the repast. At least once each year, for many years, I carried the _korban_ (the bread offering) to the _mizbeh_ (altar of sacrifice) in our village church, as an offering for the repose of the souls of our dead as well as for our own spiritual security. Bread was one of the elements of the holy Eucharist. The mass always closed with the handing by the priest to the members of the congregation of small pieces of consecrated bread. The Gospel taught us also that Christ was the "bread of life." The _'aish_ was something more than mere {195} matter. Inasmuch as it sustained life, it was God's own life made tangible for his child, man, to feed upon. The Most High himself fed our hunger. Does not the Psalmist say, "Thou openest thine hand, and satisfieth the desire of every living thing"? Where else could our daily bread come from? [1] Verses 30-33. [2] Verses 53-54. The word "drink," which is frequently used in the Bible in connection with the word "eat," does not necessarily refer to wine drinking. The expression "food and drink" is current in Syria, and means simply "board." An employer says to an employee, "I will pay you so much wages, and your food and drink" (aklek washirbek). The drink may be nothing but water. {196} CHAPTER II "OUR DAILY BREAD" I have often heard it said by "up-to-date" religionists in this country that the saying in the Lord's Prayer, "Give us this day our daily bread," was at best a beggar's lazy petition. It has been suggested that those words should be omitted from the prayer, because they pertain to "material things." And at any rate we can get our daily bread only by working for it. Yes; and the Oriental understands all that. But he perceives also that by working for his daily bread he does not _create_ it, but simply _finds_ it. The prayer, "Give us this day our daily bread" is a note of pure gratitude to the "Giver of all good and perfect gifts." The Oriental does not know "material things" as the Occidental knows them. To him organic chemistry does not take the place of God. He is, in his totality, God-centered. His center of gravity is the altar and not the factory, and back {197} of his prayer for daily bread is the momentum of ages of mystic contemplation. The Oriental finds kinship, not with those who go for their daily bread no farther than the bakery, but with the writer of this modern psalm:-- "Back of the loaf is the snowy flour, Back of the flour the mill; Back of the mill is the wheat and the shower And the sun and the Father's will." It is not my purpose to exaggerate the piety and moral rectitude of the Oriental. I am fully aware of the fact that he is lamentably lacking in his efforts to rise to the height of his noblest traditions. Nevertheless, those who know the Oriental's inner life know also that from seed-time until harvest, and until the bread is placed upon the family board, this man's attitude toward the "staff of life" is essentially religious. In the name of God he casts the seed into the soil; in the name of God he thrusts the sickle into the ripe harvest; in the name of God he scatters his sheaves on the threshing floor and grinds his grain at the mill; and in the name of {198} God his wife kneads the dough, bakes the bread, and serves it to her family. In my childhood days "kneading-day" at our house was always of peculiar significance to me. I had no toys or story-books to engage my attention, and it was with the greatest interest that I watched my mother go through the process of kneading. Her pious words and actions made kneading a sort of religious service. After making the sign of the cross and invoking the Holy Name, she drew the required quantity of flour out of a small opening near the bottom of the earthen barrel in which the precious meal was stored. It was out of such a barrel that the widow of "Zarephath which belongeth to Zidon" drew the "handful of meal" she had, and made of it a cake for Elijah, for which favor the fiery prophet prayed that the widow's barrel of meal "shall not waste." Then my mother packed the flour in the shape of a crescent on one side of the large earthen _maajan_ (kneading basin) which is about thirty inches in diameter. She dissolved the {199} salt in warm water, which she poured in the basin by the embankment of flour. Then with a "God bless" she took out the leaven--a lump of dough saved from the former baking--which she had buried in flour to keep it "from corruption," that is, from overfermentation. This leaven she dissolved carefully in the salt water, and by slowly mixing the meal with this fluid, she "hid" the leaven in the meal. It was this process which Jesus mentioned very briefly in the parable of the leaven in the thirteenth chapter of St. Matthew's Gospel. "The kingdom of heaven is like unto leaven, which a woman took and hid in three measures of meal, till the whole was leavened." The kneading done, my mother smoothed the surface of the blessed lump, dipped her hand in water, and with the edge of her palm marked a deep cross the whole length of the diameter of the basin, crossed herself three times, while she muttered an invocation, and then covered the basin and left the dough to rise. The same pious attitude was resumed {200} when the raised dough was made into small loaves, during the baking, and whenever the mother of the family put her hand into the basin where the loaves were kept, to take out bread for her family's needs. Does it now seem strange, unnatural, or in any way out of harmony with the trend of her whole life, for such a woman to pray, "Give us this day our daily bread"? Shall we receive the gifts and forget the Giver? However circuitous our way to our daily bread may be, the fact remains that we do feed on God's own life. "The earth is the Lord's and the fullness thereof." The use of iron stoves was unknown to the Syrians in my childhood days; and this modern convenience is now used only by some of the well-to-do people in the large cities. The rank and file of the people, as in the days of ancient Israel, still bake their bread at semi-public ovens, a few of which are found in every village and town. This baking-place is mentioned often in the Bible, but the word "oven" in the English translation is somewhat misleading. It {201} is so because the _tennûr_ (translated "oven" in the Bible) is unknown to the English-speaking world, if not to the entire Occident. The _tennûr_ is a huge earthen tube about three feet in diameter and about five feet long; it is sunk in the ground within a small, roughly constructed hut. The women bake their bread at the _tennûr_ in turn, certain days being assigned to certain families. The one baking comprises from one hundred to two hundred loaves. The fuel, which consists of small branches of trees, and of thistles and straw, is thrown into the _tennûr_ in large quantities. It is to this that Jesus alludes in the passage, "If then God so clothe the grass which is to-day in the field, and to-morrow is _cast into the oven_, how much more will he clothe you, O ye of little faith?" When I recall the sight of a burning _tennûr_, I do not find it difficult to imagine what the old theologians meant by the "burning pit." The billows of black smoke, pierced at intervals by tongues of flame issuing from the deep hole, convert the chimneyless hut into an active {202} crater. No one who has seen such a sight can fail to understand what the prophet Malachi meant when he exclaimed, "For, behold, the day cometh, that shall burn as an oven; and all the proud, yea, and all that do wickedly, shall be stubble."[1] And no one who has seen that little hut, virtually plastered with the blackest soot, can fail to understand the full meaning of that passage in the fifth chapter of the Book of Lamentations, the tenth verse, which says, "Our skin was black like an oven, because of the terrible famine." A large baking is a source of pride as well as a means of security. A Syrian housewife is proud to have the oven all to herself for a whole day. It is a disgrace--nay, a curse--to have a small baking, or to buy bread in small quantity, "one weight" at a time. One of the terrible threats to Israel, recorded in the twenty-sixth chapter of the Book of Leviticus, the twenty-sixth verse, is this: "When I have broken the staff of your bread, ten women shall {203} bake your bread in one oven, and they shall deliver you your bread again by weight: and ye shall eat and not be satisfied." My mother often admonished us to be thankful that we were not like those who had to buy their bread by weight--that is, in small quantities. But this saying, "and they shall deliver you your bread again by weight," may mean also the weighing of the portions delivered to the various members of the family, in order that no one may receive more than any other, and that the scanty supply of food may be more carefully doled out. However, probably because no real famine ever occurred in Syria within my memory, I never knew of the actual resorting, within the family circle, to such severe restrictions in the distribution of the daily food. A similar practice, however, prevails among the Arab tribes in sharing their meager supply of water, while traveling in the desert. In order to insure equality, a pebble is placed in the bottom of a small wooden cup into which the water is poured. The draught {204} which each traveler receives at long intervals is "the covering of the pebble," that is, only the quantity of water needed just to cover the pebble in the cup. [1] Mal. iv: 1. {205} CHAPTER III "COMPEL THEM TO COME IN" The hospitality of Orientals is proverbial the world over. And while some Westerners have an exaggerated idea of Oriental generosity, the son of the East is not unjustly famous for his readiness to offer to wayfarers the shelter of his roof and his bread and salt. The person who fails to extend such hospitality brings reproach, not only upon himself, but upon his whole clan and town. But whether hospitality is extended to strangers or to friends, it is the man who entertains, and not the woman. The invitation is extended in the name of the husband alone, or, if the husband is not living, in the name of the eldest son. In the case of a widow who has no male children, a man relative is asked to act as host. The man of the house should not allow a wayfarer to pass him without offering him a "morsel of bread to sustain his heart." So did {206} Abraham of old extend hospitality to the three mysterious strangers who came upon him "in the plains of Mamre," as stated in the eighteenth chapter of Genesis, the second and following verses, "And he lift up his eyes and looked, and, lo, three men stood by him: and when he saw them, he ran to meet them from the tent door, and bowed himself toward the ground, and said, My Lord, if now I have found favor in thy sight, pass not away, I pray thee, from thy servant; ... and I will fetch a morsel of bread, and comfort ye your hearts: after that ye shall pass on." How natural and how truly Syrian all this sounds! Sarah was not at all slighted because Abraham did not say, "Sarah and I will be glad to have you stop for lunch with us, if you can." On the contrary, she was greatly honored by not being mentioned in the invitation. We have another striking illustration of this Syrian custom in the parable of the prodigal son, in the fifteenth chapter of St. Luke's Gospel. Here we are told that, when the wayward {207} boy returned to his father's house, desolate but penitent, it was the father who ran out to meet the son and "fell on his neck, and kissed him." It was the father who said to his servants, "Bring forth the best robe, and put it on him; and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet; and bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it; and let us eat, and be merry." I know well that the mother of the prodigal could not have been less affectionate nor less effusive in her welcome to her poor son than his father was. But in harmony with the best traditions of the East, and without the least intention of slighting the good mother, the record takes no notice of her. It should be stated here that the prominent mention in the Gospels of Mary and Martha as Jesus' friends and entertainers is due to the fact that to those women the Master was not merely a _guest_, but a _saint_, nay, the "promised One of Israel." As such Jesus was a privileged personage. Yet--and it is not at all strange in view of Oriental customs--Jesus took with him none of his women friends and disciples on such {208} great occasions as the Transfiguration and the Last Supper. To extend hospitality in genuine Syrian fashion is no small undertaking. Brevity on such occasions is the soul of stinginess. Oriental effusiveness and intensity of speech are never more strenuously exercised than at such times. The brief form of the American invitation, "I should be pleased to have you dine with us, if you can," however sincere, would seem to an Oriental like an excuse to escape the obligation of hospitality. Again, the ready acceptance of an invitation in the West would seem to the son of the East utterly undignified. Although the would-be guest could accept, he must be as insistent in saying, "No, I can't," as the would-be host in saying, "Yes, you must." Approaching his hoped-for guest, a Syrian engages him in something like the following dialogue, characterized by a glow of feeling which the translation can only faintly reveal:-- "Ennoble us [_sherrifna_] by your presence." {209} "I would be ennobled [_nitsherref_] but I cannot accept." "That cannot be." "Yea, yea, it must be." "No, I swear against you [_aksim 'aleik_] by our friendship and by the life of God. I love just to acquaint you with my bread and salt." "I swear also that I find it impossible [_gheir mimkin_] to accept. Your bread and salt are known to all." "Yea, do it just for our own good. By coming to us you come to your own home. Let us repay your bounty to us [_fadhlek_]." "_Astaghfero Allah_ [by the mercy of God] I have not bestowed any bounty upon you worth mentioning." Here the host seizes his guest by the arm and with an emphatic, "I _will not_ let you go," pulls at him and would drag him bodily into his house. Then the guest, happy in being vanquished "with honor," consents to the invitation. Do you now understand fully the meaning {210} of the passage in the fourteenth chapter of Luke's Gospel? "A certain man made a great supper, and bade many ... and they all with one consent began to make excuse.... And the Lord said unto the servant, Go out into the highways and hedges, and _compel_ them to come in, that my house may be filled."[1] So also did Lydia, "a seller of purple, of the city of Thyatira," invite the apostles, who had converted her to the new faith. In the sixteenth chapter of the Book of Acts, the fifteenth verse, Paul says, "And when she was baptized, and her household, she besought us, saying, If ye have judged me to be faithful to the Lord, come into my house, and abide there. _And she constrained us_." In the interior towns and villages of Syria the ancient custom still prevails that, when a stranger arrives in a town late in the day, he goes and sits in the "open space" (_saha_). While not designed to be so, this open space corresponds to the village common. In the English Bible it is called "the street." Streets, however, {211} are unknown to Syrian towns. Sitting in the _saha_, the stranger is the guest of the whole village. The citizen who first sees such a wayfarer must invite him to his home in real Syrian fashion. Failing in this, he brings disgrace, not only upon himself, but upon the whole town. It is needless to say that no people ever rise to the height of their ideals, and that failure to be "given to hospitality" occurs, even in the East. In the nineteenth chapter of the Book of Judges we have the record of a stranger who sat in the _saha_ of a certain village, but was not offered the usual hospitality very readily. This man was a Levite, and, with his wife, servant, and a couple of asses, was on his way from Bethlehem "toward the side of Mount Ephraim." "And the sun went down upon them when they were by Gibeah, which belongeth to Benjamin. And they turned aside thither, to go in and to lodge in Gibeah: and when he went in, he sat him down in a street of the city; for there was no man that took them into his house to lodging. And, behold, there came an old man from {212} his work out of the field at even.... And when he had lifted up his eyes, he saw a wayfaring man in the street of the city: and the old man said, Whither goest thou? and whence comest thou? And he said unto him, We are passing from Bethlehem-Judah toward the side of Mount Ephraim ... but I am now going to the house of the Lord; and there is no man that receiveth me to house." And in order to add to the shame of the inhospitable village the stranger adds, "Yet there is both straw and provender for our asses; and there is bread and wine also for me, and for thy handmaid [the wife], and for the young man which is with thy servants: there is no want of any thing." What a rebuke to that community! "And the old man said, Peace be with thee; howsoever let all thy wants lie upon me; _only lodge not in the street_. So he brought him into his house, and gave provender unto the asses: and they washed their feet, and did eat and drink." The old man saved the name of the town. {213} One of the noblest and most tender utterances of Job is the thirty-second verse of the thirty-first chapter. Here the afflicted patriarch, in pleading his own cause before the Most High, says, "The stranger did not lodge in the street, but I opened my doors to the traveller." Syrian rules of hospitality make it improper for a householder to ask a guest who has suddenly come to him such a question as "Have you had your lunch?" before putting food before him. The guest, even though he has not had the meal asked about by the host, considers it below his dignity to make the fact known. Upon the arrival of such a visitor, the householder greets him with the almost untranslatable words, "_Ahlan wa sahlan_." Literally translated, these words are "kindred and smooth ground"; which, elucidated further, mean, "You have come not to strangers but to those who would be to you as your kindred are, and among us you tread smooth and easy ground." And even while the guest is being yet saluted by the man of the house in the {214} protracted manner of Oriental greeting, the good wife proceeds to prepare "a morsel" for the wayfarer, whatever hour of the day or night it may happen to be. The food then is placed before the guest and he is "compelled" to eat. There is in the eleventh chapter of St. Luke's Gospel a parabolic saying which is uncommonly rich in allusions to Syrian home life. Beginning with the fifth verse we read: "And he said unto them, Which of you shall have a friend, and shall go unto him at midnight, and say unto him, Friend, lend me three loaves; for a friend of mine in his journey is come to me, and I have nothing to set before him; and he from within shall answer and say, Trouble me not: the door is now shut, and my children are with me in bed; I cannot rise and give thee?" Here we have a man to whom a guest comes at midnight; he must set something before him, whether the wayfarer is really hungry or not. The host happens to be short of bread, and he sets out to borrow a few loaves. Owing to the homogeneous character of life in the East, {215} borrowing has been developed there into a fine art. The man at the door asks for three loaves. Three of those thin Syrian loaves is the average number for one individual's meal. It was for this reason that the Master used this number in the parable, and not because that was all the bread the occasion required. For obvious reasons, the host needed to put before his guest more than the exact number of loaves necessary for one adult's meal. Perhaps because he is very sleepy, the man "within" runs counter to the best Syrian traditions in his answer. His excuse--that because the door is shut he cannot open it and accommodate his friend--has been a puzzle to a host of Western readers of the Bible. Could he not have opened the door? Or, as a certain preacher asked in my hearing, "Could it be possible that the man, because of fear of robbers in that country, had a sort of combination lock on his door which could not be easily opened?" The simple fact is that in Syria as a rule the door of a house is never shut, summer or winter, until bedtime. The words of my {216} father and mother to me whenever they thought that I had "remained wakeful"--that is, "stayed up"--longer than I should after they had gone to bed,--"Shut the door and go to sleep,"--still ring in my ears. What the man "within" meant was, not that he could not open the door, but that at such a late hour, _after the door had been shut_, it was no time to call for such favors as the neighbor asked for. "And my children are with me in bed." From this it may be inferred easily that individual beds and individual rooms are well-nigh unknown to the common people of Syria. The cushion-mattresses are spread side by side in the living room, in a line as long as the members of the family, sleeping close together, require. The father sleeps at one end of the line, and the mother at the other end, "to keep the children from rolling from under the cover." So the man was absolutely truthful when he said by way of an excuse, "My children are with me in bed." In the remaining portion of this parable, as in that of the unrighteous judge, Jesus {217} emphasizes, by commending to his disciples, the Syrian habit of importuning. "I say unto you, though he will not rise and give him, because he is his friend, yet because of his importunity he will rise and give him as many as he needeth." Again, the Master gives dignity and elevation to the common customs of his people by using them as means of approach to high spiritual ideals, when he says, "And I say unto you, ask and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you." [1] Verses 16-23. {218} CHAPTER IV DELAYING THE DEPARTING GUEST The best rules of Syrian hospitality require that when a guest from a distant town makes it known what day he expects to take his leave, the host should do his best to trick his visitor into forgetfulness of the time set, or devise some other means to delay his departure as much as possible. On the day he wishes to depart, the wayfarer says to his host, "Your exceeding bounty has covered me, far above my head; may God perpetuate your house and prolong the lives of your dear ones. May He enable me some day to reward you for your boundless generosity. And now I who have been so immersed in the sea of your hospitality [_baher karamek_] beg you to permit me to depart." Then the host, confessing his unworthiness of such praise and manifesting great surprise at the sudden announcement, begs his guest to "take no thought of departing." The {219} guest insists that he "must go," even though he could stay. The host says, "Stay, I pray you [_betrajjak_], until you partake of our noon meal; then you may depart." After the noon meal the host says, "I beg you to consider that the day is already far spent, and your journey is long, and the road is dangerous for night travel. Tarry until the morrow, and then go." The same performance takes place on the morrow, and perhaps another morrow, until the guest prevails. In the nineteenth chapter of the Book of Judges, in the story of the Levite mentioned above, we have a fine example of a generous Syrian host. His words are so much like those I often heard spoken in Syria on such occasions that it makes me feel homesick to read them. The ancient Bethlehemite was entertaining his son-in-law, who had stayed with them three days, the traditional length of such a visit in the East. So the record says: "And it came to pass on the fourth day, when they arose early in the morning, that he rose up to depart: and the {220} damsel's father said unto his son-in-law, Comfort thine heart with a morsel of bread, and afterward go your way. And they sat down, and did eat and drink both of them together; for the damsel's father had said unto the man, Be content, I pray thee, and tarry all night, and let thine heart be merry. And when the man rose up to depart, his father-in-law urged him: therefore he lodged there again. And he rose early in the morning on the fifth day to depart: and the damsel's father said, Comfort thine heart, I pray thee. And they tarried until afternoon,[1] and they did eat both of them. And when the man rose up to depart, ... his father-in-law, the damsel's father, said unto him, Behold, now the day draweth toward evening, I pray you tarry all night: ... lodge here, that thine heart may be merry; and to morrow get you early on your way, that thou mayest go {221} home. But the man would not tarry that night, but he rose up and departed." When an honored guest takes his departure, as a mark of high regard his host walks with him out of town a distance the length of which is determined by the affectionate esteem in which the host holds his visitor. At times we walked for a whole hour with our departing guest, and desisted from going farther only at his most urgent request. So in the eighteenth chapter of the Book of Genesis we are told that Abraham's guests "rose up from thence, and looked toward Sodom: and Abraham went with them _to bring them on the way_." The English phrase, however, "to bring them on the way," falls far short of expressing the full meaning of the term _shy-ya'_. Pilgrimages to holy places and fraternal feasts--such as are enjoyed on betrothal occasions, weddings, baptisms of children, and great holidays--are practically the only occasions the common people of Syria have to bring them together. On such occasions the guests {222} are invited in families; therefore the number of those who come to the feast is never exactly known in advance. The food is served in large quantities, but not in such great variety as in the West. The table appointments are very simple. There are no flowers, no lace doilies, nor the brilliant and sometimes bewildering array of knives, forks, and spoons which grace an American host's table on such festive occasions. The guests sit close together on the floor, about low tables, or trays, and eat in a somewhat communistic fashion from comparatively few large dishes. If twenty guests are expected, and thirty come, they simply enlarge the circle, or squeeze closer together. Their sitting so close to one another makes the "breaking of bread together" for these friends more truly fraternal. In the third chapter of St. Mark's Gospel, the twentieth verse, the writer speaks of the large concourse of people who followed Jesus and his disciples into a certain house. He tells us that "the multitude cometh together again, so that they _could not so much as eat bread_." {223} The cross-reference in the Bible points to the sixth chapter of the same Gospel, the thirty-first verse, where it is said, "For there were many coming and going, and they _had no leisure so much as to eat_." My opinion is that the two occasions are not the same, therefore the reference is incorrect. The first passage alludes to the fact that although, owing to the very simple table appointments among the common people of Syria, only _little space_ is required for one to eat his dinner, the crowd was so dense that not even such space was available. The second passage points to the fact that the Master's audience was a stream of people "coming and going" so that _his disciples_ had not leisure enough to eat. The preceding verse and the first half of the verse just quoted say: "And the apostles gathered themselves together unto Jesus, and told him all things, both what they had done, and what they had taught. And he said unto them, Come ye yourselves apart into a desert place, and rest a while." The remainder of the verse gives the reason why Jesus {224} felt so concerned about his fatigued and hungry disciples, by saying, "For there were many coming and going, and they [the disciples] had no leisure so much as to eat." The Syrian feels satisfied even on ordinary occasions when he can secure one or two loaves of the thin bread he habitually eats, and a few olives, or some other modest delicacy, for what the Americans would call a "lunch." He needs neither a table nor even a "lunch counter" to facilitate his eating. He can perform that essential function sitting down on the floor with his legs folded under him, standing up, or even walking, as well as seated at a table. In view of all this there is no little significance in the saying of the Gospel writer, "And the multitude cometh together again, so that they _could not so much as eat bread_." In several places in the Gospels reference is made to Jesus' "sitting at meat."[2] The marginal note in the Revised Version gives the word "recline" as the real equivalent of the {225} original Greek term which is rendered "sit" in the text. This, no doubt, is correct, so far as the original text is concerned, but the reference is to a Greek and not to a Syrian custom. The Greeks were in the habit of reclining on couches while eating, and it is not at all improbable that certain wealthy Orientals imitated this custom in the time of Christ, as certain wealthy Syrian families of the present time imitate European customs. But I fail to find, either within my own experience, or in the traditions and literature of Syria, that reclining at the table was ever countenanced as at all a proper posture; certainly never among the common people of which the Master was one. To sit erect on the floor at the low table, with the legs either folded under the body, or thrown back as in the act of kneeling, is the seemly (_laiyik_) posture, which is ever sung in Arabic poetry. In this we were instructed from childhood. On unusual occasions, such as those of sorrow or great joy, friends might rest their heads on one another's shoulders, or breasts, as John did at the Last {226} Supper, but these are rare exceptions. Good breeding and "reverence for the food" require the sitting erect at meat. Certain commentators have found the reference to the habit of reclining at meat very serviceable in explaining Mary's act of anointing Jesus' feet with nard, as he sat at supper at her home in Bethany. In the twelfth chapter of the Gospel of John, the third verse, it is said: "Then took Mary a pound of ointment of spikenard, very costly, and anointed the feet of Jesus, and wiped his feet with her hair." A similar incident is mentioned also in the seventh chapter of Luke, the thirty-sixth and following verses:[3] "And one of the pharisees desired him that he would eat with him. And he entered into the pharisee's house, and sat down to meat. And behold, a woman which was in the city, a sinner; and when she knew that he was sitting at meat in the pharisee's house, she brought an alabaster cruse of ointment, and standing behind at his feet, weeping, she began to wet his {227} feet with her tears, and wiped them with the hair of her head, and kissed his feet, and anointed them with the ointment." The explanation is that it was convenient for the woman to wash and anoint Jesus' feet in this manner, because he was _reclining_ on a couch. What I am certain of is that the couch or any elevated seat is not at all necessary in such cases. Whenever an Oriental indulges in the practice of washing his feet he sits on the floor, as is his custom, and lifts the feet into the basin of water. This is the only way I ever knew in my old home, and it is no less effective than is the more "scientific" way of the West. King James's Version renders the passage a little more difficult by giving greater definiteness to the woman's position at Jesus' feet. While the Revised Version says, "And standing behind at his feet," the older Version says, "And stood behind _him_," etc. Yet even here the couch affords no greater advantage than the floor, because by folding the legs under the body, the feet are partially visible under the knee joints {228} and could be touched from behind, and in the case of a kneeling posture, the feet may be easily reached from that direction.[4] However, it should be borne in mind here that the real significance of the entire passage is to be found, not in the woman's physical but spiritual act. It was her spirit of love and devotion to the Master, and, in the case of her who was a "sinner," her profound repentance and deep humility in touching Jesus' feet in this manner, which immortalized her act in the Scriptures. To the Orientals the feet are unclean in a ceremonial sense; they are not "honorable" members of the body; therefore to touch them in an act of devotion marks the deepest depth of humility. It was in this sense that Jesus humbled himself as an example to his disciples by washing their feet. But objections may be made to the foregoing explanation on the ground that reclining at meat is mentioned in one of the most ancient books {229} in the Old Testament, and which cannot be ascribed to the influence of Greek thought. In the sixth chapter of the Book of Amos, the third and fourth verses, it is said, according to the Revised Version: "Ye that put far away the evil day, and cause the seat of violence to come near; that lie upon beds of ivory, and _stretch themselves upon their couches, and eat the lambs out of the flock, and the calves out of the stall_." To some writers there is here a direct reference to the habit of reclining on couches while eating. But a careful study of the passage will show that its construction does not warrant such a conclusion. The passage cannot be made to read, "Ye ... that stretch themselves upon their couches _and eat_." The Hebrew word _weaukhalim_ may mean, in this connection, "while eating," or, "and the eaters,"--those that eat. The rendering of the Arabic, which is a close kin of the Hebrew, is, "Ye ... who lie upon beds of ivory, and who are stretched on cushions [_fûrsh_], _and who eat lambs_," and so forth. Here it may easily be seen that the {230} passage gives the theory of reclining at meat no real support, and the table customs of Syria past and present oppose any effort to force the passage to yield such a meaning. In his scathing condemnation of those who rolled in luxury and forgot God and his people, the prophet mentioned contemptuously the ease and the feasting of those whose life should have been more productive of good. He might have said, "Ye who lie on couches, and sing idle songs, and drink wine," as fittingly as, "Ye who lie on couches, and who eat lambs and calves." [1] The more accurate rendering of this sentence in the Revised Version is, "And tarry ye until the day declineth." In the hot season a good excuse to delay a departing guest is to beg him to wait until the cool late afternoon, "The decline of the day [_assar_]." [2] Matt. xxvi: 7, 20; John xii: 2. [3] The Revised Version. [4] As has already been mentioned, the common people of Syria wear no shoes in the house. {231} CHAPTER V FAMILY FEASTS Of the feasts which are considered more strictly family affairs, I will speak of two which live in my memory clothed with romantic charms. The one is that which we enjoyed at the "killing of the sheep." As a rule every Syrian family fattens a sheep during the summer season. The housewife feeds the gentle animal by hand so many times during the day and so many during the night, until he is so fat that he "cannot rise from the ground." No person is expected to speak of this sheep or touch him without saying, "The blessing from God" (be upon the lamb). Oh, if I could but feel again the thrilling joy which was always mine when, as a small boy, I sat beside my mother and rolled the small "morsels" of mulberry and grape-leaves, dipped them in salted bran water, and handed them to my mother to feed the "blessed sheep"! {232} Early in the autumn came the time for "killing." Wherever my father was, he came home, for the father of the household must kill the sheep. As a rule the blood of the animal was shed upon the threshold--a custom which echoes the ancient Semitic practice of thus honoring the household god. Now, however, perhaps for sanitary reasons, the sheep is killed a short distance from the door. The solemnity of the act robbed it for us of its cruelty. On the day of "killing" we sharpened the knives, crushed the salt in the stone mortar, and fed the sheep only sparingly. As the day began to decline the animal was "led to the slaughter," and laid gently on the ground, as the ancient sacrifice was laid before the Lord. My father, holding with his left hand the animal's head, made the sign of the cross with the knife on the innocent throat, and, in the name of God, slew the sheep. The fact that many householders in a community "kill the sheep" on the same day makes the occasion a reproduction of the night of the {233} exodus from Egypt. In the twelfth chapter of the Book of Exodus, the third and sixth verses, Jehovah speaks to Moses concerning Israel, saying, "In the tenth day of this month they shall take to them every man a lamb, according to the house of their fathers, a lamb for an house.... And ye shall keep it up until the fourteenth day of the same month: and the whole assembly of the congregation of Israel shall kill it in the evening." With a few intimate friends we feasted at the killing of the sheep, and then cut the red meat in small pieces "the size of a fledgeling's head," fried it in the fat, and sealed it in glazed earthen jars for our winter use. The other most joyous feast was that of the _Marafeh_--the carnivals which precede the Great Lent. For about two weeks before Lent begins, the Christians of the East give themselves over to feasting. The dish which is a great favorite on this occasion is called _kibbey_. It is made of meat and crushed wheat. The meat is "beaten" in a stone mortar, with a {234} large wooden masher, until it is reduced to a very fine pulp. Then the crushed wheat, soaked in cold water, is mixed with the meat, together with a generous supply of spices and salt. The whole mixture is then "beaten" together so thoroughly that when rightly done it resembles a lump of dough. The writer of the Book of Proverbs, with characteristic Syrian intensity, alludes to the process of _kibbey_-making in one of his assaults upon "the fool." In the twenty-second verse of the twenty-seventh chapter he says, "Though thou shouldest bray a fool in a mortar among wheat with a pestle, yet will not his foolishness depart from him." Be that as it may, the craving of a Syrian for _kibbey_ (and I fully know whereof I speak) makes the craving of a Bostonian for baked beans and fish-balls for a Sunday breakfast pale into insignificance. During _Marafeh_ friends and neighbors feast together until the last night that precedes the beginning of Lent. The feast of that night is one {235} of family solemnity, upon which no outsiders may intrude. The members of the family come together to eat the last feast and drink their cup of wine before entering upon the solemn period of self-denial, fasting, and prayer. As at the ancient sacrificial feasts, all the members of the family must be present. It was this very custom which afforded Jonathan the excuse to send his beloved friend David away from King Saul's court, and thus save him from the murderous design which that monarch had against the son of Jesse. So it was when the suspicious Saul asked his son, "Wherefore cometh not the son of Jesse to meat, neither yesterday nor to-day?" Jonathan answered Saul, "David earnestly asked leave of me to go to Bethlehem: and he said, Let me go, I pray thee; for our family hath a sacrifice in the city; and my brother, he hath commanded me to be there."[1] On that solemnly joyous evening my mother spreads the feast, and with most tender and pious affections my parents call their sons and {236} daughters to surround the low table. My father pours the wine. To us all the cup is symbolic of sacred joy. Holding the cup in his hand, my father leans forward and says to my mother, "May God prolong your life and grant you the joy of many returns of this feast!" And to us, "May your lives be long; may we be granted to drink the cup at your weddings; may God grant you health and happiness and many future feasts!" We all answer, "May your drinking be health and happiness and length of days!" My mother, after wishing my father the blessings he wished for her, and imploring the Most High to bless and keep him "over our heads," drinks next. Then the wine is passed to every one of us. "Drink ye all of it" is my father's command; for who can tell whether the family circle shall remain unbroken until the Easter festival? Not a trace of the feast is kept in the house until the morrow. What is not eaten is burned or thrown away, for on the next day no meat, eggs, or milk is permitted to the faithful. Wine also is not supposed to be indulged in {237} during Lent, until the Easter bell heralds the tidings of the Resurrection. So did the Master speak to his disciples on the eve of his suffering. In the twenty-sixth chapter of St. Matthew's Gospel we read, "And he took the cup, and gave thanks, and gave it to them, saying, Drink ye all of it.... But I say unto you, I will not drink henceforth of this fruit of the vine, until that day when I drink it new with you in my Father's kingdom." Thus from the simplest conception of bread as a means to satisfy physical hunger to the loftiest mystic contemplation of it as a sacramental element, the Orientals have always eaten bread with a sense of sacredness. "Bread and salt," "bread and wine," "Christ the bread of life," "For we, being many, are one bread," "Give us this day our daily bread," these and other sayings current in the Bible and in Oriental speech all spring from the deepest life of the ancient East. And the sacredness of this common article of food has been of most inestimable value to {238} Oriental peoples. In the absence of other means of social cohesion, and the higher civil interests which bind men together, it has been a great blessing indeed to those much-divided Orientals to find peace and security in the simple saying, "There is bread and salt between us." [1] 1 Sam. xx: 27-29. {241} PART IV OUT IN THE OPEN CHAPTER I SHELTER AND HOME Some one has said that the ancient Israelites called God a "shelter" and a "refuge," and not a "home," because for the most part the Syrians lived out of doors. All the habitation an Israelite needed was a shelter from the storm and a refuge from the enemy. Hence the prayer of the Psalmist: "For thou hast been a shelter for me, and a strong tower from the enemy,"[1] and the prophecy of Isaiah, the fourth chapter and the sixth verse, according to the Revised Version: "And there shall be a pavilion for a shadow in the day-time from the heat, and for a refuge and for a covert from storm and from rain." The assertion that the Syrian, both ancient and modern, lives for the most part out of doors is substantially correct. The long and rainless summers, the almost exclusively agricultural {242} and pastoral life of the people, outside the few large cities, and the primitive modes of travel, enable the Syrian to live his life out in the open. His one-story house, consisting of one or two rooms very simply furnished, conveys the impression that it is only an emergency shelter. Yet that artless structure and the living "close to nature" have proved so agreeable and so satisfactory to the people of the East as to defy the forces of evolution. Certainly the continuance of that simple environment, "from age to age the same," indicates that in the universal scheme of things evolution is not altogether compulsory. Man can, if he chooses, stand still, and live somewhat comfortably by simply repeating the past. To the Oriental life is neither an evolution nor an achievement, but an inheritance. To his passive yet poetical mind the ancient landmarks possess enchanting sentimental value. The thought of the same modes of life linking fifty centuries together appeals powerfully to his imagination. It spells security, and establishes {243} confidence in the laws of being, at least to old age. However, it should not be inferred from the foregoing that the Syrian thinks lightly of his humble home. No; he is a passionate lover of it, and associates with it the deepest joys and sorrows of life. But he does not have for his abode the two designations "house" and "home," which prevail in the West. The Hebrew word _bayith_ and the Arabic _bait_ mean primarily a "shelter." The English equivalent is the word "house." The richer term, "home," has never been invented by the son of Palestine because he has always considered himself "a sojourner in the earth." His tent and his little house, therefore, were sufficient for a shelter for him and his dear ones during the earthly pilgrimage. The word which is translated "home" in about forty places in the English version of the Bible does not differ in the original from the word "house," which is found in about three thousand five hundred passages in the Bible. The terms "tent," "house," "place of residence," {244} and the phrases, "to go to his kindred," "to return to his place," etc., are all translated "home," and "go home." To the Oriental the word "house" is very precious. It means the place of safe retreat (malja). And it is this word which he uses in speaking of God as his protector. It means more than "shelter." It is a place of protection and comfort. The word "refuge" is a more suitable equivalent. In that contentious East we always thought of a safe refuge in time of trouble. Every family of the common people "belonged" to some powerful lord who was its refuge in time of danger. He was strong, rich, compassionate. He protected his own. How much stronger, richer, and more compassionate, therefore, is the Lord of Hosts! The needy and much terrified Oriental discovered long ago the frailty of all earthly shelters. The King of Kings and the Lord of Hosts was his never-failing refuge. The trustful contemplation of God as an ever-present helper has steadied the faltering steps of countless generations. "The {245} Lord is my rock, and my fortress, and my deliverer; my God, my strength, in whom I will trust; my buckler, and the horn[2] of my salvation, and my high tower."[3] "God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea."[4] Is it not really worth while to fear and to suffer, if by so doing one is brought so close to God? The writer of the one hundred and nineteenth Psalm had the world in his debt when he turned his inward vision toward the Most High and prayed:[5] "It is good for me that I have been afflicted; that I might learn thy statutes. The law of thy mouth is better unto me than thousands of gold and silver." And who can estimate the debt which humanity owes to the Sufferer of Calvary? [1] Ps. lxi: 3. [2] The "horn" symbolizes strength. [3] Ps. xviii: 2, 3. [4] Ps. xlvi: 1, 2. [5] Ps. cxix: 71, 72. {246} CHAPTER II RESIGNED TRAVELERS Traveling by the "Twentieth Century, Limited," is fast transit; but, excepting in case of a wreck, the trip is devoid of incident. The mechanical perfection of the conveyance, and the infallibility of the time-table reduce journeying to transportation. There is no girding of the loins, no pilgrim's staff, no salutations by the way and no wayfarer's song. The journey is not humanized by the tender care for the camel, the mule, and the ass, nor are the hunger and thirst satisfied by the breaking of bread beside the lonely springs of water. The terrors and triumphs of St. Paul in his "journeyings often, in perils of waters, in perils of robbers, in perils by mine own countrymen, in perils by the heathen, ... in weariness and painfulness, in watchings often, in hunger and thirst, ... in cold and nakedness,"[1] are all to the {247} modern Western traveler echoes of a remote past. But such are still the common experiences of the sons of the East. One of the heroic wedding songs which was much in vogue in my boyhood days was this (addressed to the bride): "Thy father, O beauteous one, journeyed to Damascus alone!" Previous to the introduction of the railway train, which now runs between Beyrout and Damascus, the journey from my home town to the latter city consumed two days. In those days, as is still the case in many parts of Syria, men traveled in large groups for mutual protection from the "hidden dangers of the way," and he who journeyed to the ancient city alone was proclaimed hero. My memories of the tales of adventure which I heard the men relate are very thrilling. Tales of encounters with robbers, battles with snakes and wild beasts, suffering from the insufficiency of "the food for the way" (_zad_) and the thirst occasioned by the early "failure," that is, the {248} drying up, of springs of water which had been thought to be still flowing. Only those who have traveled under such circumstances can fully appreciate the promise given in the fifty-eighth chapter of Isaiah, the eleventh verse, "And the Lord shall guide thee continually, and satisfy thy soul in drought, and make fat[2] thy bones: and thou shalt be like a watered garden, and like a spring of water, _whose waters fail not_." This recalls forcibly to my mind the occasions when in our travels in the late summer we would stand at the parting of two roads and wonder which one to take. The opinion of the more experienced men in the party, that the spring of water on one of those roads was likely to be dry in that season of the year, always turned our steps in the other direction. In that thirsty land such a possibility could not be safely ignored. In those long summer days, when the mouth of the traveler on the dusty roads of Syria "turns bitter from the thirst," the arrival {249} at a spring which had "failed" is almost a tragic experience. Hence it is that the "springs of water" are one of the precious promises of the Bible, and their failure was one of the fearful threats. It was indeed a call to his disciples to make the great renunciation when Jesus sent them out to preach the glad tidings of the kingdom which was "at hand," with the command, "Provide neither gold, nor silver, nor brass in your purses, nor scrip for your journey, neither two coats, neither shoes, nor yet staves."[3] So far as the comforts and protection that earthly things can give, those disciples were sent out perfectly helpless. The Master's programme for those disciples is just the antithesis of that which an ordinary Oriental traveler follows. No traveler in the interior of Syria ever starts out on a journey, be it short or long, without _zad_. True, Syrian generosity to a wayfarer is to be depended upon, but the traditions of the country are that self-respect requires that a {250} traveler shall provide himself with _zad_, and shall accept hospitality only as a last resort. The best etiquette requires that when a traveler is invited to another's table, he should take out his _zad_ and place it before him. The host, on the other hand, positively refuses to allow his chance guest to eat of his own _zad_. The host removes the _zad_ from the table, and either adds to it and gives it to the guest upon his departure or gives him a new _zad_. Without scrip, the traveler seems to himself to be utterly a dependent, a beggar, and not a guest. "Put up a few loaves for _zad_," is the first thing said when a person is about to start out on a journey. The thin loaves are folded into small bundles, which may contain such delicacies as ripe black olives, cheese, boiled eggs, and figs conserved in grape molasses, and wrapped up in a large napkin, which the traveler ties around his waist, with the bread on the back. The bread is often carried in a leather bag (_jerab_). This is the "scrip" and "wallet" of the Gospel command. On a long {251} journey, say of a day or more, the thin bread dries up and breaks into small pieces. A dry and crumby _zad_ indicates a long journey. The Gibeonites certainly "did work wilily" when they used their dry and broken bread as a means to deceive Joshua. Although they were Israel's near neighbors, by carrying dry crumbs in their bags and saying to Joshua upon their arrival at his camp, "This our bread we took hot for our provision out of our houses on the day we came forth to go unto you; but now, behold, it is dry, and it is mouldy,"[4] made him and "the princes of the congregation" believe that the wily travelers had come from a distant country. The English translation, however, by using the word "mouldy" introduces a foreign element into the text. In the dry climate of Palestine the bread does not get _mouldy_ on a journey, but it dries up and crumbles into small fragments, as every Syrian knows. The Arabic version has it, "This our bread ... is now dry and in crumbs [_fetat_]." {252} "Provide neither gold, nor silver, nor brass in your purses." The original text has "girdles" instead of "purses." While traveling in the East we always carried our money in the girdle and only a few coins in the purse. The girdle of the present day is a stout woolen or cotton belt, which is called, in the vernacular Arabic, _kummer_. It is worn under the sash, and the longest specimen of it measures about five feet. It is double to the length of about thirty inches. The two folds are very securely sewed together at the edge, and only a small opening provided near the buckle, through which the money is inserted. The double part, containing the money, is first fastened around the waist by means of a short leather buckle, then the single part is wound over it. It may be seen here that in case of an encounter with robbers, the money cannot be snatched from its owner until he is completely subdued by his antagonist. The common people of Syria speak of the _kummer_ as of a man's financial strength. There are practically no "bank accounts." "How is {253} the _kummer_?" means, "How do you stand financially?" To tap the _kummer_ cheerfully indicates good circumstances. It is joy and glory for a youth when he reaches the age when he may have a _kummer_. The thrill of satisfaction which that possession gives still lingers with me. It was as much of a sign of maturity and independence for me to tap that Scriptural girdle which I wore, when I had money in it, as to swear by my newly sprouting mustache. It was my treasure! From all this it may be noted that the Master's command, "Provide neither gold, nor silver, nor brass in your girdles," meant, not only to carry no money on their missionary journey, but to seek and _horde_ no money. An Oriental's girdle is his bank. The part of the command which says, "Neither two coats," means two changes of clothing. The thing sought here, however, as well as in the saying, "Neither shoes," is not the abandonment of the necessary wearing apparel, but willing self-denial. {254} "Nor yet staves." The staff, or the "stick of travel," is the symbol of journeying in Syria. There, _Elkeina el'asa_ (rested the staff) means we reached the end of our journey. _El'asa_ (staff) occupies a significant place in Syrian lore. It is difficult for me to imagine a Syrian starting on a journey without an _asa_. The Israelites were given explicit directions concerning their preparations for the journey on the eve of their exodus from Egypt. They were told[5] to eat the lamb of the passover "with your loins girded, your shoes on your feet, _and your staff in your hand_." In our travels in Syria the staff was to us a most valuable support in climbing the steep hills, crossing the streams of water, battling with snakes and ferocious dogs, and with highway robbers. "The staff is a companion" is a current saying in the land. The disciples were commanded in this manner to detach themselves from the material interests of this world, and to give themselves wholly to the preaching {255} of the kingdom. In their need and in their weakness they were to be rich and strong through their vision of the eternal realities. In the tenth chapter of St. Luke's Gospel, Jesus' commission to the disciples contains the command, "And salute no man by the way." It would seem strange, indeed, that those messengers of peace and good-will, who were being sent out to spread the leaven of friendliness and good cheer in the world, should be enjoined by their Master to salute no man by the way. But when it is known in what manner the Orientals salute one another on those weary journeys, the Gospel restriction will not seem so very strange. Wayfarers in the East do not content themselves with the severely brief Western salutation, "How d' you do; nice day," and then pass on. The Oriental salutation is a copious flow of soul, whose intimacy and inquisitiveness are quite strange to the mentality of the West. When the ways of two travelers converge, or the one overtakes the other, and they decide to _yatrafeko_ (be companion the one to the other) {256} and "wear away the road in friendly speech," the salutation runs as follows:-- "_Allah y'atek el'afieh_ [May God give you health and strength]." "_Allah y'afie imrak_ [May God refresh and strengthen your life]." "Whence has your excellent presence [_heth-retek_] come, and whither are you facing?" "From Nazareth have I come, and am facing towards Damascus." "What is the precious name?" "Your humble servant Mas'ud, son of Yusuf of the clan of Ayyub [Job]." "_Wann'am, wann'am_ [All honor, all honor]!" "_Wann'am_ to your excellent presence, and your respected clan!" "What are your years?" "My years, friend, are four and thirty." "May your life be long and happy!" "May Allah lengthen your days!" "What children have you?" (It is taken for granted that a man of that age has been long since married.) {257} "Three sons in the keeping of God." "Long life to them and health and happiness!" "What men does your clan count?" "We turn out _seb'een baroody_ [seventy shotguns]." "_Seb'een baroody_! Valiant men. What enemies have you in your native town?" "Our chief enemy is the clan of Haddad. They turn out one hundred _baroody_, but whenever the iron gets hot [that is, whenever a fight occurs] we shatter their forces." Thus the mutually complimentary conversation and the searching of hearts continue until each of the travelers is thoroughly informed concerning the personal, domestic, and social affairs of the other. The trade, the income, the profession, the cares and anxieties, and even the likes and dislikes of each are made known to the other before their ways part. Hence the Master's command, "Salute no man by the way." Surely the intention was not to be rude and unfriendly to fellow travelers, {258} but to be completely absorbed by the glorious message of the Gospel. The command was given because "the king's business required haste." Even an Oriental must quicken his pace when his mission is "to seek and to save that which was lost." [1] 2 Cor. xi: 26, 27. [2] The Arabic and the Revised Versions: "make strong." [3] Matt. x: 9, 10. [4] Joshua ix: 12. [5] Exod. xii: 11. {259} CHAPTER III THE MARKET PLACE I cannot think of the market place in the East without at the same time thinking of the camel caravan. In many parts of Syria, the arrival of the caravan makes the market. _El-habbet_ (the grain) is the chief commodity, and the camel is the chief carrier. In very recent years the railway train has to a certain extent taken from the camel his ancient occupation, but it has by no means completely supplanted the "ship of the desert." The coming of camel caravans from the "land of the east" to our Lebanon town, laden with the "blessed grain," is one of my most enchanted memories of outdoor life in Syria. The sight of a train of camels, with their curved necks bridging the spaces between them, suggests to the beholder an endless line. It is not at all surprising to me to read the assertion of the writer of the seventh chapter of the Book of {260} Judges, where he speaks of the Midianites and Amalekites, that "their camels were without number, as the sand of the sea-side for multitude." It seems to me that it does not require more than a train of one hundred camels to convey the idea of endlessness. At the first glimpse of the approaching caravan we boys would swarm to the _saha_ (the open space) of the town. There the caravan unloads, and awaits the buyers of wheat. It makes me long for my early years when I read in the twenty-fourth chapter of the Book of Genesis the story of Abraham's servant when he journeyed to Mesopotamia. "And the servant took ten camels of the camels of his master and departed.... And he made his camels to kneel down without the city by a well of water at the time of the evening, even the time that women go out to draw water." It is decidedly thrilling to hear the cameleer say, _ich, ich, i--ch--ch!_ and pull at the halter of his camel to make him "kneel." And, with a friendly roar, the great beast drops, first forward on his huge, thick, {261} hardened knees, then comes down on his haunches, and then, swaying in all directions, like an island shaken by an earthquake, rests his enormous body on the ground. "At the time of the evening [in the late afternoon], even the time that women go out to draw water," the camels are led to the fountains to be watered. The ancient writer's reference to "the time that women go out to draw water" is to a Syrian as definite as the reference to a Swiss clock. _Wakket elmeliah_ (the time to fill the jars) is in the early morning and the late afternoon. For obvious reasons the women choose the "cool of the day" for carrying their heavy jars of water from the fountain to the house. The Syrian women have faithfully kept this custom from before the days of Abraham. And it is in the cool of the day that the cameleers also deem it best to water their precious animals. The women always view this event with disfavor. The thirsty camels completely drain the pond into which the surplus water of the slender fountain flows, and which the {262} housewives put to other household uses than drinking. No doubt the ancient Israelitish women in certain sections of Palestine grumbled when the cameleers drew heavily out of the wells on which the home-makers depended entirely for their water supply. But to us boys the occasion was festive. By bribing the cameleers with gifts of grapes, figs, raisins, or any other sweets, for which the craving of the Bedouins is proverbial, we were allowed to mount the camels and lead them to the water. It may be true, as some scholars assert, that the swaying walk of the camel first quickened the measured song of the Arab, but my first camel ride was anything but poetical. I had, upon the arrival of the caravan, smuggled from our store of raisins two large pocketfuls, the one with which to bribe the Bedouin to give me a ride, the other to eat while on the camel's back, like a gay rider. As I climbed confidently on the wooden saddle of the kneeling beast, the Arab, who was already devouring the raisins, stems and all, by the handful, gave {263} the familiar signal, _tshew, tshew_, and instantly the thirsty camel rose and flew toward the fountain. I felt as if my brain was being torn off its base. I lost the sense of direction, and seemed to myself to be suspended between earth and heaven, tossed by violent winds. I screamed; but the Bedouin would not let me down until I promised him the other pocketful of raisins. In Syria the _sûk_ (market place) is more than a place of exchange of commodities. It is rather an occasion of varied business and social interests. The Oriental knows no business without sociability. His _dekkan_ (store) is a gathering-place for friends, and a business transaction with him, especially in the interior of the country, is almost always preceded by a friendly visit with the customer. So the market is a place where the dignitaries of the town meet and exchange salutations and discuss various interests. The social nature of such occasions is indicated in Jesus' warning to his disciples, "Beware of the scribes, which love to go in long clothing, and _love salutations in the {264} marketplaces_."[1] Apparently those teachers of Israel were very frequent visitors at the markets, where men of all classes paid them the homage which their calling, if not their person, merited. In the past the Arab markets were also significant conventions of literary men, especially poets. Discussions of all sorts of subjects are carried on at the market. So it was in Athens in Paul's time, where he "disputed ... in the market daily with them that met with him."[2] And, of course, the children love to gather in the market place, play their pranks, and watch the interesting activities of their elders. It was to such a crowd of youngsters that Jesus likened the fickle and peevish men of his time. In the eleventh chapter of St. Matthew's Gospel, the sixteenth verse, he says, "But whereunto shall I liken this generation? It is like unto children sitting in the markets, and calling unto their fellows, and saying, We have piped unto you, and ye have not danced; we have mourned unto you, and ye have not lamented." {265} To my youthful mind the chief charm of the market place was the _keyyal_ (measurer). The strong man who measured the wheat will live in my memory as long as life endures. He it is who gives the "good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over." In Syria the custom is that every measure must run over. Friendship must forever be mixed with business. Liquid measures, also, of such things as milk and oil, must run over a little into the vessel of the buyer, for "with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again."[3] After the price has been agreed upon, the sturdy cameleer spreads his ample cloak on the ground and pours the golden grain in a heap upon it. The _keyyal_ kneels by the little hillock of wheat, and, naming the Holy Name, thrusts the _midd_ (a wooden measure) into the precious wheat. The grain is sacred; therefore, the language of the _keyyal_ must be pious. As he tosses the first measure into the buyer's bag, or the skirt of his cloak, he says, "Blessing!" that {266} means "One"; "From God" means "Two." Then the counting is continued in the ordinary language--three, four, and so on. After it is first thrust into the heap of wheat, the _midd_, about half full, is whirled around on its bottom, lifted slightly from the ground and dropped several times. The _keyyal_, constantly repeating the number of the _midds_ he has already measured, "lest he forget," pours the wheat into the measure with his hands, packs it down with his palms, and all his strength. He whirls the _midd_ round again, shakes it, presses it, and again heaps the wheat, pyramid-like, above the rim. The circular shower of the golden grain falls gently over the edges. The artful _keyyal_ pours small handfuls of wheat with his right hand into his left, which is formed into a funnel over the apex of the heaped _midd_, until the point is "as sharp as a needle's." Then with swift deftness, which elicits the admiration of the spectators, he lifts the heaped measure and tosses it into the bag, without allowing a single grain to fall outside. {267} With what telling effect and rich simplicity does the Master allude to this custom of measuring grain in the Eastern markets. In the sixth chapter of St. Luke's Gospel, the command and the promise are, "Give, and it shall be given unto you; good measure, pressed down, and shaken together, and running over, shall men give into your bosom." But the word "bosom" here somewhat weakens the sense of the text. I do not know why the English translators used it in place of the original word "lap." The Oriental does not carry grain in his _bosom_, but in the skirt of his ample garments, much as a woman carries things in the fold of her apron. Again the word "lap" is used here in another and a more significant sense. It is the symbol of plentifulness; just as the "bosom" is the symbol of affection. The generous measure, even though it be poured into one's bag, as a _blessing_, may be said to be given into his _lap_. Here again, as in many other Scriptural passages, Jesus gives the ideal spiritual touch to the common things of life. Here an ordinary {268} act is made the symbol of the fullness of the spiritual life. He whose life is like the divine Parent's life--a perpetual outgoing and an everlasting gift--shall never lack anything. Men will be taught by his generosity how to be generous themselves, and the divine Giver will give him of the fullness of his own life. There is no void which the divine life cannot fill, no need which it cannot meet, and no hunger which it cannot satisfy. [1] Mark xii: 38. [2] Acts xvii: 17. [3] Matt. vii: 2. {269} CHAPTER IV THE HOUSETOP While a caravan of camels needs no other means than its own majestic appearance to herald its arrival into a town, muleteer merchants shout their wares from the housetop. Upon the arrival of a muleteer into the _saha_ of the town with a load of lentils, potatoes, apricots, or any other commodity, he "drops the load" from the animal's back onto the ground, and goes upon the roof of the nearest house and proclaims his wares at the top of his voice, in prolonged strains. To reach the flat earthen roof of the one-story Syrian house needs no extension ladder. It is so easily and quickly reached by the few rough stone steps in the rear of the house that Jesus, in speaking of the incredibly swift coming of the "end" in the twenty-fourth chapter in St. Matthew's Gospel, says, "Let him which is on the housetop not come down to take any thing out of his {270} house." So sudden was to be the consummation of the Eternal's design, "because iniquity shall abound, and the love of many shall wax cold," that even the short distance between the housetop and the ground could not be safely traversed by those who cared for earthly possessions. The ease with which the roof of an ordinary Syrian house is reached accounts also for the carrying of the man who was "sick of the palsy" upon the housetop. The account in the second chapter of St. Mark's Gospel, the third and fourth verses, runs, "And they came unto him, bringing one sick of the palsy, which was borne of four. And when they could not come nigh unto him for the press, they uncovered the roof where he was; and when they had broken it up [the Arabic, "broken through"], they let down the bed wherein the sick of the palsy lay." This account describes perfectly the process of making an opening in a Syrian roof. In St. Luke's Gospel, however, the statement {271} is:[1] "And when they could not find by what way they might bring him in because of the multitude, they went upon the housetop, and let him down through the _tiling_ with his _couch_ into the midst before Jesus." The coloring here is decidedly Roman and not Syrian. The writer of Luke was a Latin Christian. He related the incident in terms which were easily understood by his own people. The Syrians never covered their roof with tiles nor slept on couches. Mark's account speaks of uncovering the _roof_ and letting down the _bed_. The Syrian roof is constructed as follows: The main timbers which carry the roof covering are laid across, horizontally, at intervals of about two to three feet. Crosswise over the timbers are laid the _khasheb_ (sticks long enough to bridge the spaces between) quite close together. Over the _khasheb_ reeds and branches of trees and thistles are laid, and the whole is covered with about twelve inches of earth. The dirt is rolled down by a stone roller and made hard enough to {272} "shed water." In many houses during the summer season an opening, called _qafa'a_, is made in the roof for the purpose of letting down the grain and other provisions which are dried in the sun on the housetop. The space between the timbers admits easily the large basket called _sell_, which is as big around as a bushel basket. Now, those who let down the palsied man either made an entirely new opening in the roof, or simply extended the _qafa'a_ enough to admit the unfortunate man in his folded quilt or thick cushion, tied by the four corners. And it was this which Jesus commanded him to carry, when he said to him, "Arise, and take up thy bed, and walk." From the foregoing it may be seen that a couch could not have been so easily let down through the roof, nor _carried_ by the newly healed man. Sleeping on the housetop in the summer season is an Oriental custom the advantage of which the Occident has just "discovered." To use the roofs of high buildings in American cities as sleeping quarters is a "new" suggestion of {273} that genius known as the "social reformer." To the ancient East, "there is nothing new under the sun." However, to dwell on the housetop is an expression which symbolizes desolation. Nevertheless the writer of Proverbs says:[2] "It is better to _dwell_ in a corner of the housetop, than with a brawling woman in a wide house." From the housetop the muleteer merchant shouts his wares; from the housetop men call one another for various purposes; from the housetop the _nowateer_ (men appointed by the municipality to watch the vineyards) proclaim the names of trespassers; and from that elevation the special orders of the governor of the district are proclaimed to the populace. By night or by day, whenever we heard a voice calling from a housetop, we instinctively listened most intently in order to catch the message. The voice of the crier is so much like a distant, prolonged railway whistle that in my first few years in America, whenever I heard {274} such a sound, especially in the night, I listened involuntarily, expecting to hear a message. How often must Jesus have heard the free and full voice of the crier from the housetop! How it must have appealed to him as the very antithesis of the whisperings of fear, cowardice, and doubt, may be realized from his command to his disciples. In the tenth chapter of St. Matthew's Gospel we read Christianity's declaration of independence. Here the antagonism of the world is portrayed with complete fullness. "Behold, I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves." "Ye shall be hated of all men for my name's sake." "Fear them not ... for there is nothing covered, that shall not be revealed; and hid, that shall not be known." In the face of all hatred and danger and death the Master's command to those who carried the world-transcending message, the supreme treasure of time and eternity, was, "What I tell you in darkness, that speak ye in light: and what ye hear in the ear, that preach ye upon the housetop." {275} In the rainless Syrian summer the housetop is used for various household purposes. The grass which grows on the earthen roof, especially on its thick edges, withers early in the season. To this the Scripture alludes in several places where it speaks of the enemies of Israel as being "like the grass upon the housetops, which withereth afore it groweth up." In some cases the whole roof is plastered with clay mortar and used for drying grain, fruits, and vegetables. Also in the summer season the housetop is used for holding wedding festivities and funeral gatherings, which almost all the adult inhabitants of the town are supposed to attend. With solemn brevity does the prophet Jeremiah refer to this custom in the forty-eighth chapter, and the thirty-eighth verse. The more accurate rendering of the Revised Version is: "_On all the housetops_ of Moab and in the streets thereof there is lamentation every where." The custom of praying on the housetop, which has come down from the time when the Syrians worshiped the "hosts of heaven," still {276} survives in the East. In the first chapter of the Book which bears his name, the prophet Zephaniah threatens with the awful retribution of Jehovah those who indulged in this practice. "I will also stretch out mine hand upon Judah, and upon all the inhabitants of Jerusalem; and I will cut off the remnant of Baal from this place ... and _them that worship the host of heaven upon the housetops_." This custom survives in Syria, although much less extensively than in the past, and it is "the God of the whole earth" that is worshiped, and not the host of heaven. With much reverential regard I still remember an old neighbor of ours, a devout Maronite, a man who really feared God and worked righteousness, whose habit was to say his evening prayer upon the housetop. Of all the rich treasures of our Scriptures, few perhaps are more precious and dearer to Christian hearts than the record of Peter's vision while in the city of Joppa, and which is so intimately associated with that low, flat, earthen Syrian roof. The tenth chapter of the Book of {277} Acts hints at the broader and more profound spirit which had begun to agitate the inner life of the "very small remnant" of expectant souls in Israel. The wider horizon which the Christ of God had revealed to his Jewish disciples had engendered serious doubts in their minds with regard to the exclusive claims of Judaism to the blessings of the Messianic kingdom. The spirit of the Beatitudes and the Parables was resistlessly pressing the claims of all the eager Gentiles to a share in those blessings. No doubt the soul of Peter, the ultra-conservative disciple, was rent in twain and wavered in its allegiance between the old claims of a "chosen people" and the new vision of a universal kingdom founded on purity of heart and hunger and thirst after righteousness. It would seem that while in such a state of mind, and after the Oriental custom, "Peter went up upon the housetop to pray about the sixth hour;[3] and he became very hungry, and {278} would have eaten: but while they made ready, he fell into a trance, and saw heaven opened, and a certain vessel descending unto him, as it had been a great sheet knit at the four corners, and let down to the earth; wherein were all manner of four-footed beasts of the earth, and wild beasts, and creeping things, and fowls of the air. And there came a voice to him, Rise, Peter; kill, and eat. But Peter said, Not so, Lord; for I have never eaten any thing that is common or unclean. And the voice spake unto him the second time, What God hath cleansed, that call not thou common." Peter obeyed. That Oriental, who was not afraid of the mystic revelations of God's designs took the lesson to heart. Presently we see this conservative Jew again at the home of Cornelius, the Roman, and hear him interpret his own vision. "Of a truth," he said to the Roman soldier, "I perceive that God is no {279} respecter of persons: but in every nation he that feareth him, and worketh righteousness, is accepted with him." Here we have the sure basis of Christian unity and the unshaken foundation of a human commonwealth. "Other foundation can no man lay." When all the sects and nations who profess to be the followers of Jesus Christ respond to this Scriptural summons, and give decent burial to their divisive creeds, however "authoritative" they might think them to be, then will the world have valid reason to expect swords to be beaten into ploughshares, and to hope for the coming of God's kingdom upon the earth. [1] Luke v: 19., [2] Prov. xxi: 9. [3] The noon hour, according to Oriental calculation: Timepieces are set at twelve, at sunset. Six o'clock is the hour of midnight and midday. The time kept by Western peoples is known in Syria as _affrenje_. So the laborers who came to work at "the eleventh hour," as it is mentioned in Matthew, the twentieth chapter, and the ninth verse, came one hour before sunset. {280} CHAPTER V THE VINEYARDS AND THE FIELDS From time immemorial the vine and the fig tree have been the Oriental's chief joy. Together with their actual value they possessed for him a sacred symbolic value, especially the vine. The fullness and sweetness of their fruits symbolized the joys of the kingdom of heaven. The mystery of the wine cup, which the world has so sadly vulgarized, remains very sacred to the Oriental. Christ used "the fruit of the vine," or, as the Arabic version has it, the _yield_ of the vine,--meaning the wine, and not grapes,--as the visible means of spiritual communion. In the fifteenth chapter of St. John's Gospel the Master says, "I am the vine, ye are the branches." This usage was no doubt extant in the East before Christ. The vine, as a symbol of spiritual as well as physical family unity, is spoken of in the Old Testament. Israel's was Jehovah's vine. "Thou hast brought a vine out of Egypt" is the {281} plaintive cry of the writer of the eightieth Psalm: "thou hast cast out the heathen, and planted it. Thou preparest room before it, and didst cause it to take deep root, and it filled the land.... Return, we beseech thee, O God of hosts: look down from heaven, and behold, and visit this vine; and the vineyard which thy right hand hath planted." We always thought and spoke of the Church as "the vine which God has planted." The chanting of the foregoing words of the Psalmist by our priest of the Greek Orthodox Church, with his hand uplifted over the solemnly silent congregation, remains one of the most beautiful memories of my youth. We spoke also of the family as a vine. One of the tenderest passages in the whole Bible is the third verse of the one hundred and twenty-eighth Psalm: "Thy wife shall be as a fruitful vine by the sides of thine house: thy children like olive plants round about thy table." "They shall sit every man under his vine and under his fig tree; and none shall make them {282} afraid,"[1] is Micah's vision of peace and security. To a Syrian in America the reading of this passage is strongly conducive to homesickness. To sit in the luxuriant shade of the fig tree was a daily blessing to us in the summer season. It must have been in that season of the year that Jesus first met Nathanael. In the first chapter of St. John's Gospel we read: "Jesus saw Nathanael coming to him, and saith of him, Behold an Israelite indeed, in whom is no guile! Nathanael saith unto him, Whence knowest thou me? Jesus answered and said unto him, Before that Philip called thee, _when thou wast under the fig tree, I saw thee_." I have no doubt that Nathanael's habit of sitting under the fig tree was one of the characteristics which made him "an Israelite indeed." The wine press is an ancient landmark in Syrian life, and one of the most picturesque features of the Scriptures. The word "press" is likely to be misleading in this mechanical age. The grapes are not _pressed_ by any mechanical {283} contrivance, but are trodden with the feet. Therefore, to the Orientals the wine press is _ma'sara_ (squeezing place). The grapes are thrown in a heap in a stone-flagged enclosure about the size of an ordinary room, and trodden by the men in their bare feet. Much gayety characterizes the _ma'sara_ season. The work is carried on day and night until all the grapes which had been gathered by the various families for the _ma'sara_ are converted into wine and molasses. The quaint songs and stories which I always loved to hear the "treaders" exchange, as they walked back and forth over the grapes, come to me now like the echoes of a remote past. And as I recall how at the end of a long "treading" those men came out with their garments spattered with the rich juice of the grapes of Lebanon, the words of Isaiah--"Wherefore art thou red in thine apparel, and thy garments _like him that treadeth the wine fat_?"[2]--breathe real life for me. But in this age of rampant microbiology I {284} introduce this subject with at least an implied apology. The picture of men treading grapes in this manner and under such circumstances will not, I fear, appeal strongly to the æsthetic sense of my readers. Nevertheless, all the Scriptural wine, including the cup of the Last Supper, was produced in this way. To the Orientals the mystic fermentation and the fire purify the juice of the vine. The precious juice runs from the wide, stone-flagged enclosure into deep wells, where it is allowed to become _rawook_ (clear juice). The fresh _rawook_ is considered a delicious drink. One of Job's bitter complaints against those who oppressed the poor was that those unfortunates were made to "tread the wine presses, and _suffer thirst_."[3] Having been allowed thoroughly to settle, the juice is then heated according as to whether the wine is to be "sweet" or "bitter." The longer the juice is boiled the sweeter the wine. Sweet wine is called _khemer niswani_ (woman wine); the men, as a rule, preferring the "bitter" wine. In {285} making molasses of the grape juice, fine white clay is scattered over the grapes before they are trodden, in order to hasten and insure a perfect settling of all the coarse organic matter while the juice is in the "clearing wells." I often wonder whether it is because the memories of youth grow more romantic with the passing of the years, that the agricultural life of the Orient seems to me more poetical than that of the Occident, or whether it really is more enchanting. It seems to me that tools possess more charms than machinery does, and handwork of the more instinctive type is much more interesting than the carefully studied and designed task. The life of the American farmer is too intelligent to be romantic. There is so much in him of the agricultural college and the farm journal. No awful mysteries haunt his scientifically treated fields. Insect powders and the daily weather report and the market "quotations" arm him with forethought, and make of him a speculating merchant. The constant {286} improvements of agricultural implements place a wide and ever-widening gulf between the American farmer and his forefathers. Not so with the Syrian farmer. To this man life is not an evolution, but an inheritance. If the men who tilled Abraham's fields in Hebron should rise from the dead to-day, they would find that the four thousand years of their absence from the earth had effected no essential changes in the methods and means of farming in the "land of promise." They would lay their hand to the plough and proceed to perform their daily tasks, as though nothing had happened. A very few European ploughs are being tried in certain sections of Syria, but that is all. The Syrian sower goes forth to sow with his long, primitive plough on his right shoulder, the yoke hanging from the left shoulder and the leather bag of seed strapped to his back. In his left hand he carries his long, hard, strong goad--the same as the one with which "Shamgar, son of Anath, slew of the Philistines six hundred men." Through this simple instrument he keeps {287} in touch with his pair of oxen, or cows, which pace leisurely before him. The plough, which consists of two wooden beams joined together, measures about twelve feet in length. The quantity of wood in the Syrian plough makes plain the meaning of the passage in the story of the prophet Elisha, son of Shaphat. In the nineteenth chapter of the First Book of Kings, the nineteenth verse, we have the account of Elijah's first meeting with his successor Elisha, when he was ploughing in the field, "with twelve yoke of oxen before him, and he with the twelfth." So, when Elijah cast his mantle upon him, the son of Shaphat "took a yoke of oxen, and slew them, _and boiled their flesh with the instruments of the oxen_, and gave unto the people, and they did eat. Then he arose, and went after Elijah, and ministered unto him." At the forward end the long plough is hooked to the yoke, and at the rear end joined to a cross-piece, whose upper extremity forms the _cabousa_ (handle); and the lower holds the iron ploughshare. When he puts "his hand to the {288} plough," he simply grasps the _cabousa_ with his right hand while he wields the goad with his left. The uneven, stony ground and the lightness of the plough compel him to maintain a firm hold on it, and to look ever _forward_. In the ninth chapter of St. Luke's Gospel, the sixty-second verse, Jesus makes excellent use of this point when he says, "No man, having put his hand to the plough, and _looking back_, is fit for the kingdom of God." The parable of the sower, in the thirteenth chapter of St. Matthew's Gospel, is a faithful picture of the environment of the farmer in the region of Galilee and Mount Lebanon. That primitive farmer does not sow his seed by means of "drills" in symmetrical rows. Out of his leathern seed bag he takes generous handfuls of grain and, "in the name of the bounteous God," he casts the blessed seed into the soil, and then "covers it" by ploughing. The bridle paths which wind through the fields, and the still narrower footpaths which the wayfarers make through those fields every season in {289} taking "short cuts" on their weary journeys, provide ample chance for "some seeds" to fall "by the wayside," and be devoured by the fowls of the air. In certain sections of the country where I was brought up the "stony places" are the rule and the "good ground" the exception. So the seeds which "fell upon stony places" came up quickly "because they had no deepness of earth; and when the sun was up, they were scorched." There is another reason for this than the shallowness of the soil. The almost utter lack of rain in that country from April to October leaves no chance for seed cast into shallow soil to live long. "And some fell among the thorns; and the thorns sprang up, and choked them." For this the Syrian farmer himself is largely to blame. He preserves the thorns for cattle feed and for fuel. Certain kinds of thorns, especially _bellan_, are used as fuel for summer cooking, which is done out of doors, and for baking at the _tennûr_.[4] Other thorns are harvested, after the barley and {290} wheat harvests, threshed, and stored for winter feed. In the sixth verse of the seventh chapter of the Book of Ecclesiastes the writer says, "For as the crackling of thorns under a pot, so is the laughter of the fool." The threshing of thorns is referred to in the Book of Judges,[5] where it says, "When the Lord hath delivered Zabah and Zalmunna into mine hand, then I will tear your flesh with the thorns of the wilderness and with briers." But here again the English translation fails to give an exact rendering of the text, although the marginal note replaces the word "tears" by the word "thresh." The Arabic version says, "I will _thresh_ your flesh with the thorns and briers of the wilderness _with the threshing boards_," which is an exact picture of the treading of the oxen as they drag the threshing board over the thorns upon the threshing floor. When a boy it was a great delight to me to wander in the wheatfields when the grain had just passed the "milk stage" and had begun to {291} mature and harden. It is then called _fereek_, and is delicious to eat, either raw or roasted. I could subsist a whole day by plucking the heads of wheat, rubbing them in my hand and eating the fat, soft, fragrant grain. From time immemorial wayfarers in the East have been allowed to trespass in this manner, provided they carried no more grain away than that which they ate. In the twenty-fifth verse of the twenty-third chapter of the Book of Deuteronomy the reading of the Revised Version is, "When thou comest into thy neighbor's standing corn, then thou mayest pluck the ears with thine hand; but thou shalt not move a sickle unto thy neighbor's standing corn." It was the indulgence in this practice by the disciples, on the Sabbath, which formed the basis of the Pharisees' protest to Jesus to the effect that his followers dishonored the sacred day. In the sixth chapter of St. Luke's Gospel, the first verse, the Revised Version rendering of the text is, "Now it came to pass on a sabbath, that he was going through the grainfields and his disciples plucked the {292} ears, and did eat, rubbing them in their hands." The protest of the guardians of Israel's law, and Jesus' answer in the verses which follow, give us another revelation of the Master's central thought and motive as a religious teacher; namely, that man's legitimate needs take precedence of all ecclesiastical formalities. I do not believe any account of agricultural life in Syria should omit mentioning the plague which above all others strikes terror into the heart of the Eastern tiller of the soil. In his prayer at the dedication of the temple, Solomon mentions "blasting, mildew, locust, and caterpillar."[6] Of all those unwelcome visitors, the locusts are the most abhorred. I will give my impression of this pest in a quotation from my autobiography:[7] One of the never-to-be-forgotten phenomena of my early years, a spectacle which the most extravagantly imaginative American mind cannot picture, was the coming of the locusts into our part of the country. If my memory serves me well, I was about twelve years old when my father {293} and all his men, together with all the male population over fifteen, were impressed by the governor of our district to fight the devastating hosts of Oriental locusts. No one who has not seen such a spectacle and the desolation those winged creatures leave behind them can appreciate in the least degree the force of the saying of "The Lord God of the Hebrews" to Pharaoh, "If thou refuse to let my people go, behold, to-morrow I will bring the locusts into thy coasts."[8] For a few weeks before they deluged our district the news came with the caravans that the locusts were sweeping toward our region from the "land of the south." We youngsters did not know why our elders were so terror-stricken when they heard of it, until the scourge had come and gone. It was a few weeks before the time of the harvest when the clouds of locusts enveloped our community. They hid the sun with their greenish-yellow wings, covered the trees and the ground, the walls and roofs of the houses, and dashed in our faces like flakes of snow driven by the wind. The utter hopelessness of the task which confronted our people and seemed to unite all classes in despair, assumed in my sight a very comic aspect, and converted the calamity into a holiday. It was so amusing to me to see our sedate aristocrats and old men and women join the youth {294} and the common laborers in shouting, beating on tin cans, firing muskets, setting brush on fire, striking at the cursed insects with their hands, stamping them with their feet, and praying God to send "a strong wind" to drive the enemy of man away. Every _mutekellif_ (payer of the toll-tax) had to fight the locusts for so many days or hire a substitute, I do not clearly remember whether it was the beating on tin cans and howling of the people or the prayed-for "strong wind" that drove the merry locusts away. What I do remember is that when they did go away they left the land almost stripped clean of every green thing. It was no vain threatening when the writer of Deuteronomy warned Israel, saying, "If thou wilt not hearken unto the voice of the Lord thy God,, to observe to do all his commandments.... All thy trees and fruit of thy land shall the locust consume."[9] [1] Mic. iv: 4. [2] Is. lxiii: 2. [3] Job xxiv: 11. [4] See page 201. [5] Judges viii: 7. [6] 1 Kings viii: 37. [7] _A Far Journey_, page 109, etc. [8] Exod. x: 40. [9] Deut. xxvii: 15, 42. {295} CHAPTER VI THE SHEPHERD "I am the good shepherd" is one of Jesus' most tender, most compassionate sayings. The first sixteen verses of the tenth chapter of St. John's Gospel, from which this saying comes, should be joined to the twenty-third Psalm. Notwithstanding the fact that John's words are tinged with Greek thought, as descriptive of shepherd life in the East, those two portions of Scripture belong together. The various phases of shepherd life in Syria are indelibly printed in my memory. Our mountain village home was situated on the upper slope of a rather steep hill, at the base of which a thin stream flowed over its rocky bed. Across the narrow ravine, on the lower slope of another hill, just opposite our home, there were three sheep and goat folds. There for years I watched the shepherds and their flocks go out and come in, morning and evening, from early {296} spring until late autumn, when the shepherds dismantled the folds by removing their thorny fences, pulled down their rude bowers, and led their flocks to the "lowlands," where they spent the short winter season. The wailing of Isaiah, in the twelfth verse of the thirty-eighth chapter (Revised Version), "My dwelling is removed and is carried away from me as a shepherd's tent," reminds me very strongly of the easy removal and complete disappearance of that temporary shelter, which I so often saw torn down and carried away. While at work in the fields cutting stone for my father's building operations in various parts of Mount Lebanon, the shepherds were all around us. In those days I watched the shepherd lead his flock "into the waters of rest," or the restful, refreshing waters, which the English version renders "still waters." I watched him as, by inarticulate, deep, guttural sounds, whistling, certain characteristic words which the flock seemed to understand, and the flinging of pebbles or "smooth stones," such as those {297} with which David smote Goliath, he guided, I might say invited, the "blessed creatures," into every nook and corner among the rocks where there was pasture. It was this solicitous watchfulness of the shepherd which the writer of the twenty-third Psalm had in mind when he said, "The Lord is my shepherd, _I shall not want_." In the heat of the day the shepherd made his flock "to lie down" in the pasture ground, and the "blessed ones," as the shepherd always calls his sheep and goats, would fold their nimble legs and lie down, singly and in small groups, a surpassing picture of contentment, trustfulness, and peace. They seemed to realize that although they were in the wilderness they had nothing to fear. For the loving shepherd, with his strong and heavy staff, was in their midst to ward off all danger from them. The opening verses of the tenth chapter of the Gospel of John contain most significant allusions to the sheepfold. "Verily, verily, I say unto you, He that entereth not by the door into the sheepfold, but climbeth up some other {298} way, the same is a thief and a robber." Here the reference is to the fold of the dry season, such as those I have already mentioned. The winter sheepfold is a roofed stone hovel called _merah_. It has one low door and no windows; therefore, by climbing up the fold, "some other way" the robber could secure no booty. The roofless fold is called _hedherah_ and is built of rough stones (such as are used in New England stone fences) to the height of five feet. Above the stone construction rises a high _seyaj_ (hedge) of thorny branches, securely fastened between the stones. It is this hedge which is especially designed to prevent the "thief and robber" from climbing into the sheepfold. "But he that entereth in by the door is the shepherd of the sheep. To him the porter openeth; and the sheep hear his voice: and he calleth his own sheep by name, and leadeth them out." The shepherd's rude tent is located near the door. There also his faithful dog lies. The word "porter" in the text refers more, perhaps, to a Greek than Syrian custom. However, in case of {299} large flocks, the under-shepherd, or the "helper," who guards the door, answers to the "porter." The calling of the sheep or goats by name should not be taken literally. The animals are not named as persons are. The shepherd _knows_ all the members of his flock by certain individual characteristics, and realizes the fact quickly when one of them is lost. The more prominent ones are given adjectival names, such as the "pure white," the "striped," the "black," the "brown," the "gray-eared," etc. But it should be borne in mind that the saying, "And he calleth his own sheep by name, and leadeth them out," indicates the tender love of the shepherd for his flock, but not that the animals answer to their names. They are never trained to do that. He "leadeth them out," not by calling their names, but by giving certain sounds which they recognize. "And when he putteth forth his own sheep, he goeth before them, and the sheep follow him: for they know his voice." I find that the strong emphasis which commentators in general place {300} upon the shepherd's going _before_ the flock carries the impression that he does so _invariably_. So far as I know, this is not absolutely correct. _As a rule_, the shepherd goes before the flock, but not infrequently he is seen behind it. The shepherd walks behind, especially in the evening when the flock is on its way to the fold, in order that he may gather the stragglers and protect them from the stealthy wolf. The shepherd often walks by the side of the flock, at about the middle of the line. In case of large flocks the shepherd goes before, and the helper behind. One of the great delights of my boyhood days was the sight of the "returning flock" every evening on the pebbly road on the side of the hill close by our house. I go up on the housetop at dusk. As soon as I hear the swishing roar of the multitude of little sharp hoofs on the stony road, which is like the sound of an approaching hailstorm among the trees, then I know that the "blessed ones" are near. The long line of horny and hornless heads sweeps down the slope {301} of the hill like an army on a "double-quick." With his strong, protecting staff in hand, the stalwart, tender, ever-watchful shepherd appears at the end of the line, and like an overshadowing Providence _guides_ his beloved flock safely over the little stream and into the fold. The effective, and, I might say, unerring, guidance of the shepherd is especially shown when he leads his flock in the "narrow paths." In Syria as a rule the fields are not fenced. The pastures and the planted fields are separated by narrow footpaths, and here and there by low stone walls, which are intended, however, more for landmarks than for fences. The fields are the forbidden ground. In transferring his flock from one pasture to another, the shepherd must not allow any of his animals to stray from the beaten path into the fields. For if he does, he will not only have to pay damages to the owners of the fields, but will ruin his own reputation as a shepherd. In my home town we had a shepherd who was widely famed for his skill in leading his flock in the narrow paths. Sa'ied, who {302} supplied our community with goat's milk during the summer, was often known to guide a flock of about one hundred and fifty head of goats (which are much more unruly than sheep) without a helper, in a narrow path or over a stone wall, for a considerable distance, without allowing a single one of them to set foot on the forbidden ground. The flock obeyed him because they _knew his voice_ as that of their good shepherd. It was no doubt such shepherds as Sa'ied that lent the writer of the twenty-third Psalm his telling figure. It was the faithful guidance of such earthly shepherds that led the ancient singer to meditate upon the Lord's faithfulness to his own, and to utter his faith in the line, "He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake." The fields of temptation lie on either side of the narrow path of rectitude and life. The Lord will protect and lead in the right path all those who know Him and hear His voice. Another enchanting picture of Syrian pastoral {303} life is the gathering of the flock. The shepherd seeks and gathers his sheep for the purpose of transferring them to a richer pasture, or, at the end of the day, to lead them back to the fold. He stands in the midst of the far-scattered flock and gives certain sounds, which are to the sheep what the notes of a bugle are to an army. His trained right arm, whose long range and precision are proverbial, sends the pebbles whirring in all directions, and thus "turns back" the more heedless of the flock. It was this which the Psalmist had in mind when he said, "He restoreth my soul." The Arabic phrase _yeriddo nefsee_, means, "he turns back my soul," and refers to the action of the shepherd in turning the course of his sheep toward himself. The faithful shepherd never proceeds to lead his flock away until he is assured that all his dumb companions are gathered together. With what pathos does the prophet Ezekiel portray this pastoral scene when he speaks of the infinite compassion of the divine shepherd of Israel, who never slumbers nor sleeps! In the {304} thirty-fourth chapter, the eleventh verse, the promise to scattered Israel is, "For thus saith the Lord God: Behold, I, even I, will both search for my sheep, and seek them out. As a shepherd seeketh out his flock in the day that he is among his sheep that are scattered; so will I seek out my sheep, and will deliver them out of all the places where they have been scattered in the cloudy and dark day. And I will bring them out from the people, and gather them from the countries, and will bring them to their own land, and feed them upon the mountains of Israel by the rivers, and in all the inhabited places of the country. I will feed them in a good pasture, and upon the high mountains of Israel shall their fold be; there shall they lie in a good fold, and in a fat pasture shall they feed upon the mountains of Israel.... I will seek that which was lost, and bring again that which was driven away." The climax of the shepherd figure, as it is used in the tenth chapter of the Gospel of John, is reached in Christ's saying, "I am the good {305} shepherd: the good shepherd giveth his life for the sheep," and in the twenty-third Psalm, in the passage, "Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me: thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me." Only those who have heard the howling of a faithful shepherd at the approach of a wild beast to the flock can clearly realize how literally true is this saying of Christ's: "The good shepherd giveth his life for the sheep." Of all the shepherds I have known or have known about in my native land, the commanding figure of one--Yusuf Balua'--rises most prominently before me. I never want to forget old Yusuf. He was over sixty when I first knew him. He was every inch a shepherd, having known no other vocation in all his life. I knew that elemental man in the "lowlands," where I spent two winters with my father, who was called thither to erect several farmhouses for the lord of the land. Yusuf, as he himself expressed it, "revered" my father; therefore, I {306} was always welcome to visit Yusuf at his cave in the rocky gorge, and to roam with him and his flock whenever my duties as my father's helper permitted. The flocks are kept in the "lowlands" until after the "time of birth," which comes in March; then they are led up into the mountains. It was during that blessed time of birth, and while with Yusuf, that I first beheld the original of that infinitely tender picture which is drawn in the fortieth chapter of Isaiah, the eleventh verse, and which is also Christ's most appealing picture. "He shall feed his flock like a shepherd," says the prophet; "he shall gather the lambs with his arm, and carry them in his bosom, and shall gently lead those that are with young." The text is very effectively improved by the marginal note which says, "and shall gently lead those that _give suck_." It was that which Yusuf Balua' was doing once when I happened to be with him. His roughly hewn figure stands now before me, with three newly born lambs held close to his bosom, and their {307} wilted heads resting on his massive arm. He walked gently before the anxious, slowly moving mothers, which came close behind him, emitting low, humming sounds, through which Nature poured out her compassionate heart. "Let me carry one of them," I begged Yusuf. "No, my boy, not the helpless ones," answered the tender friend. "They need the shepherd's care now. Besides, the mothers don't know you and they would fear." But they knew _his_ voice and followed him! Oh, if we will but know and trust and follow our heavenly Shepherd, as the sheep trust and follow theirs! But I must not lose sight of what I have called the climax of the shepherd figure in the Gospel and the Psalms; namely, the shepherd's interposing with his own life between the flock and the wolf. The wolf, the hyena, and the leopard are the flock's most formidable foes. During his long life Yusuf fought many battles with those ferocious beasts, but never lost a hoof to them in all those encounters. On more {308} than one occasion he followed the hyena to his lair, and, by his characteristic howling, flinging his deadly stones with his sling, and striking with his heavy staff on the rocks, compelled the beast to abandon his prey. Whether the unfortunate sheep was yet alive or whether it had died, Yusuf, as a good and faithful shepherd, always carried it back to the fold. Does not the prophet Amos assure Israel of their Shepherd's infinite care for them in an allusion to the faithful seeking by the earthly shepherd for even a fragment of his lost sheep? "Thus saith Jehovah," cries Amos; "As the shepherd _rescueth out of the mouth of the lion two legs, or a piece of an ear_; so shall the children of Israel be rescued."[1] To this care and devotion of the shepherd, Jesus also alludes in his parabolic saying in which he speaks of his having "come to save that which was lost." "How think ye? if a man have an hundred sheep, and one of them be gone astray, doth he not leave the ninety and nine, and goeth into the mountains, {309} and seeketh that which is gone astray? And if so be that he find it, verily I say unto you, he rejoiceth more of that sheep, than of the ninety and nine which went not astray. Even so it is not the will of your Father which is in heaven, that one of these little ones should perish!"[2] When I think of that deep, rocky gorge where Yusuf wintered with his flock, and the many similar valleys which the Syrian shepherds have to traverse daily; when I think of the wild beasts they have to fight, of the scars they bear on their bodies as marks of their unreserved and boundless devotion to their flocks, I realize very clearly the depth of the Psalmist's faith when he said, "Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me: thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me." [1] Amos iii: 12. Revised Version. [2] Matt. xviii: 12-14. {313} PART V SISTERS OF MARY AND MARTHA CHAPTER I WOMAN EAST AND WEST Perhaps on no other subject do the Orient and the Occident diverge more widely than on that of the status of woman. So far as they really differ, and as they imagine that they differ in their regard for woman, the Orientals and the Occidentals form two distinct human types. From the beginning of their history, the Teutonic races, especially the Anglo-Saxons, have been characterized by their high regard for woman. This trait of the dwellers of north-western Europe so impressed the Latin Christian missionaries, when they first visited those peoples, that they described them as having "such high regard for woman to the extent that adultery was unknown among them." And while the concluding phrase of this historical testimony does not describe the present state of Anglo-Saxon society with absolute correctness, {314} the statement as a whole seems to me to be a substantially correct description of present Anglo-Saxon life. Among the peoples of north-western Europe, and especially among their descendants in America, woman enjoys man's highest regard. On the other hand, "the Oriental view of woman" has always been considered by those Western peoples to be very contemptuous. We always hate most deeply that vice which is the opposite of our strongest virtue. We are most likely to exaggerate and to condemn mercilessly any deviation from that which we ourselves consider to be the sacred path of duty. Respect for woman being one of his strongest virtues, the Anglo-Saxon is lashed to fury by what seems to him to be the Oriental's utter disrespect for the mother of the race. As I have already stated in other connections in this work, my object is neither to accuse the Oriental nor to excuse his moral failures. My aim is rather to interpret him to my Western readers and to determine, if possible, to what {315} extent he really is a transgressor of the normal rules of behavior toward woman. My intimate knowledge of life in both hemispheres and my affectionate regard for the good qualities of both the Orientals and the Occidentals lead me to venture to be a reconciler of their differences. They certainly misunderstand one another, especially with reference to the domestic and social relations of the sexes. Time was when the various races hugged their prejudices close to their own hearts and really enjoyed ridiculing one another. But "the hour cometh and now is" when the peoples of the earth are beginning to realize that righteousness and truth, kindness and good manners, are the exclusive possessions of no one race. The peoples of the earth are beginning to realize that a mutual sympathetic understanding between the various races is an asset of civilization, and a promoter of the cause of that human commonwealth for which all good men pray and hope. Therefore, as one who owes much to both the East and the West, {316} I deem it my duty to do what I can to promote such a sympathetic understanding, without doing violence to the truth. What is an obvious fact, and which can by no means be ignored, even by the most zealous special pleader, is that the Eastern woman is far from being the equal of her Western sister, either in culture or in domestic and social privileges. Perhaps in no other country does woman enjoy these blessings to the extent to which the American woman enjoys them. Woman as man's intellectual companion, as a promoter of ideals, as a factor in domestic and social evolution, the Orient has never known. The Western type of woman is now partially represented in my native land by a minority of cultivated women, but their number is comparatively very small. The Oriental social code (if the simple social usages in that part of the world may be termed such) gives man the precedence. To give woman the social and domestic prominence, the little attentions and courtesies which she {317} enjoys in America, is to the Orientals not only unnecessary, but uncomplimentary to both sexes. It is perhaps for lack of such attentions and courtesies, more than for anything else, that the Occidentals consider the Oriental woman to be the slave of her husband. And, conversely, because of his giving the precedence to woman in all the courtesies and comforts of life, the Orientals, _both men and women_, consider the Occidental to be the slave of his wife. How often have I heard Syrians say, "An _affrenjee_ [that is, a European] is quite a man until his wife whispers something to him. Then he becomes her slave; he does just what she tells him." The Oriental's indifference to those fine points of behavior toward woman does not spring from the fact that he considers her to be intrinsically his inferior, and consequently his slave. I never had the slightest reason, nor the faintest suggestion, either by example or precept, to believe that my mother was in any way {318} my father's inferior. "Thou shalt honour thy father _and_ thy mother" is a commandment which was born of the deepest life of the East. I can think of no circumstances in Eastern life which compel a Syrian to think of his mother, sister, and wife in other than terms of equality in all essentials with the male members of the family.[1] In my judgment it is the Oriental's deportment, rather than his real intentions, which condemns him in the sight of Occidentals for his attitude toward woman. It is perhaps hazardous to undertake to differentiate between character and conduct, between the motive and the method by which that motive is put into action. It is customary, however, to say of a person that "his heart is in the right place, but he does not know how to act." I venture to say that {319} this characterization fits the case of the average Oriental. His heart is in the right place. His natural endowments are good. He is quick-witted, kind, generous, pious, obedient to parents, and a lover of his home. So far as all these fundamentals are concerned, I find no great difference between the Easterners and the Westerners. However, compared with his Western cousin, the son of the Near East has only a slight acquaintance with the _art_ of living. The working-out of details with the view of creating harmony has always seemed to him vanity and vexation of spirit. His intense desire for simple, spontaneous, easy living has always refused to be encumbered by exacting standards. In this respect he is a boy in man's clothing. For an example, the home to him is little more than a shelter. The riches of the home are not the artistic appointments, but human associations. Architectural schemes, interior decorations, books, musical instruments, living by the clock, and other Western glories are to the Oriental {320} dispensable luxuries. The one-room or two-room house, very simply furnished, is the essential part of the home. Why then should one be burdened with more? The "color scheme," the harmony or contrast of wall-paper with picture frames and carpets, and the thousand and one articles of useful and ornamental furniture which crowd the American home and make the "servant-girl problem" well-nigh insoluble, are to the average Oriental a delusion and a snare. His table appointments are also very simple. To him the "one thing needful" is enough food to sustain life. He has no "cook-book." The varieties of cake and pie, and the multitude of side dishes which load the American table, do not appear on the Syrian's bill of fare. One dish of cooked cereals, or meat and rice or some other wholesome combination, and a few loaves of bread, satisfy his hunger. His modest stores of grape molasses, figs, and raisins, which he visits at irregular intervals, satisfy his craving for sweets, and his home-made wine gives color and gayety to his feasts. {321} The same simple rules govern the Oriental's social activities. Whether as an individual or as a domestic and social being, he hates to be standardized. To him formalities have no claim upon those who are true friends and social equals. Spontaneous living must not be too closely yoked with etiquette, nor native wisdom with technical culture. "_Meta weck'at elmahabbet artafa' ettekleef_" (when love occurs formalities cease) is one of the Oriental's ancient and cherished maxims. From early childhood the Americans are taught to observe, even within the family circle, the niceties of "Please," "Thank you," "Pardon me," "I beg your pardon," "May I trouble you," and so forth. To a son of the East such behavior is altogether proper among strangers, but not among those who really _love one another_. Between husband and wife, parent and child, brothers and sisters, and true friends such formalities appear to Easterners not only superficial, but utterly ridiculous. For such persons the most essential thing is that they should love one another. As {322} lovers they have a right to _demand_ favors from one another. The commands of love are sweet; they must not be alloyed with tiresome formalities. Of course this "friendliness" of the Oriental is not altogether an unmixed blessing. He relies too much upon his good intentions, which his conduct does not always show. Judged, not only by Western standards, but by the standards of the cultivated minority of his own people, he is found wanting. It is not always easy for him to be familiar without being vulgar, and to distinguish between the legitimate claims of friendship and intrusion upon the exclusive rights of others. His plea always is that he means well, which is generally true. "His heart is in the right place." Now I believe it can be easily seen that the Easterner's attitude toward woman, which now rises to the height of religious reverence, now verges on contempt, is to be traced to his uneven, juvenile temperament and lack of culture, and not to the fact that he despises her. {323} So long as he respects her "in his heart" and is ready to defend her at whatever cost, he considers the fine points of conduct toward her after the American fashion to be simply dispensable little details. Nor does his attitude toward woman differ essentially from his attitude toward the male portion of mankind. He has one vocabulary for both sexes, with the inclination to be more respectful toward the gentler sex. So woman in the East is not considered a slave by the man, and there is a multitude of wife-ruled husbands. The family system, however, is patriarchal. The man is recognized as the "lord of the household." The venerable father of a family is supposed to rule, not only over the women of the household, but over his grown sons, his younger brothers, and even the men of his clan who are younger than himself. But such an authority is often purely formal. The higher the level of culture in the home, the more freedom and equality exists among the members of the family. In cultivated Syrian {324} homes the women are free and highly and uniformly respected by the men. Such women have no reason to envy even the happiest American women. [1] My statements apply particularly to the Christian women of Syria, who enjoy greater domestic and social privileges than the Mohammedan women. However, notwithstanding the serious limitations which orthodox Mohammedanism imposes upon women, it would be sheer injustice to the better class of Mohammedans to be stigmatized as enslavers and debasers of woman. {325} CHAPTER II PAUL AND WOMAN Perhaps nowhere else is the Syrian attitude toward woman so clearly stated as in the teachings of St. Paul. The great Apostle deals with the fundamentals of this subject, and speaks freely of both the privileges and the limitations of woman in the Christian East. In the third chapter of the Epistle to the Galatians, the twenty-eighth verse, Paul says, "There is neither male nor female: for ye are all one in Christ Jesus." And this equality is not to be understood to be limited to the bestowal of church rites upon men and women alike. It embraces the essential points of conduct of the male and female members of the household toward one another. Fidelity to the marriage vow is to be equally observed by both husband and wife. This the Apostle urges upon his fellow believers, not as a superior authority, {326} but as a friend. In the seventh chapter of the First Epistle to the Corinthians, the fourth verse, he says, "The wife hath not power over her own body, but the husband; and _likewise_ also the husband hath not power over his own body, but the wife." In the fourteenth verse of this same chapter, the equal potency of the spiritual influence of both the husband and the wife is also recognized. "The unbelieving husband," says the Apostle, "is sanctified by the wife, and the unbelieving wife is sanctified by the husband." In the fifth chapter of the Epistle to the Ephesians, the "Apostle to the Gentiles" rises to the noblest height of Eastern thought concerning woman and reveals Christianity's conserving and sanctifying power. Beginning at the twenty-fifth verse, he says: "Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the church, and gave himself for it; that he might sanctify and cleanse it, ... that he might present it to himself a glorious church, not having spot, or wrinkle, or any such thing; but that it should be holy and without blemish. {327} So ought men to love their wives as their own bodies. He that loveth his wife loveth himself. For no man ever yet hated his own flesh; but nourisheth and cherisheth it, even as the Lord the church." This is precisely what the marriage union in the East always meant to us. By this sacred bond the husband and the wife are made "one flesh." That the Oriental has not definitely succeeded in making his daily conduct always conform to his highest ideals and to the noble precepts of the Gospel is evident, and not at all strange. Here he has succeeded no better than his Anglo-Saxon superior has in conforming his conduct to the command, "Love your enemies." My point is that down deep in the Syrian heart the spirit of Paul's words abides. It serves the son of the East in time of trouble as his quick and tender conscience. The real trouble with him has been his aversion to strictly systematic living. He does love his wife as he loves himself, but in reality he does not fully know how to love himself. {328} Paul, on the other hand, does not ignore the conventional limitations which Eastern traditions impose upon woman. He recognizes the patriarchal government of the family. In the chapter just quoted, the Apostle says: "Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands, as unto the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife, even as Christ is the head of the Church." Much trouble may be avoided by the unfriendly critics of Paul and Christianity in general, if such critics would keep in mind the conditional nature of this command. Whether as a Syrian or as an American I do not believe in subjecting the wife to the husband, nor the husband to the wife. Domestic life should be based on perfect coöperation of husband and wife, in spiritual as well as in administrative matters. Toward this goal the Americans have made the greatest advance. However, Paul's command can by no means be justly construed as giving the husband unlimited tyrannical authority over the wife. "The husband is the head of the wife, _even as Christ is the head of the {329} Church_." The church is not the slave of Christ, but his beloved bride. So the supremacy here is that of loving care and consideration. Therefore, the fact that the traditions of the East give the man conventional supremacy over the woman has never meant to us sons of that land that our mothers and sisters were abject slaves. And it should be borne in mind that the women of Syria are not always so submissive as those traditions would lead a Westerner to believe. I might say that in the majority of cases the man finds it no easy task to make his formal authority over the woman of real effect. The heartfelt complaints of discouraged husbands, that "not even all the angels of heaven can subdue a woman," are not unfrequently heard in the land of the Bible. Perhaps the part of Paul's teaching which seems to Westerners to seal the fate of woman is that found in the eleventh chapter of the First Epistle to the Corinthians. Here the Apostle declares: "For a man indeed ought not to cover his head, forasmuch as he is the image and glory {330} of God: but the woman is the glory of the man. Neither was the man created for the woman; but the woman for the man." I think any serious Bible student will easily realize that as a good shepherd Paul must have felt that he should not travel much faster than the weakest of his flock. In the passage just quoted he stoops low for the purpose of accommodating the prejudices of _certain_ Orientals. And in so doing he contradicts his own saying, "There is neither male nor female: for ye are all one in Christ Jesus," and the great passage in the first chapter of Genesis, the twenty-seventh verse, "So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him; _male and female_ created he them." The Eastern man has from time immemorial decreed that woman's social privileges should be limited, because of his fear for her. In such an unstable social order as that which has existed in the East for ages woman is constantly exposed to danger. Woman-stealing was very prevalent in ancient times, and is still practiced {331} among the Arabian tribes which hover on the eastern borders of Syria. In modern Syria such practices no longer exist, but their faint echoes are still heard in times of tribal fights. On such occasions the cry is heard (and I often heard it myself), "You dogs, to-day we shall take your women booty [_nesbee hereemekûm_]." It is because of these ancient fears, and not from a desire on the part of the man to enslave her, that the social privileges of the woman in the East are so limited. The duty to protect always carries with it the right to discipline. And the greater the danger, the more strict the discipline. The weaker men of the clan, because they need to be protected, are also in subjection to the "men of counsel" (_ahil erry_) and to the stronger fighters. And it may be easily inferred that in such circumstances woman's charms are a danger to her. She must be secluded, as among the Mohammedans, or simply limited in her social intercourse, as among the Christians, in order to hide those charms from the curious stranger. {332} For this reason also she must be heavily veiled when she goes out, as among the Moslems, or at least have her head covered always, as among the Christians. So when Paul said, "Every woman that prayeth or prophesieth with her head uncovered dishonoreth her head,"[1] he simply gave wise recognition to an ancient social custom. A more liberal course on his part would have marked Paul as a violent disturber of venerable traditions. The chief charm of an Oriental woman is her _hishmat_ (modesty). But modesty in a stricter sense than that accepted in the Occident. Feminine timidity (_jubn_) is very extensively sung by the Arabian poets. A charming woman, especially a maiden, is she who is timid, shy, retiring, of a few words. "She has a mouth to eat, but not to speak," is a high tribute paid to a maiden. For a woman to take a leading part in conversation in the presence of men is boldness. I do not know how they manage to do it, but, _as a rule_, in the presence of men the women of {333} Syria exercise marvelous control over their organs of speech. Do you understand now why Paul says, in the fourteenth chapter of his First Epistle to the Corinthians, the thirty-fourth verse, "Let your women keep silence in the Churches: for it is not permitted unto them to speak; but they are commanded to be under obedience"? To Oriental ears, as perhaps to Puritan ears of the good old type, such words are poetry set to music. They do not degrade, but honor woman by not making her common. It would, perhaps, throw further light on the Easterners' regard of woman as a sacred being when it is known why they call the wife _hûrmat_. This term is derived from _heram_--a consecrated and wholly sacred object. _Heram_ is the name of the Mohammedans' most sacred shrine of Mecca. The wife is the husband's most sacred possession, therefore she is called _hûrmat_. The plural of this is _harem_, a term which to Westerners has a most obnoxious connotation. But not so to Orientals. In the West {334} _harem_ simply means sensuality and polygamy in their worst form. In the East it means simply and purely the women of a household, or of a clan, whether it be Christian or Mohammedan. It does not necessarily mean plurality of wives. A man's mother, wife, sisters, and daughters constitute his _harem_; for they are all sacred to him. Now it will not be difficult to understand, I believe, why it is that the man in the East takes precedence of the woman in all social affairs, and why the sexes are segregated at public feasts and on other similar occasions. It is for the same reason that we find no women disciples at the Last Supper. In the parable of the prodigal son, the father meets the returning penitent, the father bestows "the best robe" on the son, the father orders the feast, and doubtless presides over it. So it was also when Abraham entertained the angels, and Zacchæus entertained Jesus--the man was the entertainer. However, in these two cases the women might have acted as hostesses,--because the {335} guests were holy persons. We have a striking example of the freedom which is permitted to women in such cases in the story of Mary and Martha. They entertained Jesus, first because apparently they had no parents living, and their brother was young, and second because Jesus was no mere guest, but a holy person.[2] Notwithstanding all these social conventions, however, the mother has a right to demand from her children the same loving obedience which they accord to their father. They must honor their father and their mother alike. Upon coming home from a journey I always saluted my parents by kissing their hands, as a mark of loving submission. According to custom, I saluted my father first, and my mother second, but in the same identical manner, and invoked their _radha_ (good pleasure) toward me, with religious reverence. I always knew that to disrespect and disobey my mother was not only bad manners, but a sin. So obnoxious has disobedience to parents been to the respectable {336} families of the East that the ancient Israelites made it a capital crime. In the twenty-first chapter of the Book of Deuteronomy the stipulation of the law is: "If a man have a stubborn and rebellious son, which will not obey the voice of his father, or the voice of _his mother_, and that, when they have chastened him, will not hearken unto them: then shall his father _and_ his mother lay hold on him, and bring him out unto the elders of his city, and unto the gate of his place; and they shall say unto the elders of his city, This our son is stubborn and rebellious, he will not obey our voice.... And all the men of his city shall stone him with stones, that he die."[3] Needless to say that this cruel punishment is no longer inflicted upon rebellious sons in the East. The record, however, indicates the joint authority of the husband and wife over their own children, and the public approval of it. But there is more to be said about _radha-elwalideen_ (the parents' good pleasure). I do {337} not know whether the words "good pleasure" convey the real significance of the word _radha_, which as it pertains to parents is one of the most sacred terms in Oriental speech. The _radha_ of a parent is a benediction which includes complete forgiveness to the child of all offenses and indicates the parent's spiritual satisfaction with his offspring. To secure the parent's expressed _radha_ at the hour of death is equal to a sacrament. I can think of no human experience that can be more impressive, more tender, and more deeply religious than that of an Oriental imploring a dying parent to assure him of his or her _radha_ before the end came. The weeping son grasps the hand of his dying parent, and, leaning over tenderly to catch the faint utterances, says: "Father,[4] bestow your _radha_ upon me; forgive me and bless me, so that Allah also may forgive and bless me; your _radha_, father!" If the departing parent is still able to speak, he looks up toward heaven and says: "You have my _radha_, my dearly beloved {338} son; and may Allah bestow his holy _radha_ upon you and bless you and the work of your hands. May the earth produce riches for you, and heaven shower benedictions upon you; pray for me, my dearly beloved." But if the departing father or mother is no longer able to utter words, the repeated pressing of the hand and the turning of the eyes upward indicate the parent's response to the petition of the son or daughter. The refusal of a parent to grant his _radha_, which is most rare, is to an Oriental a haunting horror. In ancient Israel the deathbed blessing was bestowed with special emphasis upon the first-born son because with it came the heritage of the patriarchal office. Thus, when Isaac bestowed his last blessing upon his tricky son Jacob, he said:[5] "God give thee of the dew of heaven, and the fatness of the earth, and plenty of corn and wine: Let people serve thee, and nations bow down to thee: be lord over thy brethren, and let thy mother's sons bow down {339} to thee." And what is also most touching in this story is poor Esau's agony when he discovered that the blessing to which he was the rightful heir had gone to his brother. "And Esau said unto his father, Hast thou but one blessing, my father? bless me, even me also, O my father. And Esau lifted up his voice and wept."[6] [1] 1 Cor. xi: 5. [2] See page 207. [3] Verses 18-21. [4] The same also is asked of the mother. [5] Gen. xxvii: 28, 29. [6] Gen. xxvii: 38. {340} CHAPTER III JESUS AND HIS MOTHER One of the perplexing passages in the New Testament is that found in the fourth verse of the second chapter of St. John's Gospel, where Jesus says to his mother, "Woman, what have I to do with thee?" That it has been very difficult for many devout readers of the Bible to reconcile this passage to the Master's gentleness and goodness is very well known to me. On numerous occasions I have been asked to give my interpretation of this saying in the light of the status of woman in the East, and to state whether, in my opinion as a Syrian, Jesus could have meant to be harsh and disrespectful to his mother. Before undertaking to give my own view of this passage, I wish to present two interpretations of it which I have heard certain American preachers give. One of those preachers who was proud to call himself "a free lance" stated in my hearing that on the {341} occasion when Jesus spoke these words "he simply lost his temper." The redeeming feature of this comment, in my opinion, is its brevity. It is short, but neither sweet nor to the point. The other interpreter (or interpreters, for I do not recall where and when I heard this), assuming that the station of woman in the East was very low, stated that by addressing his mother in a seemingly harsh manner, Jesus infringed no rule of propriety. Having already stated at considerable length the "Oriental view of woman," I deem it necessary here simply to say that the foregoing interpretation rests on a misconception of the facts. In trying to throw some light on this passage I will say that, notwithstanding its seeming harshness in the English translation, I find no real reason to believe that in uttering it Jesus indicated that he was angry, or that he meant to be disrespectful to his mother. This somewhat impersonal form of address to a woman is very common in the East. It _might_ be so spoken as to mean disrespect, but as a rule, and {342} according to the Oriental manner of speech, it is dignified and in good taste. At present the term _hûrmat_ is more extensively used in such cases in Syria. Among the nobility and the educated minority of the people the word _sitt_ (lady) is employed in addressing a woman. However, this impersonal form of address is employed by a man when speaking to a woman who is a stranger to him. The correct form is, "O woman," the same which Jesus used in saying to the "woman of Canaan," in the fifteenth chapter of Matthew, the twenty-eighth verse, "O woman, great is thy faith: be it unto thee even as thou wilt." In the same manner the Master assured the woman who had "a spirit of infirmity,"[1] "Woman,[2] thou art loosed from thine infirmity." A superb example of this Oriental usage is found in the fourth chapter of St. John's Gospel, the twenty-first verse, in Jesus' conversation with the Samaritan woman. With solemn dignity he says to her: "Woman, {343} believe me, the hour cometh, when ye shall neither in this mountain, nor yet at Jerusalem, worship the Father.... But the hour cometh, and now is, when the true worshippers shall worship the Father in spirit and in truth." From the foregoing examples it may be easily seen that the form of Jesus' address to his mother could not be considered disrespectful. Therefore the difficulty which the text offers springs from the fact that it represents Jesus as speaking to his own mother as he would speak to a woman _who was a stranger to him_. Why did he do that? The answer to this question depends partially on thorough knowledge of Oriental thought and largely on acquaintance with the theology of St. John's Gospel. As every Bible scholar knows, the purpose of this Gospel is to present Jesus to the world as the incarnation of the Logos--the Word. Here the Master is spoken of, not as the prophet of Galilee, but as the One who came down from heaven. Therefore the Son of God was by virtue of this supernatural character above all {344} earthly connections. His mother was only human, only finite. On the occasion of his addressing her as a stranger she is represented as interfering with him as he was about to work a miracle. Such a thing, according to St. John's Gospel, was beyond her understanding. Consequently as a _divine_ being speaking to a _human_ being, Jesus said to his earthly mother, "Woman, what is mine and what is thine?" This is the original form. The English translation, "Woman, what have I to do with thee," is good, although the more refined attitude of the West toward woman makes the expression seem rather harsh. Stated in simplest terms the Oriental understanding of these words is, "Leave me alone." In Jesus' case the further implication of the passage is that, as Mary's vision of spiritual things was not Jesus' vision, even though he was her son in the flesh, she was not competent to exercise authority over him, seeing that he was a divine being. In a higher sense she was a stranger to him. With real consistency the writer of the Fourth {345} Gospel clings to this view of Jesus' divinity to the end. In the nineteenth chapter we find the Master speaking from the cross. He speaks, not as a human sufferer, but as a triumphant heavenly being. He addresses his mother in the same manner as he did at the marriage feast in Cana of Galilee--"Woman." In the twenty-fifth verse it is said: "Now there stood by the Cross of Jesus his mother, and his mother's sister, Mary the wife of Cleophas, and Mary Magdalene. When Jesus therefore saw his mother, and the disciple standing by, whom he loved, he saith unto his mother, Woman, behold thy son!" In this lofty yet tender manner the Master committed his loving mother to the care of his beloved disciple. The excellent qualities of a man are credited by Orientals largely to _haleeb el-omm_ (the mother's milk) and the mysterious influences of the prenatal period. Aside from its nutritive qualities, _el-redha'_ (suck) is supposed to possess certain mystic influences which tend to fashion the possibilities of character. Whenever a man, {346} especially a youth, speaks "words of wisdom," his admiring hearer is likely to exclaim, "Precious was the milk that nourished thee!" Among the choice blessings which Jacob asked for Joseph the patriarch did not forget to include the "blessings of the breasts, and of the womb."[3] Nothing can be loftier to an Oriental than the passage in the eleventh chapter of St. Luke's gospel, the twenty-seventh verse. Jesus is represented in the preceding verses as disputing triumphantly with his theological adversaries. His trenchant periods, "Every kingdom divided against itself is brought to desolation.... He that is not with me is against me," and his simple yet profound reasoning that a human heart which is not filled with the spirit of God is bound to become the abode of evil spirits, deeply stir his hearers. So the text tells us, "A certain woman of the company lifted up her voice and said unto him, Blessed is the womb that bare thee, and the breasts which thou hast sucked!" {347} The most solemn occasion on which I heard this expression used in my native land was that when the great Patriarch of Antioch visited our town in Mount Lebanon. Upon his arrival at the priest's house, where he was entertained, the waiting multitude, including the governor of the district, stood with bowed heads to receive the prelate's benediction. I shall never forget that scene. Standing in the door, our revered and beloved patriarch seemed to us to be a visitor from the celestial sphere, full of truth and grace. As he lifted his right arm and imparted his blessing to the silent assemblage, a woman of our church, a mother, who was almost overcome with emotion, advanced toward the spiritual ruler, and with her face and open palms turned toward heaven, exclaimed, in the vernacular Arabic, "Blessed be the inwards that bore you, and the breasts you sucked!" Whereupon the distinguished visitor bestowed a special blessing upon the humble suppliant, to the great satisfaction of the profoundly affected multitude. [1] Luke xiii: 12. [2] The English translation changes the form, "O woman" to "Woman" arbitrarily. [3] Gen. xlix: 25. {348} CHAPTER IV "A GRACIOUS WOMAN" To the East woman is known only as wife and mother, and, of course, as the home-maker. The statement, "Woman's place is in the home," is never a matter of dispute in that part of the world. In the home are to be found both "woman's rights" and woman's duties. Education, literary pursuits, "club life," and civic endeavors are no vital interests to the Eastern woman, nor to her husband to any appreciable extent. Marriage is a religious union. The highest and most sacred duty of the husband and wife is to beget many children, bring them up "in the fear of the Lord," and be such good example to them, as to enable them to live a pious life, and to transmit their good heritage to the unborn generations. Marriage of inclination, preceded by a period of courtship as in the West, is very rare in the East. The reason of this has {349} been hinted in the preceding chapters. Lack of education and social and political stability necessitates the curtailing of woman's social privileges, for her own safety. These limitations are especially narrow in the case of "maidens," or "virgins"; that is, unmarried young women. They are not supposed to participate in social functions as their mothers do, nor to form friendships with young men, even among their near relatives. The contracting of a marriage is not so much an individual as it is a clannish affair. The young people may, or may not be acquainted with one another. Among Christians, the young man may frequent the home of his future wife's parents, and even converse with her now and then, but only in the presence of other members of the family. "Going with a young lady" is unknown to the East, and is a feature of Western life which Orientals generally condemn. The marriage is agreed upon by the families or clans of the contracting parties, because the family or clan is involved in the conduct and affected by the {350} reputation of each one of its members. The shame of a woman is a burden to all her kindred. Interclannish marriages form alliances and impose defensive and offensive obligations. Whenever a woman of one clan, who is married into another, is cruelly treated by her husband, her own clansmen are supposed to rise and defend her, else they become a byword in the community. This difference of procedure between the East and the West in contracting a marriage does not seem to result in a decidedly marked difference in domestic happiness. In both the East and the West, the perfectly happy and the perfectly unhappy marriages are rare. In both hemispheres the large majority of married people soon learn that domestic happiness depends in no small measure on adherence to the well-known rule: "In essentials unity; in non-essentials liberty; in all things charity." As I have already stated, the Oriental does not know the art of living as the Occidental does, yet the Easterner enjoys as much home happiness {351} as those Occidentals who are on the same level of culture with him. Women in the East are classified, not with reference to education and social interests or the lack of them, but with reference to virtue and its opposite. A happy husband says, "I lift my head high [_arfa' rasy_] because of my wife. Her _siett_ [reputation] is like musk in fragrance. She is _taj rasy_ [a crown to my head]." So also speaks the writer of the Book of Proverbs, in the twelfth chapter, and the fourth verse: "A virtuous woman is a crown to her husband: but she that maketh ashamed is as rottenness in his bones." In both the East and the West the opinion is accepted that "as a jewel of gold in a swine's snout, so is a fair woman which is without discretion."[1] The Orient and the Occident diverge considerably in their description of feminine charms in poetry and literature. Here I find the Orientals to be very inconsistent. Their strong aversion to the free mention of women in {352} conversation and to her sharing of social privileges equally with the man, contrasts very sharply with their license in describing her charms in their poetry. A most perfect specimen of this poetry in the Bible is Solomon's Song. Its Oriental freedom in describing the "beloved spouse," renders it practically unfit for public use. Its poetical charms are exquisite, and its passion is pure, but judged by Western standards, the faithfulness of its realism appears licentious. It is exhilarating to read the poet's lines in which he calls his "fair one" to go with him into the fields and vineyards. "Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away. For, lo, the winter is past, The rain is over and gone; The flowers appear on the earth; The time of the singing of birds is come, And the voice of the turtle dove is heard in our land; The fig tree ripeneth her green figs, And the vines are in blossom, They give forth their fragrance. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away. O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, In the covert of the steep place, Let me see thy countenance, {353} Let me hear thy voice; For sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely."[2] In the opening verses of the fourth chapter the poet's vision of his "love" is also beautiful. "Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; Thine eyes are as doves behind thy veil: Thy hair is as a flock of goats, That lie along the side of mount Gilead. Thy teeth are like a flock of ewes that are newly shorn Which are come up from the washing; ... Thy lips are like a thread of scarlet, And thy mouth is comely." All this is beautiful and perfectly acceptable to both the East and the West. Not so the opening lines of the seventh chapter. The Revised Version modifies the original text. King James's Version gives the lines just as Oriental poetry past and present would render them. The rendering of the second verse by the Revised Version, "Thy body is like a round goblet," and, "Thy waist is like an heap of wheat," renders the words meaningless. However, the modesty of the revisers is to be commended. {354} Arabic poetry is full of such passages, which abound also in Syrian vernacular songs, which are sung with perfect propriety among all classes. In discussing such a subject as this one can hardly resist the temptation to judge. To me the more chaste way of the West in poetizing feminine charms is far superior to the altogether too free realism of the East, which I do not feel at all inclined to defend. Yet I would not be loyal to good conscience if I did not offer an explanation in behalf of the land of my birth. Ever since I began to read Arabic poetry, for which I developed great fondness, to the present day, I do not remember that its descriptions of feminine loveliness ever really suggested to me licentious thoughts. The general effect of such delineations upon me was of the same sort as that which the sketching of love scenes by a great novelist produces. Its charms were those of the poetic art, and not those of the seductive feelings of sordid passion. To us _'aroos esshi'ar_ (the bride, or spouse of the poet) is purely an imaginary creature. It is {355} the poet's spirit of inspiration objectified in a female form. He does not describe a woman, but an angelic creature whose body and soul are both pure. Only the very commonplace versifier gets demoralized and infects his reader with the same feeling. The true poet soars far above "the things that perish," and is perfectly safe to follow. His infatuation is known as _el howa el'adhry_ (pure, or aspirational love). Here, then, without the slightest attempt to excuse his phraseology, I find at least a partial justification for the Eastern poet, and for the writer of Solomon's Song. The simple, eloquent, and fully inclusive description of the "virtuous woman," in the thirty-first chapter of the Book of Proverbs, is rather a composite than an individual picture. It expresses the Syrian's noblest idea of the true wife and the real home-maker:-- Who can find a virtuous woman? for her price is far above rubies. The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need for spoil. {356} She will do him good and not evil all the days of her life. She seeketh wool, and flax, and worketh willingly with her hands. She is like the merchant's ships; she bringeth her food from afar. She riseth also while it is yet night, and giveth meat to her household, and a portion to her maidens. She considereth a field, and buyeth it: with the fruits of her hands she planteth a vineyard. She girdeth her loins with strength, and strengtheneth her arms. She perceiveth that her merchandise is good: her candle goeth not out by night. She layeth her hands to the spindle, and her hands hold the distaff. She stretcheth out her hands to the poor; yea, she reacheth forth her hands to the needy. She is not afraid of the snow for her household: for all her household are clothed with scarlet. She maketh herself coverings of tapestry; her clothing is silk and purple. Her husband is known in the gates, when he sitteth among the elders of the land. She maketh fine linen, and selleth it; and delivereth girdles unto the merchant. Strength and honor are her clothing; and she shall rejoice in time to come. {357} She openeth her mouth with wisdom; and in her tongue is the law of kindness. She looketh well to the ways of her household, and eateth not the bread of idleness. Her children arise up, and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praiseth her. Many daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest them all. Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain: but a woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised. Give her of the fruit of her hands; and let her own works praise her in the gates. Here we have the real "Oriental view of woman," and a glorification of virtue, loyalty, industry, wisdom, kindness, and charity, unsurpassed in its beauty and simplicity. I have said that this remarkable picture is rather composite than individual. Yet the true, diligent, and virtuous Syrian wife and mother comes near being the ideal woman of the ancient Scriptural writer. His question, "Who can find a virtuous woman?" does not mean that such a woman cannot be found; nor his saying, "For her price is far above rubies" mean that women are bought and sold in the market. The {358} sense of the writer can be adequately expressed by saying, "Happy is he who hath a virtuous woman, for her worth is far above all earthly riches." But for the existence of women approaching his ideal, this writer could not have given the world his picture of the "virtuous woman." I feel that no detailed commentary on these verses is needed. The virtues here enumerated are universally cherished. I will, however, call attention to the Oriental features of this great passage. In saying that "the heart of her husband doth safely trust in her," the writer shows that the good wife is by no means a despised creature in the Syrian home. She is loved and trusted as her husband's life-partner, and exerts no inconsiderable influence upon him. The value of such a wife's counsel in the estimation of her husband and friends is also indicated in the saying, "She openeth her mouth with wisdom; and in her tongue is the law of kindness." "She seeketh wool, and flax, and worketh willingly with her hands," or, as the Arabic version {359} has it, "with willing hands." The flax is now rarely found in Syria. Wool and silk cocoons are spun into thread by means of the spindle, woven on hand looms, and made into garments by the women, especially in the rural districts. This verse should be joined to verse nineteen, which says, "She layeth her hands to the spindle, and her hands hold the distaff." The Revised Version says, "She layeth her hands to the distaff, and her hands hold the spindle." In explaining this passage some commentators speak of the spinning wheel, and of the distaff, as the dictionary defines it: "A rotating vertical staff that holds the bunch of flax or wool in hand-spinning." But this is not the "spindle" which is intended in the passage before us. The Syrian spindle (_meghzel_) which a woman may carry wherever she goes, is a small instrument. It consists of a smooth wooden pin, or stem, about the size and shape of a long wooden pen holder. This is inserted at its thick end into a hole of a hemispherical "top" or whorl, which is the exact shape of the crown of a small {360} mushroom. It is this top which the English translation calls "distaff." A small brass hook fastened to the end of the stem, which protrudes slightly above the whorl, completes the spindle. In spinning a quantity of wool is wound on a small wooden or wire frame into which the woman inserts her left hand, the frame passing over the fingers and held inside the palm next to the thumb, thus leaving the thumb and all the fingers free. The spinner fastens the hook of the spindle to the bunch of wool and twirls the spindle swiftly at its lower end, between the thumb and the middle finger of the right hand, and then draws the thread deftly with the fingers of both hands. When the twisted thread is about the "length of an arm," the spinner unhooks it without breaking it off, winds it on the stem of the spindle, just below the whorl, then fastens it again to the hook close to the raw material. The operation is thus continued until the bunch of wool is converted into a "spindleful" of thread. The spindle as it is mentioned in the passage {361} under consideration, and in this peculiarly constructed language, symbolizes diligence and industry. "She layeth her hands to the spindle, and her hands hold the distaff" is equivalent to saying "She is never idle," or as the Syrians say, "Her spindle is never out of her hands." As a general rule spinning in Syria is done by the older women. It is often used as an occasion for diligent spinners "to get together." I recall very clearly the palmy days of my grandmother as a spinner, and some of the delightful spinning sociables she enjoyed with her peers. It was a delight to me to watch those good women lay their hands to the spindle. It is always delightful to watch an expert at his work. They worked with the ease and inerrancy of instinct. They spun while walking, talking, eating (informally) or even disputing. The only thing about the useful industry which I hated heartily as a boy was that when I came close to the feminine spinners the flying hairs from their whirling spindles fell on me, and "made my flesh creep." {362} Again the virtuous woman "Considereth a field, and buyeth it: with the fruit of her hands she planteth a vineyard." Here the language of the Scriptural writer is figurative. It refers to a good wife's thrift. She saves the coins she earns and treasures them in the well-known _kees_ (money bag) in a corner of the clothes chest, where heirlooms and other precious objects are stored. In time of need she surprises her husband by the substantial sum of money she places in his hands, which enables him to buy a field or plant a vineyard. "She is not afraid of the snow for her household; for all her household are clothed in scarlet." The marginal note greatly improves the translation by saying "double garments" instead of "scarlet." The Arabic version says _hillel_--that is, full, or substantial, garments. The snow is always dreaded by the common people of Syria. With it come no sleighbells and no skating. It is a time of stress (_dhieq_). The snow "blocks the roads and cuts a man off from his neighbor." At such a time, because {363} of lack of fuel and adequate clothing, many of the people suffer. So the writer of Proverbs praises the "virtuous woman" very highly when he says, "She is not afraid of the snow for her household," because by her foresight and unremitting care she has amply provided for their comfort. "Her husband is known in the gates, when he sitteth among the elders of the land." The Syrian husband of the good old type does not buy his wearing apparel "ready-made" at the clothier's. His garments are made by his wife. When he sits with the elders of the community in the market place or at the gate of the town where those dignitaries converse on matters of public interest, and speak parables and tell stories, his neat appearance bespeaks the diligence and loving care of his wife. "Verily his wife is a costly jewel," is the likely remark of such a fortunate man's admirers. How true also to the nobler instincts of the East are these words in this poetical description of the virtuous woman. "Her children arise up, and call {364} her blessed; her husband also, and he praiseth her." The closing words of this Oriental writer who lived long before the advent of "modern culture," reveal him as one of woman's truest friends and wisest counselors. "Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain: but a woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised. Give her of the fruits of her hands; and let her own works praise her in the gates." This is the true "Order of Merit." [1] Prov. xi: 22. [2] Revised Version; ii: 10-14. {367} PART VI HERE AND THERE IN THE BIBLE HERE AND THERE IN THE BIBLE During the time when the earlier chapters of this book were being published in the "Atlantic Monthly," requests came to the author from readers of those chapters for his comments on certain Scriptural passages which did not appear in them. Some of the passages suggested by those interested readers, I have considered in other parts of this publication. The other passages thus suggested, and others which presented themselves to the author during the progress of this work, but which for some reason or other he could not include in the preceding chapters, will now be considered, without the attempt to make of this portion of the book a coherent whole. "And Abraham said unto his eldest servant of his house, that ruled over all that he had, Put, I pray thee, thy hand under my thigh: and I will make thee swear by the Lord, the God of {368} heaven, and the God of the earth, that thou shalt not take a wife unto my son of the daughters of the Canaanites, among whom I dwell: but thou shalt go unto my country, and to my kindred, and take a wife unto my son Isaac."[1] In the East the general custom is that the "speaking concerning a damsel" in behalf of a young man is entrusted to the most distinguished of his male relatives. Sometimes women are included in the mission. They approach the young woman's father and clansmen in a very dignified and formal manner, and, if possible, secure the "promise" for their son. It is only in rare instances that this significant undertaking is entrusted to one who is an alien to the groom's family (_ghareeb_) and who acts as an ambassador. Abraham was compelled to assign this duty to his trusted servant, because the patriarch had no relatives in Canaan. His demand from his servant to put his hand under his master's thigh and {369} swear by the God of heaven and earth that he would do as he was asked is characteristically Oriental. The custom of calling upon God to "witness" a promise or a covenant between two individuals or clans is still extant in Syria. The placing of the hand under the thigh, however, is no longer done, but the habit of placing the hand under the girdle (_zinnar_) for the same purpose is generally practiced. However, it is the one who makes the request who puts his hand under the girdle of the one from whom the favor is asked. _Eedy tahit zinnarek_ (my hand is under your girdle) means I come to you with the fullest confidence to do such and such a thing for me. In the eastern parts of Syria this practice is highly valued. Putting one's hand under another person's girdle is almost the equivalent of entering "under his roof" for protection from a pursuing enemy. If at all possible, the favor must be granted. I have no doubt that this custom is a survival in a different form of that of placing the hand under the thigh in making a solemn promise. {370} Abraham's experience upon the death of his wife with "the children of Heth" and with "Ephron son of Zohar," presents an interesting picture of Oriental courtesy. In the twenty-third chapter of Genesis, beginning with the third verse, the record reads, "And Abraham stood up from before his dead, and spake unto the sons of Heth, saying, I am a stranger and a sojourner with you: give me a possession of a burying-place with you, that I may bury my dead out of my sight." The burying-places in the East are clannish or church possessions. The Orientals, now as in ancient times, dread "a lonely grave." It is always expected that a worthy stranger be offered a burying-place for his dead in a sepulcher of the community where he happens to be, as that he should be offered the hospitality of a home. So we read, "And the children of Heth answered Abraham, saying unto him, Hear us, my lord: thou art a mighty prince among us: in the choice of our sepulchres bury thy dead; none of us shall withhold from thee his sepulchre." {371} That was noble of the children of Heth; they upheld the noblest Oriental tradition by their generous act. So also did Joseph of Arimathea when he took Jesus' body, "wrapped it in a clean linen cloth, and laid it in his own new tomb, which he had hewn out in the rock."[2] Abraham, however, who expected to be a permanent dweller in Canaan, wished to have a burying-place of his own. So the aged patriarch said again to the Hittites (verse 8), "If it be your mind that I should bury my dead out of my sight, hear me, and entreat for me to Ephron the son of Zohar, that he may give me the cave of Machpelah, which he hath, which is in the end of his field." But Ephron would not be outdone in courtesy by his kinsman; at least he would not be accused of having omitted the nice formalities of such an occasion. "Nay, my lord," he said to Abraham (verse 11), "hear me: the field give I thee, and the cave that is therein, I give it thee; in the presence of the sons of my people give I it thee: bury thy dead." {372} To me this sounds "very natural." Ephron meant simply to be courteous. It is an Oriental custom to avoid a business transaction whenever a question of hospitality is involved, although it is not expected that the gift would be received as offered. The language on such occasions is purely complimentary. An Oriental offers to give you anything you may admire of his personal possessions, but as a rule you are not expected to accept the offer. Ephron did not really mean that he would give his field to Abraham without money and without price, but he would have Abraham know that he was ready to befriend him in his sorrow, and not to deal with him simply as a customer. The patriarch acknowledged the kindness by bowing himself down before the Hittites, but would not accept the field as a gift. Thereupon Ephron quoted the price of the field to the father of Israel in a truly characteristic Syrian fashion, by saying (verse 15), "My lord, hearken unto me: a piece of land worth four hundred shekels of silver, what is that betwixt me and thee? {373} bury therefore thy dead." The gentle hint accomplished its purpose, "and Abraham weighed to Ephron the silver which he had named in the audience of the children of Heth, four hundred shekels of silver, current money with the merchant." In speaking of the haste in which the Israelites were compelled to leave Egypt, the writer of the Book of Exodus says,[3] "And the people took their dough before it was leavened, their kneading-troughs being bound up in their clothes upon their shoulders." In the thirty-first verse it is said that Pharaoh "called for Moses and Aaron by night, and said, Rise up, and get you forth from among my people." As a rule the Syrian housewife kneads the dough in the evening in order that it may "leaven" during the night and be ready for baking early the next morning. The saying, "And the people took their dough before it was leavened," is meant to show that they departed before the early {374} morning hours. Apparently the Israelites had wooden kneading-troughs such as at present the Arabs in the interior of Syria still use. The Syrians use earthen basins.[4] What is called kneading-trough in the Bible resembles a large chopping-bowl, but is heavier and not so perfectly round as the chopping-bowl which is commonly used in the American home. In this basin the bread is also kept after it is baked. In the thirty-ninth verse it is said, "And they baked unleavened cakes of the dough which they brought forth out of Egypt, for it was not leavened; because they were thrust out of Egypt, and could not tarry, neither had they prepared for themselves any victual." The "cakes" are known to the East as _melleh_; this is the word the Arabic Bible uses. The _melleh_ is a round cake or loaf about fifteen inches in diameter and about three inches thick. It is baked, unleavened, on the _redhef_; that is, hot pebbles. The fire is built over an especially prepared bed of small stones; when these are {375} thoroughly heated, the _melleh_ is placed upon them and covered with the live coals until it is baked. The shepherds in the mountains of Syria bake the _melleh_ very often and think there is no bread like it in delicious flavor and sustaining quality. It was such a "cake" which Elijah fed upon on his way to "Horeb the mount of God." In the nineteenth chapter of the First Book of Kings, the fourth verse, we are told that Elijah "sat down under a juniper tree: and he requested for himself that he might die; and said, It is enough; now, O Lord, take away my life; for I am not better than my fathers." It is of no small significance that the legend states that the Lord answered Elijah's prayer in terms of food. The prophet was both tired and hungry, so when he "lay and slept under a juniper tree, behold, then an angel touched him, and said unto him, Arise and eat. And he looked, and, behold, there was a cake baken on the coals, and a cruse of water at his head." We have no record that Elijah after he had eaten {376} of the _redhef_ cake, which was provided, no doubt, by the shepherds in that region for the _nasik_ (hermit), ever longed for death. In the sixth chapter of the Book of Judges, the eleventh verse, begins the story of Gideon, the "mighty man of valour," who delivered Israel out of the hands of the Midianites. "And there came an angel of the Lord, and sat under an oak which was in Ophrah, that pertained unto Joash the Abiezrite: and his son Gideon threshed wheat by the wine-press, to hide it from the Midianites." It is a prevailing belief in the East that spirits and angelic visitors appear especially under trees and by streams of water. Huge oaks are often found in burying-grounds and in front of houses of worship. "Rag trees" also may be seen in many localities in Syria. A rag tree (_shajeret-omm-shrateet_) is a supposedly sacred or "possessed" tree, generally an oak, on whose branches the people hang shreds of the garments of afflicted dear ones for the {377} purpose of securing healing power for them. When the angel visited him, Gideon, we are told, was threshing wheat by the wine-press. The more correct rendering of the Revised Version and of the Arabic is, "Gideon was beating out wheat in the wine-press." As I have already stated,[5] the grapes are squeezed by being trodden in a large stone-flagged enclosure, which is about the size of an ordinary room. As the harvest time comes early in the summer, long before the wine-making season, Gideon could use the clean floor of this enclosure to beat out wheat, with a fair chance of escaping being discovered by his oppressors, the Midianites. He was not "threshing." He was beating with a club the sheaves he had smuggled, before threshing time came when the Midianites exacted their heavy toll from oppressed Israel. Threshing is done with the threshing-board (_nourej_), which is called in the Bible the "threshing instrument." The _nourej_ resembles a stone-drag. It consists of two heavy pine planks joined {378} together, and is about three feet wide, and six feet long. On its under side are cut rows of square holes into which sharp stones are driven. It is these sharp stones which Isaiah, refers to when he says, "Behold, I will make thee a new sharp threshing instrument _having teeth_; thou shalt thresh the mountains, and beat them small, and shalt make the hills as chaff."[6] The sheaves are scattered on the threshing-floor about a foot deep; the thresher attaches the threshing-board to the yoke and sits on it, with his goad in his hand. As the oxen which "tread the corn" drag the heavy board round and round, the sharp stones cut the sheaves. In three days the "threshing" is ready to be sifted. The finely cut sheaves are thrown up into a heap and tossed up in the air with large wooden pitchforks. The breeze blows the chaff and straw away, leaving the heap of the golden grain in the center of the threshing-floor to gladden the eyes of the grateful tiller of the soil. To this "purging" of the threshing-floor--that {379} is, the freeing of the wheat from the chaff and straw--Luke alludes in the third chapter, the seventeenth verse, where he says, referring to the Christ, "Whose fan is in his hand, and he will thoroughly purge his floor, and will gather the wheat into his garner; but the chaff he will burn with fire unquenchable." The reference to the burning of the chaff is meant to show its comparative worthlessness. I am not aware that the Syrian farmer always takes the trouble to burn the chaff, which is not easy to gather after the wind has carried it away from the threshing-floor and scattered it over acres of ground. The coarser part of it, which falls near the floor, is gathered and saved to be used in making the clay mortar with which the houses are plastered, and also sun-dried brick. We always went to the threshing-floor and secured a few bagfuls of chaff which we used in the annual plastering of the floor of our house. Among the chief joys of my boyhood days were those hours when I was permitted to sit {380} on the threshing-board and goad the oxen which carried me round and round over the glistening, fragrant sheaves. I often bribed the owner to grant me the precious privilege; and even now I should in all probability prefer threshing after this manner to an automobile ride. In the seventh chapter of the Book of Judges we have a description of the simple process by which Gideon's army, with which he attacked the Midianites, was selected. The very honest record states that out of thirty-two thousand men whom Gideon had first mobilized only three hundred stood the final test. That test was very simple. In the fifth verse it is said, "So he brought down the people unto the water: and the Lord said unto Gideon, Every one that lappeth of the water with his tongue, as a dog lappeth, him shalt thou set by himself; likewise every one that boweth down upon his knees to drink. And the number of them that lapped, putting their hand to their mouth, were three {381} hundred men: but all the rest of the people bowed down upon their knees to drink water." The three hundred constituted Gideon's army. Bowing down upon the knees while drinking from a stream or a bubbling spring (_fowwar_) is the prevailing custom in Syria. This kind of drinking is called _ghebb_; that is, the sucking in of the water with the lips. But to strong and wary men this is disdainful. Such a prostration betokens lassitude; besides it is not always safe for one to be so recklessly off his guard while traveling, and to render himself an easy prey to lurking robbers. Therefore the men of strength and valor (_shijaan_) upon approaching the water assume a squatting position, lift the water with the hand to the mouth and lap it quickly with the tongue. This manner of drinking indicates strength, nimbleness, and alertness. One of the most reprehensible Syrian habits is the mocking of those afflicted with diseases, or any sort of physical defects. I have no {382} doubt that the afflicted of Palestine flocked to Jesus to be healed by him as much for the purpose of escaping the shame of the affliction as of securing bodily comfort. "There comes the one-eyed man [_'awar_]"; "there goes the limping man [_afkah_]"; "the half dumb [maybe one who stutters] is trying to discourse"; "the hunch-back is trying to class himself with real men"; "the diseased head [_akkra'_] is approaching, give way." These and other stigmatizations are very extensively current in the East. In the story of Elisha[7] it is said, "And he went up from thence unto Bethel: and as he was going up by the way, there came forth little children ["young lads," Revised Version] out of the city, and mocked him, and said unto him, Go up, thou bald head; go up, thou bald head. And he turned back, and looked on them, and cursed them in the name of the Lord. And there came forth two she bears out of the wood, and tare forty and two children of them." What those children really said to Elisha {383} was, "Go up thou _akkra'_." The _akkra'_ is one who is afflicted with a disease of the scalp, a malady not uncommon among the poor people of Syria. Complete baldness of the head is spoken of also as _qara'_. It was this perhaps which the ill-mannered children noticed in the itinerant prophet. His cursing of the lads "in the name of the Lord" was no less an Eastern characteristic than their mocking of him. As to the coming of the hungry bears out of the wood and devouring or tearing forty-two of those children, all I can say is that such narratives, which filled my childhood days, are deemed by Syrian parents to be the best means to teach the children not to be naughty. In the opening verses of the fourth chapter of the Second Book of Kings we have the record of Elisha's kindness to a poor widow. "Now there cried a certain woman of the wives of the sons of the prophets unto Elisha, saying, Thy servant my husband is dead; and thou knowest that thy servant did fear the Lord: and the {384} creditor is come to take unto him my two sons to be bondmen. And Elisha said unto her, What shall I do for thee? tell me, what hast thou in the house? And she said, Thine handmaid hath not anything in the house, save a pot of oil. Then he said, Go, borrow thee vessels abroad of all thy neighbors, even empty vessels; borrow not a few. And when thou art come in, thou shalt shut the door upon thee and upon thy sons, and shalt pour out into all those vessels, and thou shalt set aside that which is full. So she went from him, and shut the door upon her and upon her sons, who brought the vessels to her; and she poured out. And it came to pass, when the vessels were full, that she said unto her son, Bring me yet a vessel. And he said unto her, There is not a vessel more. And the oil stayed." The belief in the miraculous increase of certain products, especially oil and wheat, is prevalent in Syria. In almost every community stories of such occurrences are told. Godly men and women, largely of the past, are said to have {385} seen such wonders, and to have spoken of them to many before their death. Such blessings are supposed to come especially on the blessed night of Epiphany.[8] In the locality where I was brought up, the miracle of "increase" was said to happen in this wise: In some holy hour the cover of the jar of oil is thrown off by some unseen power and the oil begins to flow out of the mouth of the jar. The person who is fortunate enough to see such a sight must show neither fear nor surprise, but in the spirit of deepest prayer he must bring empty vessels and receive into them the increase. If he should fear or manifest surprise, the blessed flow would immediately cease, but if he receives the blessing in a spirit of gratitude and prayer the flow continues until all the vessels that can be brought are filled. But only godly men and women can see such a sight. Among the noble traditions of our clan is the story of one godly man of the Rihbany stock who witnessed the "miracle of increase" in his own storehouse. The flow of {386} the blessing stopped, however, when his wife, who went into the storehouse to see why he was there so long, came in and threw up her hands in surprise at the strange occurrence. From childhood I heard this enchanting story, but I never felt deeply curious to investigate it until after I had gone to the American mission school in my native land. Then I sought the son of the "godly man" and begged him to tell me all that he knew about it. He assured me of his firm conviction that the miracle did happen in their storehouse when he was too young to see such wonders, and that his father and mother both saw it and spoke of it on occasions. At the time I became interested in the study of the origins of such narratives, both those good parents were dead. But why allow shallow curiosity to weaken one's faith in the great spiritual principle which underlies all such beliefs? Attach all such pious tales to the Oriental's foundation belief that all good comes from God, and they become intelligible and acceptable. His intellectual {387} explanations are faint attempts to grasp the great mystery of divine providence, to explain the ways of the Great Giver. If you do not attempt to make an infallible creed of these spiritual imaginings, they will serve as well as any intellectual devices to urge upon the mind the truth that ultimately "every good and every perfect gift cometh from above." Whether the resources were a few loaves and fishes, or thousands of loaves and fishes, it was God who fed the "five thousand," and it is he who feeds all the millions of his children through the annual miracle of increase in all the fields and vineyards of the world. In his heart-stirring prayer, which begins with, "Out of the depths have I cried unto thee, O Lord," the writer of the one hundred and thirtieth Psalm says, "My soul waiteth for the Lord more than they that watch for the morning: I say more than they that watch for the morning." The Revised Version's rendering, "More than watchmen wait for the {388} morning," limits the sense of the text, and, consequently, fails to express fully the phase of Eastern thought to which the Psalmist alludes. I have no doubt that the ancient poet meant that his longing for the manifestation of God was as keen as the longing of _el-mûtesehhid_ for the dawn. This term comes from _sûhad_ (sleeplessness). Eastern poetry is full of references to the _sûhad_, either from fear or other intense feelings like sorrow or love. In a land of tribal feuds and where wild beasts abound, the night is full of terror. _El-mûtesehhid_ "wrestles" with the night, keenly observes the stars which mark the night watches, and restlessly watches for the advent of the day to dispell his haunting fears. The Arabian poet exclaims, "Oh, the night's curtains which are like the waves of the sea are fallen upon me, to afflict me with every type of anxiety. It seems that the Pleiades [which marked the march of the night] have been arrested in their course by being tied with hemp ropes to an adamant!" It is not the watchman only that is meant {389} here. He might watch keenly for the morning in times of fear, but the reference is to all those who watch for the morning in times of _sûhad_--a state which Orientals readily understand. The Psalmist would have that confidence and cheer in the presence of the Lord which come to the restless watcher of the night with the dawning of the day; that inward calm and peace which only the presence of God in the soul can give. "Thus saith the Lord God, Behold, I will lift up mine hand to the Gentiles, and set up my standard to the people: and they shall bring thy sons in their arms, and thy daughters shall be carried upon their shoulders."[9] The reference in these lines is to the custom of carrying the children in the East. The habit of carrying the children on the shoulders is, I believe, unknown to the West, but is universal in the East. In early infancy the little ones are carried in the arms. (The Revised Version {390} prefers the word "bosom.") As soon, however, as the child is old enough to sit up alone, it is carried on the shoulder. The mother lifts the child and places it astride her right shoulder, and instinctively the little one clings to her head, where there is no dainty hat to hinder. The custom is so familiar to the mothers that often one sees a mother spinning or knitting with the child astride her shoulder. As is well known, the message in the lofty strains of the later Isaiah is the glad tidings of the restoration of scattered and oppressed Israel. It is a prophecy born of Israel's ever-lasting hope that God will not cast off his own forever. So the prophet assures Israel in the name of the Lord that he will lead the alien peoples, not only to let Israel return to its own home, but to carry the children of the "chosen people" in their arms and on their shoulders, as do the servants of aristocratic parents. The prophet's hope of the restoration of his own people appears in the succeeding verse clothed {391} in language which Oriental aristocrats love to use. It is the phraseology of earthly glory and a narrow vision of national destiny, which the New Testament liberates and enlarges. Says Isaiah: "And kings shall be thy nursing fathers, and their queens thy nursing mothers: they shall bow down to thee with their faces toward the earth, and lick up the dust of thy feet." Our world still has many grave faults, but it has certainly progressed since the days of Isaiah. In the third chapter of St. Matthew's Gospel, the eleventh verse, John the Baptist, in paying his tribute to the coming Messiah, says: "I indeed baptize you with water unto repentance: but he that cometh after me is mightier than I, whose shoes I am not worthy to bear: he shall baptize you with the Holy Ghost, and with fire." The same thought is expressed in the somewhat different presentation in the third chapter and sixteenth verse of Luke's Gospel, where it is said, "the latchet of whose shoes I am {392} not worthy to unloose." I have already stated elsewhere that to the Syrians the feet are ceremonially unclean; therefore it is very improper for one to mention the feet or the shoes in conversation, without first making ample apology by saying to his hearer, _Ajell Allah shanak_ (may God elevate your dignity); that is, above what is about to be mentioned. In the presence of an aristocrat, however, no apology is sufficient to atone for the mention of such an unclean object as the shoes. Therefore, when one says to another, in pleading for a favor, "I would carry your shoes, or bow at your feet," he sinks to the lowest depth of humility. So when some of those who came to him to be baptized thought that John the Baptist was the Promised One of Israel, he humbled himself in Oriental fashion by saying that he was not worthy to carry the shoes of the coming Deliverer, or even to touch the latchet with which those shoes were tied to the ankles. In this last expression, the sandals, rather than the shoes, are meant. {393} The three evangelists, Matthew, Mark, and Luke, speak of the woman who was healed from a long illness by touching the hem or border of Jesus' garment. Luke's version is found in the eighth chapter, and the forty-third verse, and is as follows: "And a woman, having an issue of blood twelve years, which had spent all her living upon physicians, neither could be healed of any, came behind him, and touched the border of his garment: and immediately her issue of blood stanched. And Jesus said, Who touched me? ... Somebody hath touched me: for I perceive that virtue is gone out of me. And when the woman saw that she was not hid, she came trembling, and falling down before him, she declared unto him before all the people for what cause she had touched him, and how she was healed immediately. And he said unto her, Daughter, be of good comfort: thy faith hath made thee whole; go in peace." The belief that holy persons and holy things impart divine power to those who trustfully and reverently touch them is not exclusively an {394} Oriental possession. The Orientals, however, have always believed this doctrine. The woman mentioned in the Gospel followed a custom which no doubt antedated her own time by many centuries. The practice is followed by Orientals of all shades of religious opinion. As a son and adherent of the Greek Orthodox Church in my youth, I always considered it a great privilege to touch the hem of the priest's garment as he passed through the congregation, elevating the Host. To me the act was a means of spiritual reinforcement. I never would pass the church building without pressing my lips to the door or to the cornerstone of the sanctuary. Virtue, as I believed, came out of those sacred objects into me. The interpretation of the details of such records as the passage which is before us can be easily pressed too far. Such Gospel pictures should be sought for the general impression they make upon the mind, and not subjected to minute critical analysis as the reports of a scientific expedition. Jesus' reported saying, "for I perceive that virtue is {395} gone out of me," refers perhaps to the belief that holy persons impart virtue or spiritual power to those who come in touch with them. Whatever really happened in Palestine nineteen hundred years ago, this belief is well founded. Whomsoever and whatsoever we love and reverence becomes to us a source of power. Many indifferent and merely curious persons touched Jesus, but nothing happened; for the _garment_ possesses no healing virtues. But when an afflicted woman came to him with dearest hope and deepest prayer, the mere touch of his person reinforced her strength and revived her spirits. The Master indicated plainly that the healing power was not in the garment when he said to the woman, "Daughter, be of good comfort: _thy faith_ hath made thee whole; go in peace." In the story of the crucifixion[10] we read: "And as they led him away, they laid hold upon one Simon, a Cyrenian, coming out of the country, and on him they laid the cross, that {396} he might bear it after Jesus. And there followed him a great company of people, and of women, which also bewailed and lamented him. But Jesus, turning unto them, said, Daughters of Jerusalem, weep not for me, but weep for yourselves, and for your children.... For if they do these things in a green tree, what shall be done in the dry?" The saying with which the passage ends is current in Oriental speech in various forms. Of one who is greedy and voracious it is said (when the thing he eats is not very tempting), "If his tooth works so effectively in the bitter, what would it do in the sweet?" And, reversing the Scriptural saying, "If the dry is so palatable to him, how much more must the green be!" Again, "If one is not good to those that are his kin, what must he be to strangers?"--and so forth. Jesus' saying to the women who followed him, "Daughters of Jerusalem, weep not for me, but weep for yourselves, and your children," facilitates the understanding of the closing sentence {397} of the passage. He admonishes them not to lament the state of one who, though condemned, is utterly innocent, but the state of those who are so hard of heart, so devoid of human sympathy as to condemn one so innocent. With amazement he exclaims, "For if they do these things in a green tree, what shall be done in the dry?" If they deal so cruelly with a good and innocent person, what must be their attitude toward a real culprit. The mention in the Gospel of the crowing of the cock recalls to my mind a very familiar Oriental expression. The shrill sound of the wakeful fowl always served us in the night as a "striking clock." We always believed that the cock crew three times in the night, and thus marked the night watches. The first crowing is at about nine o'clock, the second at midnight, and the third about three in the morning. The common people of Syria house the chickens in a small enclosure which is built, generally, immediately under the floor of the house. It has one {398} small opening on the outside, which is closed at night with a stone, and another opening on the inside, through which the housewife reaches for the eggs. So "the evening crow," "the midnight crow," and the "dawn crow" can be very conveniently heard by members of the household. And how often, while enjoying a sociable evening with our friends at one of those humble but joyous homes, we were startled by the crowing of the cock, and said, "Whew! it is _nissleil_ [midnight]." The hospitable host would try to trick us into staying longer by assuring us that it was the evening and not the midnight crow. Now some "enlightened" critics assert that "in fact the cock crows at any hour of the night." Well, the critics are welcome to their "enlightenment." For us Syrians of the unsophisticated type the cock crowed only three times, just as I have stated, and thus marked for us the four divisions of the night. The New Testament makes definite reference to the "evening crow" and the "dawn {399} crow." As a rule the cock crows three times (separated by short intervals) at the end of each watch of the night. We are told that after the Last Supper, the Master and his disciples "went out into the mount of Olives," where Jesus said to them, "All ye shall be offended because of me this night.... But Peter said unto him, Although all shall be offended, yet will not I. And Jesus saith unto him, Verily I say unto thee, That this day, even in this night, before the cock crow twice, thou shalt deny me thrice."[11] This refers to the "evening crow," for the entire scene falls in the early evening. And so it was that when Peter did deny his Master in most earnest terms, "he went out into the porch; and the cock crew."[12] Again, while Peter was still being questioned as to whether he was not one of Jesus' followers, "he began to curse and to swear, saying, I know not this man of whom ye speak. And the second time the cock crew."[13] {400} The other passage[14] refers to the "dawn crow." "Watch ye, therefore: for ye know not when the master of the house cometh, at even, or at midnight, or at the cock-crowing, or in the morning." In speaking of the speedy and mysterious "coming of the Son of man," in the twenty-fourth chapter of Matthew, Jesus alludes to the grinding at the handmill--a very common Syrian custom. The portentous saying in the forty-first verse is: "Two women shall be grinding at the mill; the one shall be taken, and the other left." The _jaroosh_ (handmill, literally, "grinder") has always been considered a necessary household article in Syria.[15] Our family possessed one, which, however, was shared by the families of my two uncles. The _jaroosh_ consists of two round stones--an upper and a nether--from eighteen to twenty inches in diameter, and about four inches in thickness. It is a portable {401} article. The two stones are held together by a wooden pin which is securely fastened in the center of the nether stone, and passes through a funnel-shaped hole in the center of the upper stone. A wooden handle is inserted near the outer edge of the upper stone. As a rule a strong woman can grind a small quantity of wheat at this mill alone. But as coöperation tends to convert drudgery into pleasant work, the women grind in pairs. The mill is placed on a cloth--something like a bed-sheet--or on a sheepskin. The two women sit on the floor, exactly opposite, and of necessity close to each other, with the mill between them. They both grasp the wooden handle and turn the upper stone with the right hand, while they feed the mill through the funnel-shaped hole with the left hand. The circular shower of coarse flour falls from between the stones onto the cloth or skin below. At present the handmill is rarely used in Syria for grinding wheat into flour, which is now ground by the regular old-fashioned, {402} waterwheel flouring mills. The _jaroosh_ is used in the Lebanon districts and in the interior of Syria for crushing wheat into _bûrghûl_. The wheat is first boiled and then thoroughly dried in the sun on the housetop. Just before it is poured into the mill the wheat is dampened with cold water, so that while it is being crushed it is also hulled. The _bûrghûl_ is one of the main articles of food among the common people; it is especially used for making the famous dish, _kibbey_.[16] The whole season's supply of a family is ground in one or two evenings. The occasion is usually a very gay one. The neighbors gather around the mill, the men help in the grinding, and the telling of stories and singing of songs make of what is ordinarily a hard task a joyous festival. The foregoing makes evident the meaning of the passage as used by the evangelist. "The coming of the Son of man," that great consummation of all things in the advent of the Kingdom, which the faithful disciples of Christ {403} hoped and prayed for, was to be so swift and so mysterious that only the fully awake and watchful could have a share, in it. No one could tell who would be included in the Family Kingdom. For even those, who in this world sat as close together as "two women grinding at the mill," were not certain of being taken together. "Watch, therefore: for ye know not what hour your Lord doth come."[17] It is vain to deny that this watchfulness, this expectation of the sudden and mysterious coming of the Kingdom, has been a mighty factor in the development of the Christian Church. Among my correspondents who have been readers of my articles in the "Atlantic Monthly," are those who are interested to know the attitude of the Syrian Christians in general toward the creeds and dogmas of the Church as they are known and accepted in the West, and also whether I would not enlarge the scope of this publication so as to include {404} in it a discussion of certain doctrines which claim to have firm Scriptural basis. As may be very readily seen, these questions involve the study of a complexity of subjects which the original plan of this book was never intended to compass. Again the author feels that it would be inexcusable boldness on his part to enter a field of thought which noted scholars and historians have thoroughly explored, and to pretend to discuss issues which only such scholars have a right to discuss. However, in compliance with the requests of those interested readers I will contribute my mite to the vast literature of a very old subject. As is well known to church historians, the Syrian Christians of the Semitic stock have had very little to do with the development of the "creeds of Christendom." Theological organization has been as foreign to the minds of the Eastern Christians as political organization. They have always been worshippers rather than theologians, believers rather than systematic {405} thinkers. Their religious thinking has never been brought by them into logical unity, nor their mysticism into full metaphysical development. The Oriental has been a lender in religion and a borrower in theology. The course of religion ran from the East to the West, the course of theology ran from the West to the East. Had it been left to itself, it is certain that the Christianity of Palestine never would have built up such a massive structure of doctrine as the Athanasian Creed. Wherever the great doctrinal statements of our religion may have originated,--whether in Rome, Constantinople, Antioch, or Alexandria,--their essential parts were Greek and Roman, and not Oriental. The Christian Church had its simple origin with a group of Jewish followers of Jesus Christ in Palestine, but it had its marvelous expansion and organization among the "Gentiles." In Palestine the faith of the Church may be said to have been instinctive, but {406} among the Gentiles and under Greek and Roman influences that faith became highly reflective. Faith in God the Father, and in his Son (by anointing) Jesus Christ, and love of the brethren, constituted the simple creed of the Palestinian Christians. It is not within my power, nor do I deem it necessary here, to trace the steps by which this simple faith was transformed into a ponderous, learned, and authoritative creed, whose essentials were finally fixed in the early years of the fourth century. It is sufficient for the purpose of this sketch to state that when the great doctrines which were wrought by the Ecumenical Councils were thus fixed, sealed with an "anathema," and backed up by imperial and ecclesiastical power, the churches which refused to accept them had but a very slender chance to live. The intention of those beneficent ecclesiastics and politicians who controlled the actions of the Councils was to do away with the schismatic spirit in the Church and to have "one flock and one shepherd." {407} Thus it may be readily realized that it was not very long after the crucifixion when the subtle mentality of the Greek and the organizing genius of the Roman began to assume control of the thought and practice of the Syrian churches. Excommunication, exile, and martyrdom swept away in course of time all obstacles out of the way of the "authoritative creed"; simple faith in Christ was forced to be hospitable to intricate scholastic statements of doctrine, and "love of the brethren" gave way, as a bond of union, to ecclesiastical authority. When the ambitious ecclesiastics of Rome and Constantinople finally brought about the great schism which divided Christendom into two bodies, known as the Eastern and the Western, or the Greek and the Latin churches, the churches of Syria aligned themselves with either the one or the other. The creeds became to those churches party slogans and means of division and hatred, and thus Christ was "divided," and those who claimed to be his followers, in both the Orient and the Occident, {408} took up the cry, "I am of Paul; and I of Apollos; and I of Cephas." So the doctrines of the Syrian churches of every name are essentially those of the two great Roman Catholic and Greek Orthodox communions. In answer to the second question I will say that I have refrained from doctrinal discussion in the present work; first, because so many of the speculative doctrines of Christendom have very little to do with the New Testament; second, because the central purpose of this publication is simply and purely to give the Oriental background of certain Scriptural passages, whose correct understanding depends upon knowledge of their original environment. I have deemed it unnecessary even to follow in the footsteps of the "higher critics" and inquire into the "genuineness" and "non-genuineness" of some of those passages. For the purpose of this work every Scriptural passage which reflects a phase of Eastern thought and life is "genuine." The aim of the author is {409} that this book shall be as free from labored arguments as the simple statements of the Gospel themselves. There is perhaps no phase of human thought which the Christian churches have not used in the advancement of their divisive creeds and pet speculative doctrines. There is an untold number of doctrinal documents which are now lying in the libraries of the world as repositories of moth and dust. They are of the earth earthy. The idea of universal brotherhood and human solidarity which is agitating the minds of men of all races and countries at the present time, is leading the Christian bodies back to the simple faith of Jesus of Nazareth, and causing them to heap contempt upon their technical subtleties and forced uniformities of intellectual belief. At least Protestantism is beginning to be sympathetically aware of its own precious heritage, and to feel the urging of its own genius. Free and coöperative individualism is winning signal victories over the unnatural authority of creed in the Protestant {410} bodies, and the bondage of the letter is giving way to the freedom of the spirit. The Gospel of Christ is triumphing over the theories _about_ Christ, and spiritual self-fulfillment by becoming Christ-like is crowding out of existence all theories of magical salvation. The creed of the theologians consists of many "articles"; the creed of Christ only of two,--"Love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and thy neighbor as thyself." I prefer Christ's creed. THE END [1] Gen. xxiv: 2-4. [2] Matt. xxvii: 59, 60. [3] Exod. xii: 34. [4] See page 198. [5] See page 283. [6] Is. xli: 15. Revised Version. [7] 2 Kings 11: 23-24. [8] See my autobiography, _A Far Journey_, page 94. [9] Is. xlix: 22. [10] Luke xxiii: 26-31. [11] Mark xiv: 27-30. [12] Mark xiv: 68. [13] Mark xiv: 71, 72. [14] Mark xiii: 35. [15] See Deut. xxiv: 6. [16] See page 233. [17] Matt. xxiv: 42. {413} INDEX Admittance of an infant into the Church, 37-40. Agricultural life, in America, 285; in Syria, 286-94. _'Aish_, the sacred, 194. American and Syrian modes of thought, contrast between, 126, 127. American farmer, lack of romance in his life, 285. American life, interpretation of, 9, 10. American mind, attitude toward conception and birth, 22. American women, highly regarded by men, 314; cultivation and privileges of, 316. American youth, seem to be indifferent to filial obedience, 52, 53. Angels as heavenly messengers, 12. Anglo-Saxon, the, and the Oriental, as they appear to each other, 57; the reserve of, 72, 73; uses deeds rather than words in his quarrels, 95; curtness of, 108; has high regard for woman, 313. Anointing the feet, 226-28. Arabic, the language of the Syrians, 175; poetry, 354. Athanasian Creed, 405. Atheism unknown among the Orientals, 84, 85. Athens, 264. Baking of bread in Syria, 200-02. Baldness, 383. Baptism, 38, 221. Barrenness, 20. Basins for kneading, 198, 374. Beard, swearing by the, 172, 173; the sacredness of the, among Orientals, 172. Bears, 382, 383. Bed, letting down the, 270-72; taking up the, 272. Bethlehem, star of, 31, 36, 37, 41. Betrothals, 221. Bible, the, cast in Oriental moulds of thought, 4; reads like a letter from Syria, 5, 6; characteristics of, 5, 6; as a repository of divine revelation, knows no geographical limits, 6; as literature, an imported article in the Western world, 7; misunderstood through misunderstanding of Syrian life, 11; critics of, 41, 119, 128; inaccuracy of statement in, 110-14; metaphors and exaggerations of, 119-25; many passages of, to be judged by what they mean rather than by what they say, 139; the positiveness of speech of, 184, 188; prominent mention of Mary and Martha as Jesus' entertainers in, 207, 335; the words _home_ and _house_ in the translation of, 243; purpose of St. John's Gospel, 343-45. _Passages cited or expounded_: Acts x, p. 277-79; xvi: 15, p. 210; xvii: 17, p. 264; xviii: 18, p. 17; xxi: 10-13, p. 116; xxi: 23, p. 18; xxvi: 8, p. 21. Amos iii: 12, p. 308; iv: 5, p. 98; vi: 3-4, p. 229. 1 Cor. vii: 4, 14, p. 326; vii: 26, p. 184; xi: 5, p. 332; xi: 7-8, p. 329; xiv: 34, p. 333. 2 Cor. ix: 6, p. 83; xi: 26-27, p. 246. Deut. xxi: 15-17, p. 100; xxi: 18-21, p. 336; xxiii: 25, p. 291; xxiv: 6, p. 400; xxv: 7, p. 98; xxv: 15, p. 100; xxviii, 15, 42, p. 294; xxviii: 62, p. 32; xxxii: 39, p. 91. Eccles. vii: 6, p. 290. Ephes. v: 22-23, p. 328; v: 25-29, p. 326. Exod. x: 40, p. 293; xii: 3, 6, p. 233; xii: 11, p. 254; xii: 34, p. 373; xii: 39, p. 374. Ezek. xvi: 1-4, p. 30; xxxiv: 11-13, 16, p. 304. Gal. iii: 28, p. 325; vi: 7, p. 83. Gen. i: 27, p. 330; iii, p. 54; iv: 23, p. 138; xv: 5, p. 33; xviii: 2-3, 5, p. 206; xviii: 16, p. 221; xxi: 23, p. 167; xxii: 16, p. 169; xxiii: 3-6, p. 370; xxiii: 8-9, p. 371; xxiii: 11, p. 371; xxiii: 15-16, p. 372; xxiv: 2-4, pp. 367, 368; xxiv: 10-11, p. 260; xxiv: 30-33, p. 192; xxiv: 53-54, pp. 192, 193; xxiv: 60, p. 23; xxvii: 28-29, p. 338; xxvii: 38, p. 339; xxx: 1, p. 23; xxxi: 53, p. 171; xlix: 25, p. 346. Hebr. vi: 13, p. 170. Is. iv: 6, p. 241; xxxviii: 12, p. 296; xl: 11, p. 306; xli: 15, p. 378; xlvii: 13-14, p. 36; xlix: 22-23, pp. 389-91; lviii: 11, p. 248; lxii: 8, p. 170; lxiii: 2, p. 283. Jerem. lxviii: 38, p. 275. Job xiii: 15, p. 180; xxi: 32, p. 213; xxiv: 11, p. 284, xxix: 1-6, p. 141; xxxi: 32; p. 213. John i: 47-48, p. 282; ii: 4, p. 340; ii: 13-16, pp. 134, 135; iv: 21, 23, p. 342; x: 1-4, pp. 297-99; x: 1-16, p. 295; x: 11, p. 304; xii: 2, p. 224; xii: 3, p. 226; xiii: 23, p. 65; xiii: 26, p. 68; xiii: 28-29, p. 69; xv: 5, p. 280; xv: 9, 12, p. 102; xix: 25-26, p. 345; xxi: 15-16, p. 183. Joshua ix: 12, p. 251. Judges vi: 11, p. 376; vi: 36-40, pp. 181, 182; vii: 5-6, p. 380; vii: 12, p. 260; viii: 7, p. 290; xii: 5-6, p. 176; xix: 5-10, pp. 219-21; xix: 14-21, pp. 211, 212. 1 Kings viii: 37, p. 292; xix: 4, p. 375; xix: 19, p. 287. 2 Kings 11: 23-24, p. 382; iv: 1-6, pp. 383, 384; iv: 22, 24-25, p. 14. Lament. v: 10, p. 202. Lev. xii: 2-4, p. 385; xxv: 35, p. 123; xxvi: 26, p. 202. Luke i: 28, 31, p. 20; ii: 8-14, pp. 42, 43; ii: 12, 15-16, p. 28; ii: 22, p. 37: ii: 29, p. 39; ii: 41, p. 48; ii: 44, p. 50; ii: 51, p. 51; iii: 16, p. 391; iii: 17, p. 379; iv: 18, p. 186; v: 19, pp. 270-71; vi: 1-11, p. 291; vi: 38, p. 267; vii: 36-38, p. 226; viii: 33, p. 158; vii: 43-48, p. 393; ix: 62, p. 288; x: 4; p. 255; xi: 5-7, p. 214; xi: 8-9, p. 217; xi: 11, 23, 27, p. 346; xii: 13-15, p. 156; xiii: 12, p. 342; xiv: 16-23, p. 210; xv: 8-16, pp. 152-57; xv: 20-23, pp. 206, 207; xviii: 2-5, p. 179; xxii: 15, p. 74; xxii: 19, p. 65; xxii: 44, p. 75; xxiii: 26-31, p. 395. Mal. iv: 1, p. 202. Mark 1: 32-33, p. 110; ii: 3-4, p. 270; iii: 20, p. 222; v: 13, p. 158; vi: 31, p. 223; viii: 15, p. 152; x: 17-21, p. 101; x: 24, p. 132; xii: 38, pp. 263, 264; xiii: 35, p. 400; xiv: 17-20, p. 60; xiv: 23, p. 63; xiv: 27-30, 68, 71-72, p. 399; xiv: 53, 66-71, p. 177. Matt. i: 20-21, p. 16; ii: 11, p. 27; iii: 7-9, pp. 117, 118; iii: 11, p. 391; v, p. 120; v: 29-30, p. 119; v: 34-37, pp. 173, 174; v: 39-41, p. 121; v: 42, p. 122; v: 43-45, p. 97; vii: 2, p. 265; viii: 32, p. 158; x: 9-10, p. 249; x: 12-13, p. 87; x: 16, 22, 26-27, p. 274; xi: 16-17, p. 264; xiii: 24-30, pp. 146-48, 288; xiii: 33-35, pp. 149, 199; xiii: 34, p. 145; xiii: 44, p. 161; xv: 28, p. 342; xvi: 6, p. 152; xvi: 13, p. 112; xvi: 21-23, p. 134; xvi: 25-26, p. 112; xvii: 1, p. 112; xvii: 19, p. 128; xviii: 3, p. 187; xviii: 10, p. 89; xviii: 12-14, pp. 308, 309; xviii: 15-17, pp. 135, 136, 139; xviii: 21-22, p. 133; xviii: 23-35, pp. 136, 137; xix: 24, p. 130; xx: 9, p. 277 n.; xxiii: 24, p. 133; xxiv: 17, p. 269; xxiv: 41, p. 400; xxiv: 42, p. 403; xxvi: 7, 20, p. 224; xxvi: 21, p. 59; xxvi: 23, p. 58; xxvi: 27, 29, p. 237; xxvi: 37-39, p. 76; xxvi: 49, p. 71; xxvi: 73, p. 177; xxvii: 59-60, p. 371; xxviii: 20, p. 65. Mic. iv: 4, p. 282. Prov. x: 7, p. 89; xi: 22, p. 351; xii: 4, p. 351; xxi: 9, p. 273; xxvii: 22, p. 234; xxxi: 10-31, pp. 355-57; xxxvii: 22, p. 234. Psalms v: 7, p. 38; viii: 3-4, p. 31; xviii: 2-3, p. 245; xix, p. 36; xix: 1-2, p. 32; xix: 9, 11, p. 86; xx: 22, p. 39; xxiii, pp. 73, 295; xxiii: 1, p. 297; xxiii: 3, pp. 302, 303; xxiii: 4, pp. 305, 309; xli: 9, p. 193; xliv: 14, p. 141; xlvi: 1-2, p. 245; li, p. 73; lxi: 3, p. 241; lxxx: 8-9, 14-15, p. 281; cix: 8-13, pp. 92, 93; cxix: 71-72, p. 245; cxxviii: 3, p. 281; cxxix: 5-8, p. 88; cxxx: 1, 6, p. 387; cxxxix: 1-6, p. 82; cxlv: 16, p. 195; cxlvii: 4-5, p. 33. Rom. vi: 13, p. 120; ix: 1, p. 168; ix: 13, p. 99; xii: 1, p. 168; xii: 19, p. 91. Ruth ii: 4, p. 88. 1 Sam. xx: 27-29, p. 235. 2 Sam. x: 4-5, p. 172. Sol. ii: 10-14, pp. 352, 353; iv: 1-3, p. 353; vii: 1-9, p. 353. 1 Thess. iii: 6, p. 64. Zeph. i: 4-5, p. 276. Birth, of Jesus, 12; a miracle, 20; attitude of Syrian mind toward, 20-25; attitude of American mind toward, 22, 24; of man-child, 27-29; customs at, 28. _See_ Nativity. Blood Covenant, the, 160. Books on the East, 10. Borrowing and lending, 122-24, 215. _Bosom_, in the translation of the Bible, 267. Bread, unleavened, 150; not to be eaten until errand is known, 191, 192; considered to possess mystic sacred significance, 193; the "life-giver, " 194; offering of, 194; of life, Christ, 194; "our daily bread, " 196, 197; the Oriental's attitude toward, is religious, 197; the process of mixing, 198-200; the process of baking, 200-02; bought by weight, 203; always eaten with a sense of sacredness, 237, 238; carried on a journey, 250, 251; does not mould in Syria, 251. Bread and salt, 191-95, 238. _Bûrghûl_, an article of food, 402. Burning pit, the, 201. Burying-places in the East, 370, 371. "Business success, " 53. Cakes of the Bible, 374-76. Cameleers, 260-63, 265. Camels, caravans of, 259, 260; the watering of, 261, 262; riding on, 262, 263. Caravans, 259, 260. Carnivals, 233. Carob tree, the, 158, 159. Carrying children on the shoulder, 389-91. Chaff, 379. Childlessness, evidence of divine disfavor, 20, 23. Children, a heritage from the Lord, 23, 24; presentation of, at the temple, 37; owe obedience to both mother and father, 335, 336; carrying on the shoulder, 389-91. Christ. _See_ Jesus. Christian Church. _See_ Church. Christians, oaths of, 170, 171; Syrian, of the Semitic stock, have had little to do with the development of creeds, 404; creed of the Palestinian, 406. Christmas, 41. Christmas carol, 41, 45. Church, spoken of as the vine which God has planted, 281; the origin and the expansion and organization of, 405; division of, 407, 408. Churches, of Syria, 407, 408; the Greek and the Latin, 407; the Roman Catholic and the Greek Orthodox, 408. Clarke, Adam, and Jesus pilgrimage to Jerusalem, 49; on the parable of the treasure hid in the field, 161, 162. Clocks in Syria, 277 n. Clothing made at home in Syria, 363. _Coat_ and _cloak_, the words, 121, 253. Cock crow, 397-99. Coin, lost, parable of the, 152-55. Coming of the Son of man, the, 400-03. Conception, attitude of the Syrian mind toward, 20-25; attitude of the American mind toward, 23, 24. Constantinople, 405, 407. Corruption, fermentation considered to be, 151, 152. Couches, reclining on, 227-30; sleeping on, 271, 272. Courtesy, example of Oriental, 370-73. Creed-makers of Christendom, 128. Creeds, 403, 404, 407, 409, 410. Crier from the housetop, 273, 274. Critics, of the Bible, 41, 119, 128; of Paul and Christianity, 328; higher, 408. Crowds, 222-24. Crowing of the cock, 397-99. Crucifixion, the story of the, 395-97. Culture gives strength and symmetry to religious thought, 85. Curses. _See_ Imprecations. Curtness of the Anglo-Saxon, 108. Da Vinci, Leonardo, his painting of The Last Supper, 58, 59, 67. Dependence of the Oriental, 72, 73. Dialects of the Oriental's speech, 175-78. "Dipping in the dish, " 58, 60, 61. Disobedience, 54, 335, 336. Distaff, the, 359, 360. Dough, 373. Drawing water, 261. _Drink_, the word as used in the Bible, 193 n. Drinking, at feasts, 61-63, 236, 237; manner of, 380, 381. Eating, 58-61, 222-24. Ecumenical Councils, 406. Eleventh hour, the, 277 n. Elijah, 375. Elisha, the story of, 382, 383; his kindness to a poor widow, 383, 384. Enemies, love of. _See_ Love. Evolution, not altogether compulsory, 242. Exaggeration, Oriental fondness for, 118. "Eye-of-the-needle" passage, the, 130-32. Faith, of the Oriental, 21; Syrian idealization of, 129; early Palestinian, 406. Familiar friend, the, 193. Family, spoken of as a vine, 281. Farmer, the American, 285; the Syrian, 286-94. Fasting, 15. Feasts, fraternal, in Syria, 56-69, 221; family, 231-38. Fecundity, a gift of the Lord, 20; leaven a symbol of, 150. Feet, washing and anointing, 226-28; unclean in a ceremonial sense, 228, 292. Fermentation, considered to be corruption, 151, 152. Fig tree, and the vine, the Oriental's chief joys, 280; sitting under, 281, 282. Filial obedience, 51-55, 335, 336. Flocks of sheep and goats, and their folds, 295, 296; returning, 300; the shepherd's guidance of, 301, 302; the gathering of the, 303. Folds, sheep and goat, 295-98. Forgiveness, 133-39. Forty days, the purification period, 38. Garment, cure effected by touch of, 393-95. Gathering of the flock, the, 303. Gentiles, the, 405, 406. Gesticulation of the Oriental, 115-17. Gethsemane, the kiss in, 70, 74, 76. _Ghebb_ (sucking of the water with the lips), 381. Gideon, the story of, 376, 377; his army, 380, 381. Girdle, the Syrian, 252, 253; placing the hand under, 369. Goad, the Syrian, 286, 288, 378. Goatfolds, 295-98. Goats, the calling of, by name, 299. God, called shelter and refuge, 241, 244, 245; the Oriental's belief that all good comes from, 386, 387. Good pleasure, 335-39. Gospel. _See_ Bible. Gracious woman, a, 348-64. Grain, measuring, 265-67; threshing, 377-80. Greeks, their custom of reclining at meals, 225. Green tree, 396, 397. Grinding wheat, 400-03. Guest, at the feast, 62; sudden arrival of, 213-16; delaying the departing, 218-21; departure of, 221; invited in families, 221, 222; sit on the floor, 222; and _zad_, 250. Hair, cutting the, release from vow, 17, 18. Handmill, 400-03. _Harem_, the, 333, 334. _Hate_, the word, in the Arabic tongue, 99; in the Bible, 99, 100. Hatred and love, 104-06. Hidden treasures, 161-66. Holidays, 221. Home, no word for, among the Syrians, 241, 243; the word in the translation of the Bible, 243. Honoring father and mother, 335. Horn, symbol of strength, 245 n. Hospitality, of Orientals, 205; extended by the man, not the woman, 205-07, 334, 335; Syrian fashion of extending, 208-13; compulsion to accept, 210, 214; Syrian rules of, 213-21; to the traveler, 249, 250. Host, the man, not the woman, acts as, 205-07, 334, 335; the urging of hospitality by, 208-21; bringing the guest on the way, 221; and _zad_, 250. _House_, Syrian use of the word, 241-44; the word in the translation of the Bible, 243; the word precious to the Oriental, 244. House, the Syrian, 242, 269. Housetop, the shouting of wares from, 269, 273; easily reached, 269, 270; making an opening in, 270-72; the construction of, 271; sleeping on, 272; to dwell on, 273; calling from, 273, 274; used for household purposes, 275, 402; praying on, 275-79. _Hûrmat_, term for _wife_, 333; term for _woman_, 342. Husband and wife, according to St. Paul, 326-29, 358. Husks, 158. Hyenas, 307, 308. Imploring, Oriental habit of, 178-81, 217. Importunity, Oriental habit of, 178-81, 217. Imprecations, 88, 91-95, 146. _See_ Swearing. Impressions _vs._ literal accuracy, 115-39. Inaccuracy, intellectual, of the Oriental, 108-14. Increase, the miracle of, 384-87. Indefiniteness, effect produced by, 138, 139. Individualism, 409. Infant, the, in Syria, 28, 29; admittance of, into the church, 37-40. Ingersoll, Robert, 128. Inheritances, division of, 155, 156. Interpretation, sympathetic, a duty of present-day culture, 19. Isaiah, 36. _Jaroosh_ (handmill), 400-02. Jerusalem, arraignment of, 30; Jesus goes on pilgrimage to, 47-51. Jesus Christ, a man without a country, 3; belongs to all races and all ages, 3; as regards his modes of thought and life and his method of teaching, was a Syrian of the Syrians, 4; never out of Palestine, 4; story of his birth, 12; goes on pilgrimage to Jerusalem, 47-51; filial obedience of, 51-55; closing scenes in his personal career, 56, 72; his command to his countrymen to love their enemies, 96; and the money-lenders, 123-25; tendency of, to use parables, 146; his command in regard to swearing, 173, 174; his words to Peter, 183; entertained by Mary and Martha, 207, 335; the anointing of his feet, 226-28; sending his disciples forth, 249; his injunction, "Salute no man by the way, " 255, 257; his first meeting with Nathaniel, 282; on dishonoring the sacred day, 291, 292; and his mother, 340-45; his conversation with the Samaritan woman, 342; as the incarnation of the Logos, 343-45; cure effected by the hem of his garment, 393-95; the crucifixion of, 395-97; conversation of, with Peter after the Last Supper, 399; the Gospel of Christ is triumphing over the theories about, 410; his creed, 410. John, "leaning on Jesus' bosom, " 65-67. John the Baptist, 391, 392. Joseph, story of, 16. Journeys. _See_ Traveling. Judas, the treachery of, 67-71. Judicial contests, swearing in, 169. _Keyyal_ (measurer), 265, 266. _Kherrûb_ (carob), 158, 159. _Kibbey_, a dish of meat and crushed wheat, 233, 234, 402. Killing of the sheep, the, 231-33. Kiss, Judas's, 70, 71. Kissing, among men, a Syrian custom, 70, 71; of the hands of parents, 335. Kneading done in the evening, 373. Kneading-day, 198-200. Kneading-troughs, 374. _Kummer_ (girdle), 252, 253. Lambs, newly born, carried by shepherd, 306, 307. Language, daily, of the Syrian, is Biblical, 87-90; abstinence from "pious, " in America, 90. _See_ Speech. _Lap_, in the Bible, 267. Last Supper, the, 56-69, 74; in harmony with Syrian life, 56, 57; painted by da Vinci in Occidental form, 58, 59; appointments of, were Oriental, 59-69; no women at, 207, 334; conversation of Jesus and Peter after, 399. Leaven, parable of the, 149, 199; held in esteem by the Syrians, 150; the meaning _corruption_ figurative, 152; use of, in making bread, 199. Lent, 233-38. Leopards, 307. Levite, the story of the, 211, 212, 219-21. Life, of a people, cannot be studied from the outside, 7-11; to the Oriental an inheritance, 242. _Like_ ("to be favorably inclined toward"), not in the Bible or the Arabic tongue, 98; in English version of the Bible, 98. Literature, difficult to understand if it has not sprung from the people's racial life, 6; the Bible as, 7. Loaves, parable of the three, 214-17. Locusts, 292-94. Lord's Prayer, the, 196. Love, of enemies, 96-106; not of our own making, 97; meaning of, in the West, 98; meaning of, in the East, 98-102; speaks of the greatest thing in the world, 103; and hatred, 104-06; assurances of, 182. Man-child, birth of, 27-29. _Marafeh_, feast of the, 233-37. Market-place, Syrian, and the caravan, 259; a place of sociability as well as business, 263, 264; measuring grain in, 265-68. Marriage in the East, 348-50. Marriage wishes, 23, 24. Martha, not at the Last Supper, 207, 208, 335. Mary, not at the Last Supper, 207, 208, 335; Jesus and, 340-45. Maternity, pilgrimage for, 12-16. _Mathel_, meaning of, 140. Mattresses, 216. Measure, the generous, 265-68. Measurer, the, 265-68. Mecca, 47. _Melleh_ (cakes), 374, 375. Merchants, muleteer, 269, 273. Metaphor, Oriental fondness for, 118. _Midd_ (a wooden measure), 265, 266. Miracles, 20, 21, 384-87. Mocking of the afflicted, 381-83. Modesty the chief charm of the Oriental woman, 332. Mohammedans, pilgrimages of, 47; oaths of, 169, 170; position of women among, 318 n., 331. Molasses, the method of making, in the East, 285. Money-lenders, 123-25. Mortar, 379. Mother, claiming same obedience as father, 335, 336; Jesus and his, 340-45; the mother's milk, 345-47. _Mouldy_, in translation of the Bible, 251. Mount Zion, meeting in the upper room on, 56-69. Muleteer, merchants, 269, 273. Mustache, swearing by, 171-73. Mysticism, 41, 42. Nativity, narrative of the, 37, 41-44. Nazarite (_nedher_), 16, 18. _Nezel_, 62. Oaks, 376. Oaths. _See_ Imprecations, Swearing. Obedience, filial, 51-55, 335, 336. Oil, miraculous increase of, 384-86. Open space, the, in Syrian villages, 210. Optimism, 45. Oriental, the, and the Anglo-Saxon, in each other's eyes, 57; not afraid to "let himself go, " 57, 72; dependence of, 72, 73; craves sympathy, 73; the vision of, 77; his manner of speech, 81; has not achieved much in the material world, 83; his supreme choice has been religion, 84; always conscious of God and the soul, 84; does not know of atheism, 84, 85; has always lived in a world of spiritual mysteries, 86; his imprecations, 91-95; considers his personal enemies to be the enemies of God, 93; more cruel in words than in deeds, 95; the unveracious, 107-14; intellectual inaccuracy of, 108; expects to be judged by what he means, not by what he says, 115, 125; his speech is always illustrated, 115; fond of metaphor and exaggeration, 118; does not maliciously misrepresent, 126; use of parables and proverbs, a characteristic of, 140; makes no distinction between a parable and a proverb, 140; his contempt for swineherds, 157, 158; his tendency to swear, 167-74; the dialects of his speech, 175-88; his habit of imploring, 178-81; the intimacy and unreserve of his speech, 181-83; the unqualified positiveness of his speech, 183-88; bread and salt to, 191-95; his understanding of the prayer "Give us our daily bread, " 196, 197; religious attitude of, toward bread, 197; bread-making of, 198-204; hospitality of, 205-17; his table appointments, 222, 320; life is an inheritance to, 242; the word _house_ precious to, 244; his method of salutation, 255-58; knows no business without sociability, 263; his reputed lack of regard for women, 314, 315; gives man the precedence, 316, 317; his manner rather than intentions toward woman at fault, 318, 319, 322, 323; has only comparatively slight acquaintance with the art of living, 319; his life simple and without exacting standards, 319, 320; his social activities simple, 321; hates to be standardized, 321; abhors formalities in the family circle, 321, 322; the family system of, patriarchal, 323, 328; his attitude toward woman according to St. Paul, 325-33; limits woman's social privileges because of fear for her, 330, 331; his descriptions of feminine loveliness, 351-55; his description of the virtuous woman, 355-64; example of courtesy of, 370-73; his belief that all good comes from God, 386, 387; his belief in the efficacy of touch to impart divine power, 394; has been a leader in religion and a borrower in theology, 405. _See_ Syria, Syrians. Oven, of the Bible, 200-02. Overcautiousness in the pulpit, 186, 187. Palestine, 405. Parable, of the prodigal son, 142; 152, 155-61, 206, 207; to picture demoralization beyond redemption, 143, 144; on partiality, 144, 145; of the wheat and the tares, 146-49; of the leaven, 149, 199; of the lost sheep, 152, 308; of the lost coin, 152-55; of the treasure hid in the field, 161-66; of the unrighteous judge, 179, 180; of the three loaves, 214-17. Parables, speaking in, 140-66; and proverbs, Oriental makes no distinction between, 140; fondness of Oriental for, 140, 141; sociableness of, 142. Parents, honoring and obeying, 51-55, 335, 336. Passover, feast of the, 49. Path, the beaten, 301, 302. Patron saints as heavenly messengers, 12. Paul, his statements concerning the Syrian attitude toward women, 325-33. Pebble, the covering of the, 203, 204. Personality, secret of, an impenetrable mystery, 4. Pessimism, 45. Peter, his experience in the palace of the high priest, 177, 178; Jesus and, 183; his vision, 276-79. Pilgrimage, meaning, to a Syrian, 13, 14; the _zeara_, 13-17, 47, 48; of Jesus to Jerusalem, 47-51; still common in Syria, 47; occasion of union among the common people, 221. Place of residence, the term, 243. Plough, the Syrian, 286-88. Poetry, dominant feature of Oriental speech, 108; description of feminine loveliness in, 354, 355. _Porter_, in translation of the Bible, 298. Positiveness of speech, Oriental fondness for, 118, 132, 183-88. Prayer, 15; the Lord's, 196. Prayers of the Scriptures, due to persistence in petitioning, 180. Praying on the housetop, 275-79. Presentation of child at temple, 37. Prodigal son, parable of the, 142, 152, 155-61, 206, 207. Pronunciation of the Syrians, 176-78. Protestantism, 409. Proverbs, use of, an Oriental characteristic, 140; and parables, Oriental makes no distinction between, 140. Psalms due to persistence in petitioning, 180. Purification period, 38. Purse, the, 252. _Rada'_ (cloak), 121, 122. _Radha_ (good pleasure), 335-39. Rag trees, 376. Rationalism, modern, 19. Rebecca, 23, 26. Reclining at meals, 224-30. _Refuge_, use of the term, 241, 244. Religion, gives life and beauty to culture, 85; the course of, has been from the East to the West, 405. Religions, the three greatest, have originated in Syria, 86. Remembrance, 63-65. Reproduction, attitude of Eastern peoples toward, 25, 26; attitude of Anglo-Saxons toward, 26. Retribution, 133-39. Revenge, idea of, lies deep in Oriental nature, 91. Rome, 405, 407. Roof. _See_ Housetop. St. John's Gospel, the purpose of, 343-45. Sacrament, feasts and, 56-71. Salt, used at births, in Syria, 28; bread and, 191-95, 238. "Salted, " 28-30. Salutation, the Oriental method of, 255-58. Sarah, 26. Scribes and pharisees, rebuke of, 132, 133. Scrip, the, 250. Scriptures, spring from soil whose life is active sympathy of religion, 85. Scriptures, the. _See_ Bible. Sermon on the Mount, the, 97. "Seventy times seven, " 133-39. Sheep, lost, parable of the, 152, 206-08; the killing of the, 231-33; the calling of, by name, 299; the return of, at evening, 300; guided by the shepherd, 301, 302; the gathering of, 303; their trust in their shepherd, 307. Sheepfolds, 295-98. _Shelter_, use of the term, 241, 244. Shepherd, solicitous watchfulness of, 296, 297, 299; his tent and dog, 298; going before the flock, 299, 300; the guidance of, 301, 302; the good, 304, 305; carrying newly born lambs, 306, 307; rescuing from wild beasts, 307-09. Shepherd life in Syria, 295-309. Shoes, 228 n., 292. Signs and wonders, 181. Sin, origin of, 54. Sitting at meals, 58, 224-30. Sleeping, on couches, 271; on the housetop, 272. Sleeplessness, 388, 389. Snow in Syria, 362, 363. Sociability, no business without, 263. Sociableness of parabolic speech, 142. Solomon's Song, the realism of, 352-55. "Sop, " the, handed to Judas, 68-70. Sower, the Syrian, 286-94. Sowing in Syria, 288, 289. Speech, Oriental's, his manner that of a worshipper, 81, 185; his daily, 81-90; imprecations, 90-95; intellectual inaccuracy of, 108; always illustrated, 115; full of metaphor and exaggeration, 118-39, 372; its positiveness, 118, 132, 183-88; parabolic, 140-66; swearing, 167-74; the many and picturesque dialects of, 175-78; habit of imploring, 178-81; its intimacy and unreserve, 181-83. Spindle, the Syrian, 359-61. Spinning in Syria, 358-61. Spiritual visions, little room for, in modern life, 46. Springs of water, 248, 249. Staff, the Syrian, 254. Star of Bethlehem, 31, 36, 37, 41. Star-gazers, 34, 35. Stars, Oriental attitude toward, 31, 32; multitude likened to, 32, 33; of persons, 33, 34; belief that they are alive with God, 36. Stoves, 200. "Strain at a gnat and swallow a camel, " 133 Streets, 210-13. Superstitions, 18-20. Swaddle, the, 28, 29. Swearing, 167-74. _See_ Imprecations. Swineherds, 157. Syria, life in, to-day, the same as in the time of Christ, 5, 6; life of, must be studied from the inside, 8, 10, 11; pilgrimages still common in, 47; events on Mount Zion and in Gethsemane illustrative of life in, 56-71; belief in regard to tares in wheat-field, common in, 148; hidden treasures in, 164, 165; sitting and reclining at meals in, 224-26; traveling in, 247-58; the market-place in, 259-68; caravans in, 259, 260; drawing water in, 261; measuring grain in, 265-68; the housetop in, 269-77; the vineyard and the fig tree in, 280-82; making wine in, 282-84; agricultural life in, 286-94; shepherd life in, 295-309; status of woman in, _see_ Oriental, Woman; marriage in, 348-50; the process of spinning in, 359-61; snow in, 362, 363; grinding wheat in, 400-03. _See_ Oriental, Syrians. Syrian and American modes of thought, contrast between, 126, 127. Syrian churches, 407, 408. Syrians, attitude toward miracles, 21; attitude toward conception and birth, 22; customs of, at birth, 28; attitude of, toward the stars, 31-36; their custom of kissing, 70; life revolves around a religious center to, 81, 82; their daily language is Biblical, 87-90; have no secular language, 87; mixture of piety and hatred characteristic of, 94; expect to be judged by what they mean, not by what they say, 115; love to speak in pictures, 115-17; their use of figurative language, 117; their regard for leaven, 150; the dialects of, 175-78; hospitality of, 205-30; family feasts of, 231-38; their use of the words _shelter_, _house_, _refuge_, 241-45; live for the most part out of doors, 241, 242; have no word for _home_, 243; lovers of their homes, 243. _See_ Oriental, Syria. _Sûhad_ (sleeplessness), 388, 389. Table appointments, 222, 320. Tares, 146-49. Tare-sickness, 147. _Tennûr_, for use in baking, 201. _Tent_, the term, 243. _Thaub_ (gown), 121. Theology, the course of, has been from the West to the East, 405. Theories about Christ, 410. Thigh, placing the hand under, 367-69. Thorns, 289, 290. Threshing, 290, 377-80. Threshing-board, 290, 377-80. Tiles, 271. Timepieces in Syria, 277 n. Touch, divine power imparted by, 393-95. Tourists, books by, 8, 10. Traitors, 67. Traveling, in America, 246; in the East, 247-58. Treading, the grapes, 283, 377; the grain, 290, 378. Treasure hid in a field, parable of, 161-66. "Treating, " 62. Unleavened bread, 150. Unrighteous judge, parable of the, 179, 180. Unveracity of the Oriental, 107-14. Vengeance, Oriental idea of, 91. Vine, and the fig tree, the Oriental's chief joys, 280; symbol of spiritual as well as physical family unity, 280; the church as a, 281; the family as a, 281. Vineyard, blessings for the increase of, 25. Vows, 16-18, 49. Wakefield, Mr., quoted, 162. Wallet, the, 250. Washing the feet, 226-28. Watching for the dawn, 387-89. Wedding songs, 247. Weddings, 221. Wheat, measuring, 265-67; plucking and eating, 291; threshing, 377-80; miraculous increase of, 384; the grinding of, 400-03. Wild beasts, 307-09. Wills, 155. Wine, the method of making, in the East, 282-84, 377; sweet and bitter, 284. Wine cup, the mystery of, 280. Wine-drinking, 15, 237. Wine press, 282, 283, 377. Wise Men, the, 27, 37, 44. Wolves, 307. Woman, with child, 26; East and West differ greatly in status of, 313, 314; Anglo-Saxon regard for, 313; reputed Occidental contempt for, 314, 315; culture and privileges of the American, 316; the Oriental indifferent to fine points of behavior toward, 316, 317; the Oriental does not consider man superior to, 317-19; Christian and Mohammedan, in Syria, 318 n., 331; explanation of the Oriental's attitude toward, 318, 319, 322; in home of cultivated Syrian, 323, 324; Syrian attitude toward, according to St. Paul, 325-33; of Syria, not always submissive, 329; her social privileges in the East limited because of fear for her, 330, 331, 349; a reason for veiling, in the East, 332; modesty the chief charm of Oriental, 332; why called _hûrmat_, 333; the _harem_, 333, 334; reason for man's precedence of, in social affairs, 334, 335; her place is in the home, 348; classified with reference to virtue and its opposite, 351; the Oriental's descriptions of, 351-55; the virtuous, description of, 355-64. _Woman_, as a term of address, 340-45. Woman-stealing, 330, 331. Wrestling in prayer, 12. Yusuf Balua', 305-09. _Zad_, 249-51. _Zeara_, the (pilgrimage to a shrine), 12-17, 47-48. _Zûkreh_ (remembrance), 63, 65. The Riverside Press CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS U. S. A. 
17278	----	public domain works from the University of Michigan Digital Libraries.) THE WOMEN OF THE ARABS. _WITH A CHAPTER FOR CHILDREN._ BY Rev. HENRY HARRIS JESSUP, D.D., _Seventeen years American Missionary in Syria._ EDITED BY Rev. C.S. ROBINSON, D.D., & Rev. ISAAC RILEY. "The threshold weeps forty days when a girl is born." --_Mt. Lebanon Proverb._ NEW YORK: DODD & MEAD, PUBLISHERS. Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1873, by DODD & MEAD, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. _THIS BOOK_ IS DEDICATED TO THE CHRISTIAN WOMEN OF AMERICA. Beirût, Syria, _July, 1873_. _Owing to the impossibility of my attending personally to the editing of this volume, I requested my old friends_, Rev. C.S. Robinson, D.D., _and_ Rev. Isaac Riley, _of New York, to superintend the work, and would gratefully acknowledge their kind and disinterested aid, cheerfully proffered at no little sacrifice of time._ H.H. JESSUP. PREFACE. The Orient is the birthplace of prophecy. Before the advent of our Lord, the very air of the East was resounding with the "unconscious prophecies of heathenism." Men were in expectation of great changes in the earth. When Mohammed arose, he not only claimed to be the deliverer of a message inspired of Allah, but to foretell the events of futurity. He declared that the approach of the latter day could be distinguished by unmistakable signs, among which were two of the most notable character. Before the latter day, the _sun shall rise in the West_, and God will send forth a cold odoriferous wind blowing from _Syria Damascena_, which shall _sweep away_ the souls of all the faithful, and _the Koran itself_. What the world of Islam takes in its literal sense, we may take in a deeper spiritual meaning. Is it not true, that far in the West, the gospel sun began to rise and shed its beams on Syria, many years ago, and that in our day that cold odoriferous wind of truth and life, fragrant with the love of Jesus and the love of man, is beginning to blow from Syria Damascena, over all the Eastern world! The church and the school, the printing press and the translated Bible, the periodical and the ponderous volume, the testimony of living witnesses for the truth, and of martyrs who have died in its defence, all combine to sweep away the systems of error, whether styled Christian, Moslem or Pagan. The remarkable uprising of christian women in Christian lands to a new interest in the welfare of woman in heathen and Mohammedan countries, is one of the great events of the present century. This book is meant to be a memorial of the early laborers in Syria, nearly all of whom have passed away. It is intended also as a record of the work done for women and girls of the Arab race; to show some of the great results which have been reached and to stimulate to new zeal and effort in their behalf. In tracing the history of this work, it seemed necessary to describe the condition of woman in Syria when the missionaries first arrived, and to examine the different religious systems, which affect her position. In preparing the chapter on the Pre-Islamic Arabs, I have found valuable materials in Chenery's Hariri, Sales and Rodwell's Koran, and Freytag's Arabic Proverbs. For the facts about the Druze religion, I have consulted Col. Churchill's Works, Mount Lebanon, and several Arabic manuscripts in the mission library in Beirût. Rev. S. Lyde's interesting book called the "Asian Mystery," has given me the principal items with regard to the Nusairîyeh religion. This confirms the statements of Suleiman Effendi, whose tract, revealing the secrets of the Nusairîyeh faith, was printed years ago at the Mission Press in Beirût, and translated by that ripe Arabic Scholar Prof. E. Salisbury of New Haven. The bloody Nusairîyeh never forgave Suleiman for revealing their mysteries; and having invited him to a feast in a village near Adana, 1871, brutally buried him alive in a dunghill! For the historical statements of this volume, I am indebted to the files of the Missionary Herald, the Annual Reports of the Syria Mission, the archives of the mission in Beirût, the memoir of Mrs. Sarah L. Smith, and private letters from Mrs. Whiting, Mrs. De Forest, and various missionary and native friends. Information on the general work of the Syrian Mission may be found in Dr. Anderson's "Missions to the Oriental churches," Rev. Isaac Bird's "Bible Work in Bible Lands," and the pamphlet sketches of Rev. T. Laurie and Rev. James S. Dennis. The specimens of poetry from ancient Arabic poetesses, have been gathered from printed and manuscript volumes, and from the lips of the people. Some accounts of child life in Syria and specimens of Oriental stories and nursery rhymes have been gathered into a "Children's Chapter." They have a value higher than that which is given by mere entertainment as they exhibit many phases of Arab home life. The illustrations of the volume consist of drawings from photographs by Bergheim of Jerusalem and Bonfils of Beirût. The pages of Arabic were electrotyped in Beirût by Mr. Samuel Hallock, the skilful superintendent of the American Press. I send out this record of the work carried on in Syria with deep gratitude for all that the Lord has done, and with an ardent desire that it may be the means of bringing this great field more vividly before the minds of Christian people, of wakening warmer devotion to the missionary cause, and so of hastening the time when every Arab woman shall enjoy the honor, and be worthy of the elevation which come with faith in Him who was first foretold as the seed of the woman. HENRY HARRIS JESSUP. Beirût, Syria, Nov. 28, 1872. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. PAGE _State of Women among the Arabs of the Jahiliyeh, or the "Times of the Ignorance."_ 1 CHAPTER II. _State of Women in the Mohammedan World._ 7 CHAPTER III. _The Druze Religion and Druze Women._ 20 CHAPTER IV. _Nusairîyeh._ 35 CHAPTER V. _Chronicle of Women's Work from 1820 to 1872._ 45 CHAPTER VI. _Mrs. Whiting's School._ 57 CHAPTER VII. _Dr. De Forest's Work in Beirût._ 73 CHAPTER VIII. _Re-opening of the School in Beirût._ 97 CHAPTER IX. _Luciya Shekkur._ 114 CHAPTER X. _Raheel._ 120 CHAPTER XI. _Hums._ 140 CHAPTER XII. _Miriam the Aleppine._ 151 CHAPTER XIII. _Modern Syrian Views with regard to Female Education._ 158 CHAPTER XIV. _Bedawin Arabs._ 180 CHAPTER XV. _Woman between Barbarism and Civilization._ 191 CHAPTER XVI. _Opinions of Protestant Syrians with regard to the Work of American Women in Syria._ 200 CHAPTER XVII. _Other Labors for Women and Girls in this Field._ 204 CHAPTER XVIII. _The Amount of Biblical Instruction given in Mission Schools._ 215 CHAPTER XIX. _The Children's Chapter._ 233 THE WOMEN OF THE ARABS. CHAPTER I. STATE OF WOMEN AMONG THE ARABS OF THE JAHILIYEH, OR THE "TIMES OF THE IGNORANCE." In that eloquent Sura of the Koran, called Ettekwir, (lxxxi.) it is said, "When the _girl buried alive_ shall be asked for what sin she was slain." The passage no doubt refers to the cruel practice which still in Mohammed's time lingered among the tribe of Temîm, and which was afterwards eradicated by the influence of Islam. The origin of this practice has been ascribed to the superstitious rite of sacrificing children, common in remote times to all the Semites, and observed by the Jews up to the age of the Captivity, as we learn from the denunciations of Jeremiah. But in later times daughters were buried alive as a matter of household economy, owing to the poverty of many of the tribes, and to their fear of dishonor, since women were often carried off by their enemies in forays, and made slaves and concubines to strangers. So that at a wedding, the wish expressed in the gratulations to the newly-married pair was, "with concord and sons," or "with concord and permanence; with sons and no daughters." This same salutation is universal in Syria now. The chief wish expressed by women to a bride is, "may God give you an arees," _i.e._ a bridegroom son. In the Koran, Sura xiv, Mohammed argues against the Arabs of Kinaneh, who said that the angels were the daughters of God. "They (blasphemously) attribute daughters to God; yet they _wish them not for themselves_. When a female child is announced to one of them, his face grows dark, and he is as though he would choke." The older Arab Proverbs show that the burying alive of female children was deemed praiseworthy. "To send women before to the other world, is a benefit." "The best son-in-law is the grave." The Koran also says, that certain men when hearing of the birth of a daughter hide themselves "from the people because of the ill-tidings; shall he keep it with disgrace, or bury it in the dust." (Sura xvi.) It is said that the only occasion on which Othman ever shed a tear, was when his little daughter, whom he was burying alive, wiped the dust of the grave-earth from his beard! Before the Seventh Century this practice seems to have been gradually abandoned, but was retained the longest in the tribe of Temîm. Naman, king of Hira, carried off among his prisoners in a foray, the daughter of Kais, chief of Temîm, who fell in love with one of her captors and refused to return to her tribe, whereupon her father swore to bury alive all his future female children, which he did, to the number of ten. Subsequent to this, rich men would buy the lives of girls devoted to inhumation, and Sa Saah thus rescued many, in one case giving two milch camels to buy the life of a new-born girl, and he was styled "the Reviver of the Maidens buried alive." The following Arabic Proverbs having reference to women and girls _will illustrate_ the ancient Arab ideas with regard to their character and position, better than volumes of historic discourse: "Obedience to women will have to be repented of." "A man can bear anything but the mention of his women." "The heart of woman is given to folly." "Leave not a girl nor a green pasture unguarded." "What has a girl to do with the councils of a nation?" "If you would marry a beauty, pay her dowry." "Fear not to praise the man whose wives are true to him." "Woman fattens on what she hears." (flattery) "Women are the whips of Satan." "If you would marry a girl, inquire about the traits of her mother." "Trust neither a king, a horse, nor a woman. For the king is fastidious, the horse prone to run away, and the woman is perfidious." "My father does the fighting, and my mother the talking about it." "Our mother forbids us to err and runs into error." "Alas for the people who are ruled by a woman!" The position of woman among the Arabs before the times of Mohammed can be easily inferred from what has preceded. But there is another side to the picture. Although despised and abused, woman often asserted her dignity and maintained her rights, not only by physical force, but by intellectual superiority as well. The poetesses of the Arabs are numerous, and some of them hold a high rank. Their poetry was impromptu, impassioned, and chiefly of the elegiac and erotic type. The faculty of improvisation was cultivated even by the most barbarous tribes, and although such of their poetry as has been preserved is mostly a kind of rhymed prose, it often contains striking and beautiful thoughts. They called improvised poetry "the daughter of the hour." The queen of Arabic poetesses is El Khunsa, who flourished in the days of Mohammed. Elegies on her two warrior brothers Sakhr and Mu'awiyeh are among the gems of ancient Arabic poetry. She was not what would be called in modern times a refined or delicate lady, being regarded as proud and masculine in temper even by the Arabs of her own age. In the eighth year of the Hegira, her son Abbas brought a thousand warriors to join the forces of the Prophet. She came with him and recited her poetry to Mohammed. She lamented her brother for years. She sang of Sakhr: "His goodness is known by his brotherly face, Thrice blessed such sign of a heavenly grace: You would think from his aspect of meekness and shame, That his anger was stirred at the thought of his fame. Oh rare virtue and beautiful, natural trait, Which never will change by the change of estate! When clad in his armor and prepared for the fray, The army rejoiceth and winneth the day!" Again, she lamented him as follows: "Each glorious rising sun brings Sakhr to my mind, I think anew of him when sets the orb of day; And had I not beheld the grief and sorrow blind Of many mourning ones o'er brothers snatched away, I should have slain myself, from deep and dark despair." The poet Nabighah erected for her a red leather tent at the fair of Okaz, in token of honor, and in the contest of poetry gave her the highest place above all but Maymûn, saying to her, "If I had not heard him, I would say that thou didst surpass every one in poetry. I confess that you surpass all women." To which she haughtily replied, "Not the less do I surpass all men." The following are among the famous lines of El Khunsa, which gave her the title of princess of Arab poetesses. The translation I have made quite literal. "Ah time has its wonders; its changes amaze, It leaves us the tail while the head it slays; It leaves us the low while the highest decays; It leaves the obscure, the despised, and the slave, But of honored and loved ones, the true and the brave It leaves us to mourn o'er the untimely grave. The two new creations, the day and the night, Though ceaselessly changing, are pure as the light: But man changes to error, corruption and blight." The most ancient Arab poetess, Zarîfeh, is supposed to have lived as long ago as the Second Century, in the time of the bursting of the famous dyke of Mareb, which devastated the land of Saba. Another poetess, Rakâsh, sister of the king of Hira, was given in marriage, by the king when intoxicated, to a man named Adi. Alas, in these days the Moslem Arabs do not wait until blinded by wine, to give their daughters in marriage to strangers. I once overheard two Moslem young men converging in a shop, one of whom was about to be married. His companion said to him, "have you heard anything about the looks of your betrothed?" "Not much," said he, "only I am assured that she is _white_." In a book written by Mirai ibn Yusef el Hanbali, are the names of twenty Arab women who improvised poetry. Among them are Leila, Leila el Akhyalîyeh, Lubna, Zeinab, Afra, Hind, May, Jenûb, Hubaish, Zarifeh, Jemîleh, Remleh, Lotifeh, and others. Most of the verses ascribed to them are erotic poetry of an amatory character, full of the most extravagant expressions of devotion of which language is capable, and yet the greater part of it hardly bearing translation. It reminds one strikingly of Solomon's Song, full of passionate eloquence. And yet in the poetry of El Khunsa and others, which is of an elegiac character, there are passages full of sententious apothegms and proverbial wisdom. CHAPTER II. STATE OF WOMEN IN THE MOHAMMADAN WORLD. Our knowledge of the position of women among the Mohammedans is derived from the Koran, Moslem tradition, and Moslem practice. I. In the first place, the Koran does not teach that women have no souls. Not only was Mohammed too deeply indebted to his rich wife Khadijah, to venture such an assertion, but he actually teaches in the Koran the immortality and moral responsibility of women. One of his wives having complained to him that God often praised the men, but not the women who had fled the country for the faith, he immediately produced the following revelation: "I will not suffer the work of him among you who worketh to be lost, whether he be male or female." (Sura iii.) In Sura iv. it is said: "Whoso doeth good works, and is a true believer, whether male or female, shall be admitted into Paradise." In Sura xxxiii: "Truly, the Muslemen and the Muslimate, (fem.) The believing men and the believing women, The devout men and the devout women, The men of truth and the women of truth, The patient men and the patient women, The humble men and the humble women, The charitable men and the charitable women, The fasting men and the fasting women, The chaste men and the chaste women, And the men and women who oft remember God; For them hath God prepared Forgiveness and a rich recompense." II. Thus Mohammedans cannot and do not deny that women have souls, but their brutal treatment of women has naturally led to this view. The Caliph Omar said that "women are worthless creatures and soil men's reputations." In Sura iv. it is written: "Men are superior to women, on account of the qualities With which God has gifted the one above the other, And on account of the outlay they make, from their substance for them. Virtuous women are obedient.... But chide those for whose refractoriness Ye have cause to fear ... _and scourge them_." The interpretation of this last injunction being left to the individual believer, it is carried out with terrible severity. The scourging and beating of wives is one of the worst features of Moslem domestic life. It is a degraded and degrading practice, and having the sanction of the Koran, will be indulged in without rebuke as long as Islamism as a system and a faith prevails in the world. Happily for the poor women, the husbands do not generally beat them so as to imperil their lives, in case their own relatives reside in the vicinity, lest the excruciating screams of the suffering should reach the ears of her parents and bring the husband into disgrace. But where there is no fear of interference or of discovery, the blows and kicks are applied in the most merciless and barbarous manner. Women are killed in this way, and no outsider knows the cause. One of my Moslem neighbors once beat one of his wives to death. I heard her screams day after day, and finally, one night, when all was still, I heard a dreadful shriek, and blow after blow falling upon her back and head. I could hear the brute cursing her as he beat her. The police would not interfere, and I could not enter the house. The next day there was a funeral from that house, and she was carried off and buried in the most hasty and unfeeling manner. Sometimes it happens that the woman is strong enough to defend herself, and conquers a peace; but ordinarily when you hear a scream in the Moslem quarter of the city and ask the reason, it will be said to you with an indifferent shrug of the shoulder, "that is only some man beating his wife." That thirty-eighth verse of Sura iv. is one of the many proofs that the Koran is not the book of God, because it violates the law of love. "Husbands love your wives," is a precept of the Gospel and not of the Koran. Yet it is a sad fact that the nominal Christians of this dark land are not much better in this respect than their Moslem neighbors. The Greeks, Maronites and Papal Greeks beat their wives on the slightest provocation. In the more enlightened towns and cities this custom is "going out of fashion," though still often resorted to in fits of passion. Sometimes the male relatives of the wife retaliate in case a husband beats her. In the village of Schwire, in Lebanon, a man beat his wife in a brutal manner and she fled to the house of her brother. The brother watched his opportunity; waylaid the offending husband, and avenged his sister's injuries by giving him a severe flogging. In Eastern Turkey, a missionary in one of the towns noticed that not one woman attended church on Sunday. He expostulated with the Protestants, and urged them to persuade their wives to accompany them. The next Sunday the women were all present, as meek and quiet as could be wished. The missionary was delighted, and asked one of the men how they persuaded them to come? He replied, "We all beat our wives soundly until they consented to come!" This wife-beating custom has evidently been borrowed by the Christian sects from their Moslem rulers and oppressors, and nothing but a pure Christianity can induce them to abandon it. III. Some have supposed that there will be no place in the Moslem Paradise for women, as their place will be taken by the seventy-two bright-eyed Houris or damsels of Paradise. Mohammed once said that when he took a view of Paradise he saw the majority of its inhabitants to be the poor, and when he looked down into hell, he saw the _greater part_ of the wretches confined there to be _women_! Yet he positively promised his followers that the very meanest in Paradise will have eighty thousand servants, seventy-two wives of the Houris, _besides the wives he had in this world_. The promises of the Houris are almost exclusively to be found in Suras, written at a time when Mohammed had only a single wife of sixty years of age, and in all the ten years subsequent to the Hegira, women are only twice mentioned as the reward of the faithful. And this, while in four Suras, the proper wives of the faithful are spoken of as accompanying their husbands into the gardens of bliss. "They and their wives on that day Shall rest in shady groves." (Sura 36.) "Enter ye and your wives into Paradise delighted." (Sura 43.) "Gardens of Eden into which they shall enter Together with the just of their fathers, and their wives." (Sura 13.) An old woman once desired Mohammed to intercede with God that she might be admitted to Paradise, and he told her that no old woman would enter that place. She burst into loud weeping, when he explained himself by saying that God would then make her young again. I was once a fellow-passenger in the Damascus diligence, with a Mohammedan pilgrim going to Mecca by way of Beirût and Egypt, in company with his wife. I asked him whether his wife would have any place in Paradise when he received his quota of seventy-two Houris. "Yes," said he, looking towards his wife, whose veil prevented our seeing her, although she could see us, "if she obeys me in all respects, and is a faithful wife, and goes to Mecca, she will be made more beautiful than all the Houris of Paradise." Paradise is thus held up to the women as the reward of obedience to their husbands, and this is about the sum and substance of what the majority of Moslem women know about religion. Women are never admitted to pray with men in public, being obliged to perform their devotions at home, or if they visit the Mosques, it must be at a time when the men are not there, for the Moslems are of opinion that the presence of women inspires a different kind of devotion from that which is desirable in a place set apart for the worship of God. The Moslem idea of woman is vile and degraded. A Moslem absent from home never addresses a letter to his wife, but to his son or brother, or some male relative. It is considered a grievous insult to ask a Moslem about the health of his wife. If obliged to allude to a woman in conversation, you must use the word "ajellak Allah," "May God elevate you" above the contamination of this subject! You would be expected to use the same expression in referring to a donkey, a dog, a shoe, a swine or anything vile. It is somewhat like the Irish expression, "Saving your presence, sir," when alluding to an unpleasant subject. A Greek christian (?) in Tripoli came to an American Missionary physician and said, "there is a woman, 'ajell shanak Allah' here who is ill. I beg your pardon for mentioning so vile a subject to your excellency." Said the doctor, "and who may it be?" "Ajellak, it is my wife!" I remember once meeting the Mohammedan Mufti of Beirût in Dr. Van Dyck's study at the printing press. The Mufti's wife, (at least _one_ of them,) was ill, and he wished medical advice, but could not insult the Doctor by alluding to a woman in his presence. So he commenced, after innumerable salutations, repeating good-morning, and may your day be happy, until he could decently proceed to business. "Your excellency must be aware that I have a sick man at my house. May God grant you health! Indeed, peace to your head. Inshullah, it is only a slight attack!" "He has pain in his back, headache, and he will not eat." "Has he any fever?" "A little." "I will come and see _her_ this afternoon." "May God increase your good. Good morning, sir!" The Mohammedan laws with regard to polygamy, inheritance and divorce, are a decided advance on the Pagan Arabs of "the Ignorance." The Pagan Arabs allowed any number of wives. The Koran allows _only four_ to any believer, the prophet himself having peculiar privileges in this respect. The modern practice of Mohammedans in taking a score or more of wives is directly contrary to the Koran. The Pagan Arabs suffered no woman to have any part of the husband's or father's inheritance, on the ground that none should inherit who could not go to war, and the widows were disposed of as a part of their husband's possessions. The Koran says, (Sura iv.) "Women ought to have a part of what their parents leave." A male shall have twice as much as a female. But a man's parents, and also his brothers and sisters are to have equal shares, without reference to sex. "God commandeth you to give the male the portion of two females. If she be an only daughter, she shall have the half. Your wives shall have a fourth part of what ye leave, if ye have no issue." Among the Pagan Arabs, divorce was a mere matter of caprice. The Koran says, (Sura ii.) "You may divorce your wives twice (and take them back again). But if the husband divorce her a third time, it is not lawful for him to take her again, until she shall have been actually married to another husband, and then divorced by him." I have known cases where the husband in a fit of passion has divorced his wife the third time, and, in order to get her back again, has _hired another man_ to marry her and then divorce her. A rich Effendi had divorced his wife the third time, and wishing to re-marry her, hired a poor man to marry her for a consideration of seven hundred piastres. He took the wife and the money, and the next day refused to give her up for less than five thousand piastres, which the Effendi was obliged to pay, as the woman had become the lawful and wedded wife of the poor man. No Mohammedan ever walks with his wife in the street, and in Moslem cities, very few if any of men of other sects are willing to be seen in public in company with a woman. The women are closely veiled, and if a man and his wife have occasion to go anywhere together, he walks in advance and she walks a long distance behind him. Nofel Effendi, one of the most learned and intelligent Protestants in Syria, once gave me the explanation of this aversion to walking in public with women, in a more satisfactory manner than I had ever heard it before. Said he, "You Franks can walk with your wives in public, because their faces are unveiled, and it is _known that they are your wives_, but our women are so closely veiled that if I should walk with my wife in the street, no one would know whether I was walking with my own wife or another man's! You cannot expect a respectable man to put himself into such an embarrassing position!" No Moslem woman or girl would dare go into the street without a veil, for fear of personal chastisement from the husband and father, and the Greek, Maronite and other nominal Christian women in Syria shrink from exposing their faces, through fear of insult from the Mohammedans. When European women, either residents or travellers, pass through the Moslem quarter of these cities of Syria and Palestine, with faces unveiled, they are made the theme of the most outrageous and insulting comments by the Moslem populace. Well is it for the feelings of the most of these worthy Christian women, that they do not understand the Arabic language. The Turkish governor of Tripoli was obliged to suppress the insulting epithets of the Moslems towards European ladies when they first began to reside there, by the infliction of the bastinado. In 1857, the Rev. Mr. Lyons in Tripoli, hired Sheikh Owad, a Moslem bigot, to teach him the Arabic grammar. He was a conceited boor; well versed in Arabic grammar, but more ignorant of geography, arithmetic and good breeding than a child. One day Mrs. Lyons passed through the room where he was teaching Mr. L. and he turned his head away from her and spat towards her with a look of unutterable contempt. It was the last time he did it, and he has now become so civilized that he can say good morning to the wife of a missionary, and even consent to teach the sacred, pure and undefiled Arabic to a woman! I believe that he has not yet given his assent to the fact that the earth revolves on its axis, but he has learned that there are women in the world who know more than Sheikh Owad. In ancient times Moslem women were occasionally taught to read the Koran, and among the wealthier and more aristocratic classes, married women are now sometimes taught to read, but the mass of the Moslem men are bitterly opposed to the instruction of women. When a man decides to have his wife taught to read, the usual plan is to hire a blind Mohammedan Sheikh, who knows the Koran by heart. He sits at one side of the room, and she at the other, some elderly woman, either her mother or her mother-in-law, being present. The blind Sheikhs have remarkable memories and sharp ears, and can detect the slightest error in pronunciation or rendering, so they are employed in the most of the Moslem-schools. The mass of the Mohammedans are nervously afraid of entrusting the knowledge of reading and writing to their wives and daughters, lest they abuse it by writing clandestine letters to improper persons. "Teach a _girl_ to read and write!" said a Mohammedan Mufti in Tripoli to me, "Why, she will _write letters_, sir,--yes, _actually write letters_! the thing is not to be thought of for a moment." I replied, "Effendum, you put your foot on the women's necks and then blame them for not rising. Educate your girls and train them to intelligence and virtue, and then their pens will write only what ought to be written. Train the hand to hold a pen, without training the mind to direct it, and only mischief can result." "_Saheah, saheah_," "very true, very true," said he, "But how can this be done?" It has begun to be done in Syria. From the days of Mrs. Sarah L. Smith to the present time, Moslem girls have been taught to read and write and sew, and there are many now learning in the various American, British and Prussian schools. But it will be long before any true idea of the dignity of woman enters the debased minds of Arab Mohammedans. The simple fact is that there is no moral purity or elevation among the men, and how can it be expected among the women. The Moslem idea of woman is infinitely lower than the old Jewish idea. Woman in the time of Christ was highly honored. Believing women followed Christ throughout Galilee and Judea, and although enemies stood watching with hateful gaze on every side, not one word of insinuation was ever lisped against them. It is a most sadly impressive fact to one living in Syria at the present day, that the liberty and respect allowed to woman in the days of our Saviour would now be absolutely impossible. In purely Greek or Maronite or Armenian villages, the women enjoy far greater liberty than where there is a Moslem element in the population. And it is worthy of remark and grateful recognition, that although Christianity in the East has sunk almost to a level, in outward morality, with the Islamic and semi-Pagan sects, there is a striking difference between the lowest nominal Christian community and the highest Mohammedan, in the respect paid to woman. Ignorant and oppressed as the Greek and Maronite women may be, you feel on entering their houses, that the degrading yoke of Moslem brutality is not on their necks. Their husbands may be coarse, ignorant and brutal, beating their wives and despising their daughters, mourning at the birth of a daughter, and marrying her without her consent, and yet there are lower depths of coarseness and brutality, of cruelty and bestiality, which are only found among Mohammedans. I once suggested to a Tripoli Moslem, that he send his daughters to our Girls' School, then taught by Miss Sada Gregory, a native teacher trained in the family of Mrs. Whiting, and he looked at me with an expression of mingled pity and contempt, saying, "Educate a _girl_! You might as well attempt to educate _a cat_!" Not two months since, I was conversing with several of the aristocratic Mohammedans of Beirût, who were in attendance at the commencement of the Beirût Protestant Medical College. The subject of the education of girls was introduced, and one of them said, "we are beginning to have our girls instructed in your Protestant schools, and would you believe it, I heard one of them read the other day, (probably his own daughter,) and she actually asked a question about the construction of a noun preceded by a preposition! I never heard the like of it. The things do distinguish and understand what they read, after all!" The others replied, "_Mashallah! Mashallah!_" "The will of God be done!" Some ten years ago, an influential Moslem Sheikh in Beirût, who was a personal friend of Mr. Araman, the husband of Lulu, brought his daughter Wahidy (only one) to the Seminary to be instructed, on condition that no man should ever see her face. As Mr. Araman himself was one of the teachers, and I was accustomed to make constant visits to the school, she was obliged to wear a light veil, which she drew adroitly over her face whenever the door was opened. This went on for months and years, until at length in recitation she would draw the veil aside. Then she used to listen to public addresses in the school without her veil, and finally, in June, 1867, she read a composition on the stage at the Public Examination, on, "The value of education to the women and girls of Syria," her father, Sheikh Said el Ghur, being present, with a number of his Moslem friends. CHAPTER III. THE DRUZE RELIGION AND DRUZE WOMEN. The great expounder and defender of the Druze religion is Hamzé, the "Universal Intelligence," the only Mediator between God and man, and the medium of the creation of all things. This Hamzé was a shrewd, able and unprincipled man. In his writings he not only defends the abominations of Hakem, but lays down the complete code of Druze doctrine and duty. It is the belief of many, and said to be the orthodox view among the Druzes that their system as such is to last exactly 900 lunar years. The date of the Druze era is 408 Hegira, or 1020 A.D. The present year, 1872, corresponds to the year 1289 Anno Hegira, so that _in nineteen lunar years_ the system will begin to come to an end according to its own reckoning, and after 1000 years it will cease to exist. Others have fixed this present year as the year of the great cataclysm, but the interpreters are so secret and reserved in their statements, that it is only by casual remarks that we can arrive at any idea of their real belief. Lying to infidels is such a meritorious act, that you cannot depend on one word they say of themselves or their doctrines. Their secret books, which were found in the civil wars of 1841 and 1845, have been translated and published by De Sacy, and we have a number of them in the original Arabic manuscripts in the Mission Library in Beirût. From a chapter in one of these, entitled "Methak en Nissa," or the "Engagements of Women," I have translated the following passages, to show the religious position of women, as bearing upon my object in describing the condition of Syrian females. "Believers are both male and female. By instruction women pass from ignorance to knowledge, and become angels like the Five Ministers who bear the Throne: _i.e._, the Doctrine of the Unity. All male and female believers ought to be free from all impurity and disgrace and dishonor. Believing women should shun lying (to the brethren) and infidelity and concupiscence, and the appearance of evil, and show the excellency of their work above all Trinitarian women, avoiding all suspicion and taint which might bring ill upon their brethren, and avoiding giving attention to what is contrary to the Divine Unity. "We have written this epistle to be read to all believing women who hold to the Unity of Hakem, who knows His Eternity and obey their husbands. But let no Dai or Mazûn read it to a woman until he is well assured of her faith and her religion, and she shall have made a written profession of her faith. He shall not read it to one woman alone, nor in a house where there is but one woman, even though he be worthy of all confidence, lest suspicion be awakened and the tongue of slander be loosed. Let there be assembled together at least three women, and let them sit behind a curtain or screen, so as not to be seen. Each woman must be accompanied by her husband, or her father, or brother or son, if he be a Unitarian. The Dai in reading must keep his eyes fixed on his book, neither turning towards the place where the women are, nor casting a glance towards it, nor listening to them. The woman, moreover, must not speak a word during the reading, and whether she is affected by a transport of joy, or moved by an impression of respect and fear, she must carefully abstain from showing her feelings either by smiles or tears. For the smiles, the tears, and the words of a woman may excite man's passions. Let her give her whole attention to the reading, receive it in her heart, and apply all the faculties of her mind to understand its meaning, in order clearly to conceive the true signification of what she is listening to. If she finds any passage obscure, let her ask the Dai, (the preacher,) and he shall answer, if he can, and if not, promise to ask those who are more learned, and when he has obtained the solution he must inform her, if she be deemed worthy. "The highest duty of Unitarian women is to know our Moulah Hakem and the Kaim Hamzé. If they follow Him, let them know that He has released them entirely from the observance of the Seven Arbitrary Pillars of the Law (of Islam) which are (1) Prayer, (2) Fasting, (3) Pilgrimage, (4) Asserting, There is no God but God and Mohammed is the Prophet of God, (5) Giving tithes, (6) War on infidels, (7) Submission to authority. But on the other hand, all believing women must perform the Seven Religious Duties: The First and greatest is Truth in your words: (_i.e._ to the brethren and sisters); the Second is, To watch reciprocally over the safety of the brethren; the Third is, to renounce wholly and entirely whatever religion you may have previously professed; the Fourth is, To keep yourselves apart, clear and distinct from all who are in error; the Fifth is, To recognize the existence of the Unity of our Lord in all ages, times and epochs; the Sixth is, To be satisfied with His will and His works, whatever they may be; The Seventh is, To abandon and resign yourselves to all His orders whether in prosperity or adversity. You must keep these Seven Commandments, and keep them strictly secret from all who are of a different religion. If the Druze women do all this and fulfil their duties, they are indeed among the good, and shall have their reward among the 159 Angels of the Presence and among the Prophets who were Apostles, and be saved from the snare of the accursed Iblîs (Diabolus). Praise then to our Lord Hakim, the praise of the thankful! He is my hope and victory!" What can you expect of the women, if the teachers are thus warped with hypocrisy and falsehood. They receive you politely. Dr. De Forest used to say, that there is not a boor in the Druze nation. But their very politeness confounds you. The old Druze women are masters of a pious religious phraseology. "We are all sinners." "The Lord's will be done." "Praise to His name." "He only can command." "The Lord be merciful to us." "He orders all things," and yet they will lie and deceive, and if not of the initiated class, they will swear in the most fearful manner. The Okkal cannot swear, smoke or drink, but they tell a story of a village where the people were all Okkal, and things having reached a high pitch of excitement, they sent for a body of Jehal or the non-initiated to come over and swear on the subject, that their pure minds might be relieved! When they talk in the most affectingly pious manner, and really surpass you in religious sentiment, you hardly know what to do. Tell them God knows the heart. They reply, "He alone is the All-knowing, the Searcher of the hearts of men." You shrink from telling them in plain language that they are hypocrites and liars. You _can_ tell them of the _personal love_ of a personal Saviour, and this simple story will affect and has affected the minds of some of them more than all logic and eloquent refutation of their foggy and mysterious doctrinal system. They respect us and treat us politely for political reasons. During the massacres of 1860, I rode from Abeih to Beirût in the midst of burning villages, and armed bodies of Druzes passed us shouting the war song "Ma hala ya ma hala kotal en Nosara," "How sweet, oh how sweet, to kill the Christians," and yet as they passed us they stopped and most politely paid their salams, saying, "Naharkum Saieed," "May your day be blessed," "Allah yahtikum el afiyeh," "God give you health!" When a Druze Sheikh wishes to marry, he asks consent of the father without having seen the daughter. If the father consents, he informs her, and if she consents, the suitor sends his affianced presents of clothes and jewelry, which remain in her hands as a pledge of his fidelity. She is pictured to him as the paragon of beauty and excellence, but he is never allowed to see her, speak to her, or write to her, should she know how to write. His mother or aunt may see her or bring reports, but he does not see her until the wedding contract is signed and the bride is brought to his house. The following is the marriage ceremony of the Druzes. It is read by the Kadi or Sheikh, and in accordance to the Druze doctrine that they must outwardly conform to the religion of the governing power, it is a purely Mohammedan ordinance. "Praise to God, the original Creator of all things; the Gracious in all His gifts and prohibitions; who has decreed and fixed the ordinance of marriage; may Allah pray for (bless) our Prophet Mohammed, and his four successors! Now after this, we say that marriage is one of the laws given by the prophets, and one of the statutes of the pious to guard against vice; a gift from the Lord of the earth and the heaven. Praise to Him who by it has brought the far ones near, and made the foreigner a relative and friend! We are assembled here to attend to a matter decreed and fated of Allah, and whose beginning, middle and end he has connected with the most happy and auspicious circumstances. This matter is the blessed covenant of marriage. Inshullah, may it be completed and perfected, and praise to Allah, the Great Completer! Amen! "In the name of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate. He is my portion and sufficiency. May Allah pray for his pure prophet!" This is the marriage contract between the person named A. son of ---- of the village of ---- in the district of ---- in Lebanon, and his betrothed named B. the daughter of ---- of the village of ---- she being a maiden of full and marriageable age, with no legal obstacles to her marriage. (May Allah protect her veil, and have mercy on her relatives and friends!) In view of the mercies of Allah and his prophet Mohammed, they pay fifty piastres ($2.00) of full and lawful number, weight and measure, of the Imperial mint of our Moulah the Sultan, (may the exalted and merciful One give him the victory!) and of new white silver. The agent of the husband is ---- and of the wife is ----. It is the absolute and bounden duty of the husband to provide clothing for the body of his wife and a crown for her head, and of the wife to give him his due honor and rights and do his work, and Allah will be with those who fear Him, and not suffer those who do well to lose their reward. Signed Sheikh ---- (seal) -- seal Witnesses -- seal -- seal A whole week is given up to festivity before her arrival, and the retinue of the bride mounted on fine horses escort her amid the firing of musketry, the _zilagheet_ shrieks of the women, and general rejoicing, to the bridegroom's house. Col. Churchill describes what follows: "The bride meantime, after having received the caresses and congratulations of her near relatives, is conducted to a chamber apart and placed on a divan, with a large tray of sweetmeats and confectionery before her, after which all the females withdraw and she is left alone, with a massive veil of muslin and gold thrown over her head and covering her face, breasts and shoulders down to the waist. What thoughts and sensations must crowd upon the maiden's mind in this solitude! not to be disturbed but by him who will shortly come to receive in that room his first impressions of her charms and attractions! Presently she hears footsteps at the door; it opens quietly; silently and unattended her lover approaches her, lifts the veil off her face, takes one glance, replaces it and withdraws." He then returns to the grand reception-room, takes his seat at the head of the divan amid the throng of Sheikhs and other invited guests. He maintains an imperturbable silence, his mind being supposed to be absorbed by one engrossing object. It may be delight. It may be bitter disappointment. It is generally past midnight when the party breaks up and the family retires. A plurality of wives is absolutely forbidden. If a Druze wishes to divorce his wife, he has merely to say, "You had better go back to your father," or she, the woman, wishes to leave her husband, she says, "I wish to go back to my father," and if her husband says, "Very well, go," the divorce in either case holds good, and the separation is irrevocable. Both parties are free to re-marry. Childlessness is a common cause of divorce. The birth of a son is the occasion of great rejoicing and presents to the family. But the birth of a daughter is considered a misfortune, and of course not the slightest notice is taken of so inauspicious an event. This holds true among all the sects and peoples of Syria, and nothing but a Christian training and the inculcation of the pure principles of gospel morality can remove this deeply seated prejudice. The people say the reason of their dislike of daughters is that while a son builds up the house, and brings in a wife from without and _perpetuates the family name_, the daughter pulls down the house, loses her name, and is lost to the family. The wealthier and more aristocratic Druze sitts or ladies are taught to read by the Fakih or teacher, but the masses of the women are in brutish ignorance. You enter a Druze house. The woman waits upon you and brings coffee, but you see only _one eye_, the rest of the head and face being closely veiled. In an aristocratic house, you would never be allowed to see the lady, and if she goes abroad, it is only at night, and with attendants on every side to keep off the profane gaze of strangers. If a physician is called to attend a sick Druze woman, he cannot see her face nor her tongue, unless she choose to thrust it through a hole in her veil. In many cases they suffer a woman to die sooner than have her face seen by a physician. The Druzes marry but one wife at a time, and yet divorce is so common and so heartlessly practiced by the men, that the poor women live in constant fear of being driven from their homes. In Abeih, we were startled one evening by the cry "Rouse ye men of self respect! Come and help us!" It was a dark, rainy night, and the earthen roof of a Druze house had fallen in, burying a young man, his wife and his mother, under the mass of earth, stones and timber. They all escaped death, but were seriously injured, the poor young wife suffering the most of all, having fallen with her left arm in a bed of burning coals, and having been compelled to lie there half an hour, so that when dug out, her hand was burned to a cinder! For several days the husband refused to send for a doctor, but at length his wife Hala was sent to the College Hospital (of the Prussian Knights of St. John) in Beirût where Dr. Post amputated the hand below the elbow. One would naturally suppose that such a calamity, in which both so narrowly escaped death, would bind husband and wife together in the strongest bonds of affection and sympathy. But not so in this case. The poor young wife is now threatened with divorce, because she is no longer of any use to her husband, and her two little children are to be taken from her! She lies on her bed in the Hospital, the very picture of stoical resignation. Not a groan or complaint escapes her. She said one day, "Oh how glad I am that this happened, for it has taken away all my sins, and I shall never have to suffer again in this world or the next!" This is the doctrine of the Druzes, and, cold and false as it is, she has made it her support and her stay. Dr. Post and Mrs. Bliss have pointed her to the Lamb of God "who bore our sins in His own body on the tree," and she seems interested to hear and learn more. Her younger sister is in the Beirût Seminary. May this poor sufferer find peace where alone it can be found, in trusting in the Lord Jesus Christ, whose blood cleanseth from all sin! The cruelty of her husband, sanctioned as it is by the religious code of the Druzes, may be the means of opening her eyes to the falsity of that heartless Christless system, and lead her to the foot of the Cross! Christians, who read these lines, pray for Hala of Abeih! SITT ABLA. More than twenty years ago in the little Druze village of Aitath, in Lebanon, about seven miles from Beirût, lived a family of Druze Sheikhs of the tribe of Telhûk. This tribe was divided into the great Sheikhs and the little Sheikhs, and among the latter was the Sheikh Khottar. The proximity of this village to Beirût, its elevated position, cool air, and fine fountain of water, made it a favorite summer retreat for the missionaries from the withering heats of the plain. Sheikh Khottar and his wife the Sitt, having both died, their orphan son Selim and daughter Abla, called the Sitt (or lady) Abla, were placed under the care of other members of the family of Telhûk. The missionaries opened a school for boys and Selim attended it. Dr. and Mrs. Van Dyck were living in Aitath at the time, and the young Druze maiden Abla, who was betrothed to a Druze Sheikh, became greatly attached to Mrs. Van Dyck, and came almost constantly to visit her. The light of a better faith and the truth of a pure gospel gradually dawned upon her mind, until her love for Mrs. Van Dyck grew into love for the Saviour of sinners. The Sheikh to whom she was betrothed was greatly enraged at her course in visiting a Christian lady, and meeting her one day when returning to her home, attacked her in the most brutal manner, and gave her a severe beating. She fled and took refuge in the house of Mrs. Van Dyck, who had taught her to read and given her a Bible. A short time after, several of her cousins seized her and scourged her most cruelly, and a violent persecution was excited against her and her brother Selim. She was in daily and hourly expectation of being killed by her male relatives, as it had never been heard of in the Druze nation that a young girl should dare to become a Christian, and Mr. Whiting, missionary in Abeih, sent over a courageous Protestant youth named Saleh, who took the Sitt Abla by night over the rough mountain road to Abeih in safety. But even here she was not safe. The Druzes of Lebanon at that time were at the height of their feudal power. Girls and women were killed among them without the least notice on the part of the mountain government. Abla was like a prisoner in the missionary's house, not venturing to go outside the door, and in order to be at peace, she went down with her brother to Beirût, where she has since resided. Selim united with the Church, but was afterwards suspended from communion for improper conduct, and joined himself to the Jesuits, so that Abla has had to endure a two-fold persecution from her Druze relatives and her Jesuit brother. On her removal to Beirût she was disinherited and deprived of her little portion of her father's estate, and her life has been a constant struggle with persecution, poverty and want. Yet amid all, she has stood firm as a rock, never swerving from the truth, or showing any disposition to go back to her old friends. At times she has suffered from extreme privation, and the missionaries and native Protestants would only hear of it through others who happened to meet her. Since uniting with the Church in 1849 she has lived a Christian life. In a recent conversation she said, "I count all things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord, _for whom I have suffered the loss of all things_ ... and I still continue, by the grace of Him Exalted, and by the merits of Jesus Christ my Saviour, awaiting a happy death, and everlasting rest." KHOZMA. Her Christian experience is like that of Khozma Ata. She is the only female member of the Protestant church in Syria from among the Druzes, except Sitt Abla. She was born, in Beirût of the Druze family of Witwat, and when quite a child was taken by Dr. Beadle, then by Miss Tilden, living at one time in Aleppo, then in Jerusalem, and finally settled in the family of Dr. De Forest, where she continued until his departure for America in 1854. For several years she has been an invalid, and is not often able to leave her house, even to go to church. Two of her little girls are in the Female Seminary. In 1861 she taught a day school for girls in Beirût, and assisted Dr. De Forest in his work in the Beirût Seminary. I called upon her a few days since, and she handed me a roll of Arabic manuscript, which she said she had been translating from the English. It is a series of stories for children which she has prepared to be printed in our monthly journal for Syrian children. The name of the journal is "koukab es Subah," or "Morning Star." She has been confined to her bed a part of the summer, and when she gave me the manuscript, she apologized for the handwriting, on the ground that she had written the most of it sitting or lying on her bed. She has not forgotten the example and instructions of Dr. and Mrs. De Forest, and speaks of them with enthusiastic interest. Her husband failed in business some years ago, and she is in a constant struggle with want, but her old friends and loving sisters, Raheel and Lulu, who are among her nearest neighbors, are unremitting in their kind attentions to her. What a difference between the faithful Christian nurture her little children are receiving at home, and the worse than no training received by the children of her Druze relatives at Ras Beirût, who are still under the shadow of their old superstitions. She never curses her children nor invokes the wrath of God upon them. She is never beaten and spit upon and tortured and threatened with death by her husband. It is worth much to have rescued a Khozma and an Abla from the degradation of Druze superstition! These two good women, with Abdullah in Beirût, and Hassan, Hassein, Asaad and Ali, in Lebanon, are among the living witnesses to the preciousness of the love of Christ, who have come forth from the Druze community. They have been persecuted, and may be again, but they stand firm in Christ. Not a few Druze girls are gathered in our schools in Beirût, Lebanon, and the vicinity of Hermon, as well as in other schools in Damascus, Hasbeiya and elsewhere, and some of their young men are receiving a Christian education. CHAPTER IV. NUSAIRIYEH. To the North of Mount Lebanon, and along the low range of mountains extending from Antioch to Tripoli, and from the Mediterranean on the West to Hums on the East, live a strange, wild, blood-thirsty race called the Nusairîyeh numbering about 200,000 souls, and now for the first time in their history coming within the range of Missionary effort. The Druzes admit women to the Akkal or initiated class, but not so the Nusairîyeh. The great secret of the Sacrament is administered in a secluded place, the women being shut up in a house, or kept away from the mysteries. In these assemblies the Sheikh reads prayers, and then all join in cursing Abubekr, Omar, Othman, Sheikh et-Turkoman and the Christians and others. Then he gives a spoonful of wine, first to the Sheikhs present, and then to all the rest. They then eat fruit, offer other prayers, and the assembly breaks up. The rites of initiation are frightful in the extreme, attended by threats, imprecations and blasphemous oaths, declaring their lives forfeited if they expose the secrets of the order. They use given signs and questions, by which they salute each other, and ascertain whether a stranger is one of them or not. In their books they employ the double interlacing triangle or seal of Solomon. They call each other brethren, and enjoin love and truthfulness, but _only to the brethren_. In this they are like the Druzes. So little do they regard all outside their own sect, that they _pray to God to take out of the hearts of all others than themselves, what little light of knowledge and certainty they may possess_! The effect of this secret, exclusive, and selfish system is shown in the conduct of the Nusairîyeh in robbing and murdering Moslems and Christians without compunction. As it has been said, the Nusairîyeh women are entirely excluded from all participation in religious ceremonies and prayers, and from all religious teaching. The reason given, is two-fold; the first being that women cannot be trusted to keep a secret, and the second because they are considered by the Nusairîyeh as something unclean. They believe that the soul of a wicked man may pass at death into a brute, or he may be punished for his sins in this life by being born in a woman's form in the next generation. And so, if a woman live in virtue and obedience, there is hope of her again being born into the world _as a man_, and becoming one of the illuminati and possessors of the secret. It is a long time for the poor things to wait, but it is a convenient reward for their husbands to hold out before them. Yet the women are so religiously inclined by nature that they will have some object of worship, and while their husbands, fathers and sons are talking and praying about the celestial hierarchies, and the unfathomable mysteries, the wives, mothers and daughters will throng the "zeyarehs," or holy visiting shrines, on the hill tops, and among the groves of green trees, to propitiate the favor of the reputed saints of ancient days. These shrines are supposed to have miraculous powers, but Friday is the day when the prophets are more especially "at home," to receive visitors. On other days they may be "on a journey," or asleep. Whenever a Nuisairiyeh woman is in sorrow or trouble or fear, she goes to the zeyareh and cries in a piteous tone, "zeyareh, hear me!" Their women do not veil themselves, and consequently there is more of freedom among them than among Moslems and Druzes, and in their great festivals, men and women all dance together. When a young man sees a girl who pleases him, he bargains with her father, agreeing to pay from twenty dollars to two hundred, according to the dignity of her family; of which sum she receives but four dollars, unless her father should choose to give her a red bridal box and bedding for her outfit. She rides in great state to the bridegroom's house amid the firing of guns and shouts of the women, and on dismounting, the bridegroom gives her a present of from one to three dollars, called the "dismounting money." Divorce needs only the will of the man, and polygamy is common. Lane says in speaking of Egypt, "The depraving effects of this freedom of divorce upon both sexes, may be easily imagined. There are many men in this country who, in the course of ten years, have married as many as twenty, thirty or more wives; and women, not far advanced in age, who have been wives to a dozen or more men successively." The Nusairîyeh women smoke, swear, and use the most vile and unclean language, and even go beyond the men in these respects. Swearing and lying are universal not only among the Nusairîyeh, but among the most of the Syrian people. You never receive a direct reply from a Nusaîry. He will answer your question by asking another, in order, if possible, to ascertain your object in asking it and to conceal the true state of the case. Their Moslem and nominal Christian neighbors are not much better. They all lie, and swear, and deceive. Mr. Lyde illustrates the ignorance of the Greek clergy in Latakiah by the following incident. A ploughman who had learned something of the Bible, heard a Greek priest cursing the father of a little child. He said, "My father, is it right to curse?" "Oh," said he, "it was only from my lips." "But does not the psalmist say, Keep the door of my lips?" "That," replied the priest, "is only in the English Bible." Walpole says of the Nusairîyeh women, "when young, they are handsome, often fair, with light hair and jet-black eyes; or the rarer beauty of fair eyes and coal-black hair or eyebrows." When a fight takes place between the tribes, the women, like the women of the Druzes, enter into the spirit of it with demoniacal fury. During the battle they bring jars of water, shout, sing, and encourage the men, and at the close carry off the booty, such as pots, pans, chickens, quilts, wooden doors, trays, etc. In the Druze war of 1860, I saw the Druze women running with the men through Aitath, on their way to the scene of hostilities in the Metn. The Bedawin women likewise aid their husbands in the commissariat of their nomad warfare. The Rev. Mr. Lyde was the first to undertake direct missionary labors among the Nusairîyeh, and his work has been carried on by the Reformed Presbyterian Mission in Latakiah. The Rev. J. Beattie sends me the following facts with regard to the work now going on among the women and girls. The first convert under the labors of Mr. Lyde was Hammûd, of the village of Merj, a young man of fine mind and most lovely character, who gave promise of great usefulness. After he became a Christian, his mother, finding that no Nusaîry girl would marry a Christian, determined to secure a young girl and have her educated for Hammûd. So she paid four Turkish pounds for a little Nusaîry girl named Zahara or Venus, whose widowed mother had removed to her village. This payment was in accordance with Nusaîry customs, and constituted the girl's dowry. After the betrothal in 1863, Hammûd sent her to Latakiah, where she was taken into the family of the late Dr. Dodds for instruction and training. She gladly received the truth, and Hammûd labored earnestly for her enlightenment. Everything seemed bright and promising, until suddenly all their earthly hopes were dashed by the early death of Hammûd in December, 1864. He died in the triumphs of the Christian faith, and from that time she gave herself to the Lord. In August, 1865, she with several others was baptized and received into the communion of the Church. At her own request, she was baptized as Miriam. In 1866 she was married to Yusef Jedid, and lived with him in several of the villages among the Nusairîyeh, where he was engaged in teaching. Her husband at length removed to Bahlulîyeh in 1870, and a wide door of usefulness was opened to them. Her little daughters Lulu and Helany were with her, and there was every prospect that she would be able to do much for Christ among her benighted sisters. But the same disease, consumption, which prostrated Hammûd, now laid her aside. It was probably brought on by a careless exposure of her health while lying down on the damp ground and falling asleep uncovered, as the natives of the mountain villages are in the habit of doing. The missionaries from Latakiah constantly visited her, and Dr. Metheny gave her the benefit of his medical skill, but all in vain. She loved to converse on heavenly things, and hear the Scriptures and prayer. But when the missionaries returned to the city, she was overwhelmed by the rebukes and merciless upbraidings of the fellaheen, who have no sympathy for the sick, the disabled and the dying. Her ears were filled with the sound of cursing and bitterness, and no wonder that she entreated the missionaries not to leave her. She told Mr. Beattie that she did not fear to die, for her trust was in Jesus Christ, but it was hard to be left among such coarse and unsympathizing people. At length she was brought into Latakiah, where she seemed to feel more at home. At times she passed through severe spiritual conflicts, and said she was struggling with the adversary, who had tried to make her blaspheme. At one time she was in great excitement, but when the 34th Psalm was read she became entirely composed and calm, and in turn, began chanting the 23rd Psalm to the end. She sent for all of her friends and begged their forgiveness, commended her children to the care of Miss Crawford, and asked Mr. Beattie to pray with her again. Her bodily sufferings now increased, when suddenly she called out, "The Lord be glorified! To God give the glory!" Soon after, she gently fell "asleep in Jesus." Thus died the first woman, as far as we know, ever truly converted from among the Pagan Nusairîyeh. Her conversion opened the way for that work of moral, religious and intellectual elevation among the Nusaîry females which has since been carried on in Latakiah and vicinity. The first Christian woman to undertake the direct task of educating and elevating the Nusairîyeh females was Miss Crawford. She commenced her work in 1869. The Mission had found that the Boarding School for boys was training a class of young men, who could not find, among the tens of thousands of families in their native mountains, a single girl fitted to be one's companion for life. The females were everywhere neglected, and Miss Crawford came to Syria just at the time of the greatest need. Under the care and direction of the Mission, she commenced a Boarding School for girls in Latakiah in the fall of 1869. At first, but few pupils could be persuaded to come. Only two attended during the first year. Their names were Sada and Naiuf, the sister of Zahara. The next year Sada left, and ten new ones entered the school: Marie, Howa, Naiseh, Shehla, Thaljeh, (snow,) Tumra, (fruit,) Ghazella, Husna, Bureib'han, and Harba. They were all from twelve to fourteen in age, and remained through the winter, but at the beginning of wheat harvest, their friends forced them to return to their homes for the summer. They made marked progress both in study and deportment, and before leaving for their homes passed a creditable examination both in their studies and in needlework. The fact was thus established to the astonishment of the citizens of Latakiah, that the Nusairîyeh girls were equal in intellect and skill in needlework to the brightest of the city girls. In the autumn of 1871 it was feared that the Pagan parents of the girls would prevent their return to the school, but, greatly to the gratification of the missionaries, all of the ten returned, bringing with them nine others; Hamameh, (dove,) Henireh, Elmaza, (diamond,) Deebeh,(she-wolf,) Alexandra, Zeinab, Lulu, (pearl,) Howwa, (Eve,) and Naameh, (grace). During the year the pupils brought new joy to the hearts of their teachers. Not only were their numbers greatly increased, but the older girls seemed all to be under the influence of deep religious impressions on their return to the school. Although they had spent the summer among the wild fellaheen and been compelled to listen to blasphemy, impurity and cursing on every side, they had been able by the aid of God's Spirit to discriminate between good and evil, and to contrast the lawless wickedness of the fellaheen with the holy precepts of the Bible. Finding themselves unable to meet the requirements of God's pure and holy law, they returned under serious distress of mind, asking what they should do to be saved? Such of them as could do so, had been in the habit of meeting together during the summer for prayer, and of repeating the ten commandments and other portions of Scripture with which they were familiar. They had been threatened and beaten by their friends on account of their religious views, but they remained unmoved. The child-like simple faith of some of them was remarkable. Marie was punished on one occasion by her father for attending the missionary service at B'hamra on the Sabbath. He forbade her to eat for a whole day, and she prayed that God would give her bread. Soon after, on her way to the village fountain, she found part of a merkûk, loaf of bread, by the wayside, which she picked up and ate most gratefully, regarding it as a direct answer to her prayer. Another Ghuzaleh, was brutally beaten because she would not swear and blaspheme, and all were threatened and insulted because they would not work on Sunday. In November, 1871, seven of these girls, on their own application, were received into the membership of the Church. It was an interesting sight to see that group of Nusairîyeh heathen girls standing to receive the ordinance of Christian baptism. In the spring of 1872, another was added to the list. These little ones of Christ have all thus far shown themselves faithful. They were sent back to their homes in the summer, and several, if not the most, of them may be forbidden to return again to the school. Some may say, why allow them to go home? The policy of encouraging children to run away from their parents and connect themselves with foreign missionaries and missionary institutions, will lead the heathen to hate the very name of Christianity, and to charge it with being a foe to all social and family order, and on the broad ground of missionary usefulness, the girls can do far more good in their own homes than elsewhere. CHAPTER V. CHRONICLE OF WOMEN'S WORK FROM 1820 TO 1872. It must not be inferred from what has been said on a preceding page with regard to the favorable position occupied by the women of the nominal Christian sects of Syria as compared with the Mohammedan women, that the first missionaries found the Greek and Maronite women and girls who speak the Arabic language eager or even willing to receive instruction. Far from it. The effects of the Mohammedan domination of twelve hundred years have been to degrade and depress all the sects and nationalities who are subject to Islam. Not only were there not women and girls found to learn to read, but the great mass of the men of the Christian sects could neither read nor write. Many of the prominent Arab merchants in Beirût to-day can neither read nor write. I say Arab merchants, and yet very few of the Arabs of the Greek Church have more than a mere tinge of Arab blood in their veins. To call them Syrians, would be to confound them with the "Syrian" or "Jacobite" sect, who are found only in the vicinity of Hums, Hamath and Mardin. So with the Maronites. They are chiefly of a darker complexion than the Arab Greeks, and are supposed to have had their origin in Mesopotamia. Yet all these sects and races speak the common Arabic language, and hence it will be convenient to call them Arabs, although I am aware, that while many of the modern Syrians glory in the name "Oulad el Arab," many others regard it with dislike. The Syrian Christianity, moreover, so often alluded to in the history of the Syrian Mission, is the lowest type of the religion of the Greek and Roman churches. Saint-worship and picture-worship are universal. An ignorant priesthood, and a superstitious people, no Bibles, and no readers to read them, no schools and no teachers capable of conducting them, prayers in unknown tongues, and a bitter feeling of party spirit in all the sects, universal belief in the efficacy of fasts and vows, pilgrimages and offerings to the shrines of reputed saints, churches without a preached gospel, and prayers performed as a duty without the worship of the heart, universal Mariolatry, a Sabbath desecrated by priests and people alike, God's name everywhere profaned by men, women and children, and truthfulness of lip almost absolutely unknown; the women and girls degraded and oppressed and left to the tender mercies of a corrupt clergy through the infamies of the confessional; all these practices and many others which space forbids us to mention, combined with the social bondage entailed upon woman by the gross code of Islam, rendered the women of the nominal Christian sects of Syria almost as hopeless subjects of missionary labor as were their less favored Druze and Moslem sisters. In order to present the leading facts in the history of Mission Work for Syrian women, I propose to give a brief review of the salient points, in the order of time, as I have been able to glean them from the missionary documents within my reach. The first Protestant missionary to Syria since the days of the Apostles, was the Rev. Levi Parsons, who reached Jerusalem January 16, 1821, and died in Alexandria February 10, 1822. In 1823, Rev. Pliny Fisk, and Dr. Jonas King reached Jerusalem to take his place, and on the 10th of July came to Beirût. Dr. King spent the summer in Deir el Kamr, and Mr. Fisk in a building now occupied by the Jesuit College in Aintûra. On the 16th of November, 1823, Messrs. Goodell and Bird reached Beirût, and on the 6th of December, 1824, they wrote as follows: "Mr. King's Arabic instructor laughs heartily that the ladies of our company are served first at table. He said that if any person should come to his house and speak to his wife _first_, he should be offended. He said the English ladies have some understanding, the Arab women have none. It is the custom of this country that a woman must never be seen eating or walking, or in company with her husband. When she walks abroad, she must wrap herself in a large white sheet, and look like a ghost, and at home she must be treated more like a slave than a partner. Indeed, women are considered of so little consequence that to ask a man after the health of his wife, is a question which is said never to find a place in the social intercourse of this country." Jan. 24, 1825, Dr. Goodell wrote, "Some adult females come occasionally to be taught by Mrs. Bird or Mrs. Goodell, and although their attendance is very irregular, and their _disadvantages very great_, being _without Arabic books_, and their friends deriding their efforts, yet they make some improvement. One of them, who a fortnight ago did not know a single letter of the alphabet, can now read one verse in the Bible." July 1, 1825, Messrs. Goodell and Bird speak of the first girls taught to read in Syria in mission schools. "Our school contains between eighty and ninety scholars, who are all boys _except two_. One is the teacher's wife, who is perhaps fifteen years of age, and the other a little girl about ten." That teacher was Tannûs el Haddad, who died a few years ago, venerated and beloved by all sects and classes of the people, having been for many years deacon of the Beirût Church, and his wife, Im Beshara, still lives, with an interesting family. On the 21st of Dec, 1825, Dr. King wrote as follows: "I spent about a month in Tyre, and made some efforts to establish a school for Tyrian females, and was very near succeeding, when one of the principal priests rose up and said, 'It is by no means expedient to teach women to read the word of God. It is better for them to remain in ignorance than to know how to read and write. They are quite bad enough with what little they now know. Teach them to read and write, and _there would be no living with them_!'" That Tyrian priest of fifty years ago, was a fair sample of his black-frocked brethren throughout Syria from that time to this. There have been a few worthy exceptions, but the Syrian priesthood of all sects, taken as a class, are the avowed enemies of the education and elevation of their people. Some of the exceptions to this rule will be mentioned in the subsequent pages of this volume. In 1826, there were three hundred children in the Mission schools in the vicinity of Beirût. In 1827, there were 600 pupils in 13 schools, of whom _one hundred and twenty were girls_! In view of the political, social and religious condition of Syria at that time, that statement is more remarkable than almost any fact in the history of the Syrian Mission. It shows that Mrs. Bird and Mrs. Goodell must have labored to good purpose in persuading their benighted Syrian sisters to send their daughters to school, and to these two Christian women is due the credit of having commenced Woman's Work for Women in modern times in Syria. In that same year, the wives of Bishop Dionysius Carabet and Gregory Wortabet were received to the communion of the Church in Beirût, being the first spiritual fruits of Women's Work for Women in modern Syria. During 1828 and 1829 the Missionaries temporarily withdrew to Malta. In 1833, Dr. Thomson and Dr. Dodge arrived in Beirût. The Mission now consisted of Messrs. Bird, Whiting, Eli Smith, Drs. Thomson and Dodge. In a letter written at that time by Messrs. Bird, Smith and Thomson, it is said, "Of the females, none can either read or write, or the exceptions are so very few as not to deserve consideration. Female education is not merely neglected, but discouraged and opposed." They also stated, that "the whole number of native children in the Mission Schools from the beginning had been 650; 500 before the interruption in 1828, and 150 since." "Female education as such is yet nearly untried." During that year Mrs. Thomson and Mrs. Dodge commenced a school for girls in Beirût. Dr. Eli Smith speaks of this school as follows, in the Memoir of Mrs. S.L. Smith: "A few girls were previously found in some of the public schools supported by the Mission, and a few had lived in the Mission families. But these ladies wished to bring them more directly under missionary influence, and to confer upon them the benefit of a system of instruction adapted to females. A commencement was accordingly made, by giving lessons to such little girls as could be irregularly assembled for an hour or two a day at the Mission-house; such an informal beginning being not only all that the ladies had time to attempt, but being also considered desirable as less likely to excite jealousy and opposition. For the project was entered upon with much trembling and apprehension. Not merely indifference to female education had to be encountered, but strong prejudice against it existing in the public mind from time immemorial. The Oriental prejudice against innovations from any quarter, and especially from foreigners, threatened resistance. The seclusion of females within their own immediate circle of relationship, originally Oriental, but strengthened by Mohammedan influence, stood in the way. And more than all, religious jealousy, looking upon the missionaries as dangerous heretics, and their influence as contamination, seemed to give unequivocal warning that the attempt might be fruitless. But the missionaries were not aware of the hold they had gained upon the public confidence. The event proved in this, as in many other missionary attempts, that strong faith is a better principle to act upon in the propagation of the gospel, than cautious calculation. Even down to the present time (1840) it is not known that a word of opposition has been uttered against the school which was then commenced. "On the arrival of Mrs. S.L. Smith in Beirût in January, 1834, she found some six or eight girls assembled every afternoon in Mrs. Thomson's room at the Mission house, receiving instruction in sewing and reading. One was far enough advanced to aid in teaching, and the widow of Gregory Wortabet occasionally assisted. On the removal of Mrs. Thomson and Mrs. Dodge to Jerusalem, the entire charge of the school devolved upon Mrs. Smith, aided by Mrs. Wortabet. Especial attention was given to reading, sewing, knitting and good behavior. In November, 1835, Miss Rebecca Williams arrived in Beirût as an assistant to Mrs. Smith. The school then increased, and in the spring of 1836 an examination was held, at which the mothers of the children and some other female friends were present. The scholars together amounted to upwards of forty; the room was well-filled, "presenting a scene that would have delighted the heart of many a friend of missions. Classes were examined in reading, spelling, geography, first lessons in arithmetic, Scripture questions, the English language, and sacred music, and the whole was closed by a brief address from Mrs. Dodge. The mothers then came forward of their own accord, and in a gratifying manner expressed their thanks to the ladies for what they had done for their daughters." Of the pupils of this school, the greater part were Arabs of the Greek Church; two were Jewesses; and some were Druzes; and at times there were eight or ten Moslems. A Sabbath School, with five teachers and thirty pupils, was established at the same time, the majority of the scholars being girls. A native female prayer-meeting was also commenced at this time, conducted by three missionary ladies and two native Protestant women. At times, as many as twenty were present, and this first female prayer-meeting in Syria in modern times, was attended with manifest tokens of the Divine blessing. As has been already stated, the seclusion of Oriental females renders it almost impossible for a male missionary to visit among them or hold religious meetings exclusively for women. This must be done, if at all, by the missionary's wife or by Christian women devoted especially to this work. It was true in 1834, and it is almost equally true in 1873. The Arabs have a proverb, "The tree is not cut down, but by a branch of itself;" _i.e._ the axe handle is of wood. So none can reach the women of Syria but women. The Church of Rome understands this, and is sending French, Italian and Spanish nuns in multitudes to work upon the girls and women of Syria, and the women of the Syria Mission, married and unmarried, have done a noble work in the past in the elevation and education of their Syrian sisters. And in this connection it should be observed, that a _sine qua non_ of efficient usefulness among the women of Syria, is that the Christian women who labor for them should know the Arabic language. Ignorance of the language is regarded by the people as indicating a want of sympathy with them, and is an almost insuperable barrier to a true spiritual influence. The great work to be done for the women of the world in the future, is to be done in their own mother-tongue, and it would be well that all the Female Seminaries in foreign lands should be so thoroughly supplied with teachers, that those most familiar with the native language could be free to devote a portion of their time to labors among the native women in their homes. In 1834 and 1835 Mrs. Dodge conducted a school for Druze girls in Aaleih, in Lebanon. This School in Aaleih, a village about 2300 feet above the level of the sea, was once suddenly broken up. Not a girl appeared at the morning session. A rumor had spread through the village, that the English fleet had come up Mount Lebanon from Beirût, and was approaching Aaleih to carry off all the girls to England! The panic however subsided, and the girls returned to school. In 1836 Mrs. Hebard and Mrs. Dodge carried on the work which Mrs. Smith had so much loved, and which was only temporarily interrupted by her death. In 1837, Mrs. Whiting and Miss Tilden had an interesting school of Mohammedan girls in Jerusalem, and Mrs. Whiting had several native girls in her own family. In reply to certain inquiries contained in a note I addressed to Miss T. she writes: "I arrived in Beirût, June 16, 1835. Mr. and Mrs. Whiting in Jerusalem were desirous that I should take a small school that Mrs. Whiting had gathered, of Mohammedan girls. She had in her family two girls from Beirût, Salome, (Mrs. Prof. Wortabet,) and Hanne, (Mrs. Reichardt.) There were in school from 12 to 20 or more scholars, all Moslems. Only one Christian girl could be persuaded to attend. I think that the inducement they had to send their daughters was the instruction given in sewing and knitting, free of expense to them. Mrs. Whiting taught the same scholars on the Sabbath. The Scripture used in their instruction, both week days and on the Sabbath, was the Psalms. After a year and a half I went to Beirût and assisted in the girl's school, which was somewhat larger and more promising. Miss Williams had become Mrs. Hebard, and Miss Badger from Malta was teaching at the time. Mrs. Smith's boarding scholar Raheel, was with Mrs. Hebard. I suppose that female education in the family was commenced in Syria by Mr. Bird, who taught the girl that married Demetrius. (Miss T. probably meant to say Dr. Thomson, as Mariya, daughter of Yakob Agha, was first placed in his family by her father in 1834.) The girls taught in the different missionaries' families were Raheel, Salome, Hanne, Khozma, Lulu, Kefa, and Susan Haddad. Schools were taught in the mountains, and instruction given to the women, and meetings held with them as the ladies had strength and opportunity, at their different summer residences. The day scholars were taught in Arabic, and the boarding scholars in Arabic and English. I taught them Colburn's Arithmetic. I taught also written arithmetic, reading, etc., in the boys' school." In 1841, war broke out between the Druzes and Maronites, and the nine schools of the Mission, including the Male Seminary of 31 pupils, the Girls' School of 25 pupils, and the Druze High School in Deir el Kamr, were broken up. In 1842, the schools were resumed. In twelve schools were 279 pupils, of whom 52 were girls, and twelve young girls were living as boarders in mission families. In 1843, there were thirteen schools with 438 pupils, and eleven young girls in mission families. During the year 1844, 186 persons were publicly recognized as Protestants in Hasbeiya. Fifteen women attended a daily afternoon prayer-meeting, and expressed great surprise and delight at the thought that religion was a thing in which _women_ had a share! A fiery persecution was commenced against the Protestants, who all fled to Abeih in Lebanon. On their return they were attacked and stoned in the streets, and Deacon Fuaz was severely wounded. In 1845, Lebanon was again desolated with civil war, the schools were suspended, and the instruction of 182 girls and 424 boys interrupted for a time. CHAPTER VI. MRS. WHITING'S SCHOOL. In 1846, Mrs. Whiting commenced a girls' day-school in her family at Abeih, and in Beirût there were four schools for boys and girls together, and one school for girls alone. In 18 Mission schools there were 144 girls and 384 boys. This girls' school in Abeih in 1846 was taught by Salome (Mrs. Wortabet) and Hanne, (Mrs. Reichardt,) the two oldest girls in Mr. Whiting's family. It was impossible to begin the school before August 1st, as the houses of the village which had been burned in the war of the preceding year had not been rebuilt, and suitable accommodations could not readily be found. During the summer there were twelve pupils, and in the fall twenty-five, from the Druze, Maronite, Greek Catholic and Greek sects, and the greatest freedom was used in giving instruction in the Bible and the Assembly's and Watts' Catechisms. A portion of every day was spent in giving especial religious instruction, and on the Sabbath a part of the pupils were gathered into the Sabbath School. During the fall a room was erected on the Mission premises for the girls' school, at an expense of 100 dollars. The following letter from Mrs. Whiting needs no introduction. It bears a melancholy interest from the fact that the beloved writer died shortly afterwards, at Newark, N.J., May 18th, 1873. "My first introduction to the women of Syria was by Mrs. Bird, mother of Rev. Wm. Bird and Mrs. Van Lennep. She was then in the midst of her little family of four children. I daily found her in her nursery, surrounded by native women who came to her in great numbers, often with their sick children. They were always received with the greatest kindness and ministered to. She might be seen giving a warm bath to a sick child, or waiting and watching the effect of other remedies. Mothers from the neighboring villages of Lebanon were allowed to bring their sick children and remain for days in her house until relief was obtained. She was soon known throughout Beirût and these villages as the friend of the suffering, and I have ever thought that by these Christian self-denying labors, she did much towards gaining the confidence of the people. And who shall say that while good Father Bird was in his study library among the 'Popes and Fathers,' preparing his controversial work 'The Thirteen Letters,' this dear sister, by her efforts, was not making a way to the hearts of these people for the reception of gospel truth, which has since been preached so successfully in the neighboring villages of Lebanon? "In the autumn of 1834, Mr. Whiting was removed to the Jerusalem station. I found the women accessible and ready to visit me, and invite me to their houses, but unwilling to place their girls under my instruction. All my efforts for some time were fruitless. Under date of Aug. 22, I find this entry in Mr. Whiting's journal: "During the past week, three little Moslem girls have been placed under Mrs. Whiting's instruction for the purpose of learning to read and sew. They seem much pleased with their new employment, and their parents, who are respectable Moslems, express great satisfaction in the prospect of their learning. They say, in the Oriental style that the children are no longer theirs, but ours, and that they shall remain with us and learn everything we think proper to teach them. This event excited much talk in the city, particularly among the Moslem mothers. The number of scholars, chiefly Moslem girls, increased to twenty-five and thirty." At a later date, Jan., 1836, "one of the girls in Mrs. Whiting's school, came with a complaint against a Jew who had been attempting to frighten her away from the school by telling her and her uncle (her guardian) that her teacher certainly had some evil design, and no doubt intended to select the finest of the girls, and send them away to the Pasha, and that it was even written so in the books which she was teaching the children to read. Whether the Jew has been set up by others to tell the people this absurd nonsense, I cannot say, but certainly it is a new thing for Jews to make any opposition, or to show any hostility to us. And this looks very much like the evil influence which has been attempted in another quarter." "March 7. Yesterday Mrs. W. commenced a Sunday school for the pupils of her day school. They were much delighted. They began to learn the Sermon on the Mount." "Sept. 7. Had a visit from two Sheikhs of the Mosque of David. One of them inquired particularly respecting Mrs. Whiting's school for Moslem girls, and wished to know what she taught them to read. I showed him the little spelling-book which we use, with which he was much pleased and begged me to lend it to him. I gave him one, with a copy of the Psalms, which he wished to compare with the Psalms of David as the Moslems have them. He invited me strongly to come and visit him, and to bring Mrs. Whiting to see his family." The school continued with little interruption until October 3d, when Miss Tilden arrived and had the charge of the school for nearly two years. I left in feeble health, with Mr. Whiting, for the United States, where we spent more than one year. Miss Tilden during our absence was engaged in teaching in the boys' school in Beirût. On my return the Moslem school was not resumed, and soon after Mr. Whiting was again transferred to the Abeih station. My work in the family school began in October, 1835, when Salome Carabet and Hanne Wortabet were placed by their parents in our family school. We afterwards added to the number Melita Carabet, and the two orphan girls Sada and Rufka Gregory. These two were brought to us in a very providential way. They were the children of Yakob Gregory, a respectable Armenian well known in Beirût. He had two children, and when these were quite young, he left his wife, and nothing was heard of him afterwards. The mother died soon after and left the children in the care of the American Mission and the Armenian Bishop. The old grandmother, who was in Aleppo, on hearing of her death, soon returned to Beirût to look after the children. She was allowed to visit them in the Bishop's family, where they were cared for, and one day, in a stealthy way, she took Sada into the city, placed her in the hands of a Jew, on board of a native boat bound for Jaffa. I suppose Sada was then about six years old. They set sail. The child cried bitterly on finding her grandmother was not on board as she had promised. There was on board the boat an Armenian, well acquainted with her father, who inquired of her the cause. On hearing her story he remonstrated, with the Jew, who said she had been placed in his hands by her grandmother to be sent to Jerusalem. On their arriving at Jaffa, the affair was made known to Mr. Murad, the American Consul. He sent for the Jew, took the child from his hands, and dismissed him, and wrote to Mr. Whiting in Jerusalem an account of the affair, and was directed by him to send the child to us. Not long after, her grandmother came to Jerusalem bringing Rufka. She tried to interest the Armenian Convent in her behalf. Here I find an extract from Mr. Whiting's journal, which will give you all of interest on this point. "After being out much of the morning, I returned and found the grandmother of little Sada, who had brought her little sister Rufka to leave her with us. She had a quarrel with the convent, and fled for refuge to us. We cannot but be thankful that both these little orphans are at length quietly placed under our care and instruction." The parents of three of the girls in our family, being Protestants, always gave their sanction to our mode of instructing and training them. Bishop Carabet likewise aided us in every way in his power, and ever seemed most grateful for what I was doing for his daughters. In his last sickness, when enfeebled by age, I often visited him. Once on going into his room, he was seated as usual on his Turkish rug. One of the family rose to offer me a chair, I said, "let me sit near you on your rug, that I may talk to you." With much emotion he replied, "_Inshullah tukodee jenb il Messiah fe melakoot is sema!_" "God grant that you may sit by the side of Christ in the kingdom of Heaven!" We were from time to time encouraged by tokens of a work of God's Spirit in their hearts. Melita Carabet was the first to indulge a hope in Christ, and united with the Church in Abeih. Salome united in Beirût; Hanne in Hasbeiya, where her brother, Rev. John Wortabet, was pastor. Sada was received by Mr. Calhoun at Abeih, soon after Mr. Whiting's death, and Rufka in later years united with the United Presbyterian Church in Alexandria, Egypt. I have ever thought these girls were under great obligations to the American Churches and the American Mission, who for so many years supported and instructed them, and I have ever tried to impress upon them a sense of their obligation to impart to others of their countrywomen what they had received. I believe as early as 1836, they began assisting me in the Moslem school for girls in Jerusalem, in which they continued to assist Miss Tilden until the school was given up. Soon after our removal to Abeih, October, 1844, we established a day-school for girls in the village on the Mission premises, of which Salome and Hanne had the entire charge under my superintendence. When the Station at Mosul was established, Salome was appointed by the Mission to assist Mrs. Williams in her work among the women, in which work she continued until her marriage with Rev. John Wortabet. Melita was afterwards appointed by the Mission to the Aleppo Station to assist Mrs. Eddy and Mrs. Ford in the work, and so they were employed at various stations in the work of teaching, until I left the Mission. I have kept up a continual correspondence with them, and have learned from others to my joy, that they were doing the work for which I had trained them." The above deeply interesting letter from Mrs. Whiting is enough in itself to show what an amount of patient Christian labor was expended through a course of many years, in the education of the five young Syrian maidens who were entrusted in the providence of God to her care. I have been personally acquainted with four of them for seventeen years, and can testify, as can many others, of the good use they have made of their high opportunities. The amount of good they have accomplished as teachers, in Abeih, Jerusalem, Deir el Komr, Hasbeiya, Tripoli, Aleppo, Mosul, Alexandria, Cairo, Melbourne, (Australia,) and in the Mission Female Seminary and the Prussian Deaconesses' Institute in Beirût, will never be known until all things are revealed. I have received letters from several of them, which I will give in their own language, as they are written in English. The first is from Salome, now the wife of the Rev. Prof. John Wortabet, M.D., of the Syrian Protestant College in Beirût. "I do not consider my history worth recording, and it is only out of consideration of what is due to Mrs. Whiting for the labor she bestowed upon us, that I am induced to take up my pen to comply with your request. I was taken by Mrs. Whiting when only six years old, together with Hannie Wortabet, who was five years old, to be brought up in her family, she having no children of her own. Owing partly to the nature of the religious instruction we received, and partly to my own timid sensitive nature, I was, from time to time for many years, under deep spiritual terrors, without any saving result. When I was about sixteen, a revival of religion took place, under whose influence I was also brought. Mr. Calhoun was my spiritual adviser, and although my mind groped in darkness, and bordered on despair for many weeks, I hope I was then led to put my trust in Jesus, and if ever I am saved, my only hope now is, and ever shall be, in the merits of Jesus' blood and His promises." The next letter is from Melita Carabet, daughter of the Armenian Bishop Dionysius Carabet, who became a Protestant in 1823. She writes as follows: "Nothing could give me more pleasure than to comply with your request, and thereby recall some of the happy days and incidents of my childhood and youth, spent under the roof of my godly teachers, Mr. and Mrs. Whiting. I ought to remember them as far back as at the baptismal font, for I heard afterwards that they were both present on the occasion, which took place in Malta, where I was born. But as my memory does not carry me back so far, I must date my recollections from the time I was five years of age, when I came to live in their family. I can distinctly recollect the first texts of Scripture and verses of hymns that dear Mrs. Whiting taught my young lips to repeat, and my little prayer which I used to say at her knees on going to bed, I still repeat to this day, "Now I lay me," etc. One incident which happened about a year later, was so deeply impressed on my memory, and had such an effect upon me at the time, that I must mention it. It was this. Mrs. Whiting had given us girls (we were five in number, my sister Salome, and Hannie, Dr. Wortabet's sister, and Sada and Rufka Gregory) some raisins to pick over preparatory to making cake. I stole an opportunity after a while, to slip about a dozen of these raisins into my pocket. No one saw me do it but from the moment I had done it, I began to feel very unhappy, and repented the deed. My companions went out to play, but I could not join in their sports. My heart was too heavy. I sat mourning over my sin, and could eat no supper, and had no rest until I had made a full confession to Mrs. Whiting at bed-time. She prayed and wept over me, and somehow I was comforted and went to my little bed much happier. "I remember nothing more until a much later period, when I was about the age of twelve. About this time, there was a great awakening among the young girls in some of the Mission families. Mr. Calhoun's prayers and advice were very much solicited and sought, in guiding and praying with the young inquirers. One Sunday as I was reading the little tract "The Blacksmith's wife," (which I have kept to this day,) I felt a great weight and sense of sin. I trace my conversion to the reading of this tract. It was not long before I found peace. I have often since longed for those days and hours of sweet communion with my Saviour. I joined the Church a very short time after this, and at this early age was given charge of a Bible class in Abeih. "Now I must pass over a few more years, when I went to Hasbeiya, to spend a little time with my sister Salome, now wife of Dr. John Wortabet, who was appointed pastor of the little Protestant Church there. I spent one year of my life here, during which time I took charge of a little day school for girls in my sister's house. Dr. Wortabet's sister Hannie had opened this school some years before I came. I do not remember the number of pupils, but there were five little Moslem princesses, grandchildren of the great Emir "Saad-ed-Deen," who was called some years later to Constantinople to be punished for having spoken disrespectfully of Queen Victoria. These little princesses were regular attendants at the school, and learned to read in the New Testament, and studied Watts' Catechism with the rest of the Christian children. I had also charge of a Bible class for women, who used to meet once a week in the Protestant Church. This was before the massacre of 1860. The rest of my life has been spent in teaching in Beirût. Since the massacres, I have been teaching the orphans in the Prussian School, where I at present reside. Indeed it has been my home ever since I undertook this work which I love dearly, and which I hope to continue so long as the Lord sees fit, and gives me strength to work for Him." I am permitted to make the following extract from a letter written by Melita to Mrs. Whiting, in February, 1868. I give the exact language, as the letter is written in English: Prussian Institution, Beirût, _February 23, 1868_. My Dear Mrs. Whiting-- It is so cold this morning that I can with difficulty hold my pen. It has been a very cold and stormy month, and there seems no prospect of fair weather yet. The snow on the mountains is as low as the lowest hills, and I pity the poor creatures who must be suffering in consequence. J. enjoys the weather very much; indeed he seems so exhilarated and invigorated by it that one could almost wish it to last on his account, but I must say that I wish it was over, and the warm sunbeams shedding their genial rays again upon the cold frozen earth. Trouble and grief are such a common complaint at present that you will not be surprised to hear me relate my share of them. I have indeed had my full share, and you would say so too had you seen how I was occupied during my holidays last summer, in taking care of my ill and suffering brother. And aside from my fatigue, for I was always on my feet until two or three hours after midnight, quite alone with him--merely to witness such indescribable suffering as he went through, was more than is generally allotted to human beings on earth. He had been unwell for some time previous, and had been advised by the Doctor to go up to the mountains, so Mr. Calhoun kindly offered him a place in the Seminary, where he could stop until his health was recruited, and in the meantime give a couple of English lessons during the day to the boys in the Seminary. He lodged with the Theological students in a little room above the school, but he had not been up there more than a week, when his whole body became suddenly covered with a burning eruption that was always spreading and increasing in size. He could neither lie nor sit in any possible position, and was racked with pains that seemed at times well nigh driving him mad. I trembled for his reason, and was so awed and terrified by the sight, that I was in danger of losing mine as well. No one would come near him, and Mrs. Calhoun had kindly asked me to come and spend the holidays with them, so it fell to my lot to nurse and take care of him. I used to go to him in the morning as soon as I got up, and sit (or stand) up with him until two or three o'clock at night, dressing his sores; running down only occasionally for my meals, and with my little lantern coming down in the dead of night, all alone, to lay my weary head and aching heart and limbs on my bed for a little rest. But not to sleep, for whenever I closed my eyes, I had that eternal picture and scene of suffering before me. I could find no one who was willing for love or for money to help me or relieve me for one night or day. The disease was so offensive as well as frightful, that no one could stop in the room. One of the Prussian "Sisters" who went up with me, kindly assisted me sometimes until she came down. In this state did J. find me on his return from England. His family was up in Aaleih, and he used to ride over occasionally to see P. and prescribe some new medicine for him, but his skill was baffled with this terrifying disease, and poor P. remained in this agonizing state of suffering for five whole months without leaving his bed. He was carried down on a litter to Beirût, where he has been since. He took a little room by himself, and gives lessons in English until something more prosperous turns up for him. Twenty years' experience seemed to be added to my life in those three months of anxiety I went through last summer; and what a picture of suffering and grief was I, after this, myself. No wonder if I feel entirely used up this winter, and feel it a great effort to live. There is not the slightest prospect of my ever getting back my lost property from that man--as he has long since left the country, and is said to be a great scoundrel and a very dishonorable man. If he were not, he would never have risked the earnings of a poor orphan girl by asking for it on the eve of his bankruptcy. Had I my property I might perhaps have given up teaching for a while, and gone away for a little change and rest, but God has willed it otherwise, no doubt for some wise purpose, and to some wise end, although so difficult and incomprehensible at present. It is all doubtless for the trial of my faith and trust in Him. Let me then trust in Him! Yea, though He slay me, let me yet trust in Him! Has He ever yet failed me? Has He not proved Himself in all ages to be the Father and the God of the orphan and the widow? He must see that I need these troubles and sorrows, or He would not send them, for my Father's hand would never cause his child a needless tear. A bruised reed He will not break, but will temper the storm to the shorn lamb; I will then no longer be dejected and cast down, but look upward and trust in my Heavenly Father, feeling sure that He will make all right in the end. My letter is so sad and melancholy that I cannot let it go without something more cheerful, so I will add a line to brighten and cheer it up a little. For life, with all the bitterness it contains, has also much that is agreeable and affords much enjoyment; for there is a wonderful elasticity in the human mind which enables it, when sanctified by divine grace, to bear up under present ills. So with all my griefs and ills, I have been able to enjoy myself too sometimes this winter. I have lately attended two Concerts, one here, given by the Prussian Sisters, for the benefit of the new Orphanage, "Talitha Kumi," at Jerusalem, lately erected by the Prussian Sisters there--and one given by the "Sisters of Charity," for the benefit of the orphans and poor of this town. Daood Pasha most generously gave up the large hall in his mansion for the occasion, as well as honoring it by his attendance. The Concert in our Institution was entirely musical, vocal and instrumental. All the Missionaries came. We had nearly three hundred tickets sold at five francs apiece, so that there was a nice little sum added to the Orphan's Fund at Jerusalem. Ever your affectionate Melita. Saada Gregory was engaged in teaching at different times in Tripoli, Aleppo, Hasbeiya and Egypt. Her school in Tripoli was eminently successful, and her labors in Alexandria were characterized by great energy and perseverance. She kept up a large school even when suffering from great bodily pain. She is now in the United States in enfeebled health. American Mission House, Alexandria, _November 8, 1867_. My Dear Mrs. Whiting, I know you will be expecting a letter from me soon, partly in answer to yours sent by Mrs. Van Dyck, and especially because it is the day on which you expect all your children to remember you. I never do forget this day, but this time there are special reasons for my remembering it. Whenever the day has come around, I have felt more forcibly than at others, how utterly alone I have been, for since dear Mr. Whiting was taken away from us, it has seemed as though we were made doubly orphans, but this time it has not been so. I think I have been made to realize that I have a loving Father in heaven who loves and watches over and cares for me more than ever you or Mr. Whiting did. I do really feel now that God has given me friends, so this day has not been so sad a one to me as it usually is. Another source of thankfulness to-day is, that I have been raised up from a bed of pain and suffering from which neither I nor any of my friends thought I ever would rise. Weary days and nights of pain, when it was torture to move and almost impossible to lie still, and when it seemed at times that death would be only a relief, and yet here I am still living to praise Him for many, many mercies. Mr. Pinkerton waited on me day and night, often depriving himself of sleep and rest in order to do it, and when convalescence set in, and with the restlessness of a sick person, I used to fancy I would be more comfortable up stairs, he used to carry me up and down and gratify all my whims. For five weeks I was in bed, and many more confined to my room and the house. But the greatest reason for thankfulness is, that God has in His great mercy brought me to a knowledge of Himself, and of my own lost state as a guilty sinner. It was while lying those long weary days on the bed that I was made to see that for ten long years I had been deceiving myself. Instead of being a Christian and being prepared to die, I was still in the gall of bitterness and the bonds of iniquity, and if God had taken me away during that sickness, it would have been with a lie in my right hand. Now when I look back on those long years spent in sin and in self-deception, I wonder at God's loving kindness and patience in sparing me still to show forth in me His goodness and forbearance. Truly it is of His mercies that I was not consumed. How often I taught others and talked to them of the love of Christ, and yet I had not that love myself. How many times I sat down to His table with his children, and yet I had no portion nor lot in the matter. Sometimes when I think how near destruction I was, with literally but a step between me and death, eternal death, and yet God raised me up and brought me to Christ and made me love Him, and how ever since He has been watching over me giving me the measure of comfort and peace that I enjoy and giving me the desire to know and love Him more, I wonder at my own coldness, at the frequency with which I forget Him. How strong sin still is over me, how prone I am to wander away from Christ and to forget His love, to allow sin to come between me and Him, and yet He still follows me with His love, still He brings me back to Him, the good Shepherd. Oh! if I could live nearer Christ, if I could realize and rejoice in His love. Now when I think how near I may be to the eternal world, that at any moment a severe attack of pain may come on which will carry me off, it is good to know that my Saviour will be with me; that He is mine and I am His. It is not easy to look death calmly in the face and know that my days are numbered, yet can I not participate in the promise that He Himself will come and take me to be with Him where He is. I would like to be allowed to live longer and be permitted to bring souls to Christ, but I feel assured that He will do what is best, and that He will not call me away as long as He has any work for me to do here I have a feeling that this will be my last letter to you, and I now take the opportunity of thanking you for all you have done for me, for all the care you bestowed on me, the prayers you have offered for me, and the kind thoughtfulness you still manifest for my welfare. It would be a comfort to me if I could see and talk with you once more, but I fear that will never be in this world, but shall we not meet in our Saviour's presence, purified, justified and sanctified through His blood? With truest love and gratitude I remain yours, Saada. CHAPTER VII. DR. DE FOREST'S WORK IN BEIRUT. In 1847, Dr. and Mrs. De Forest commenced their work of female education, receiving two young women into their family. In 13 Mission schools there were 163 girls and 462 boys. During the year 1847, six schools were in operation in connection with the Beirût Station. One in the Mesaitebe with 32 pupils, of whom 10 were girls. This school was promising and 15 of the pupils could read in the Bible. Another was in the Ashrafiyeh, with 50 pupils, of whom 12 were girls. Nineteen in this school could read in the Bible. Another was on the Mission premises with seventy pupils. Another school, south of the Mission premises, had 60 pupils, of whom 15 were girls. In addition to these was the Female School with thirty girls, taught by Raheel. In 1848, on the organization of the first Evangelical Church, nineteen members were received, of whom four were women. Dr. De Forest had seven native girls in his family, and there were fifty-five girls in other schools. In 1849, Mrs. Thomson and Mrs. De Forest visited Hasbeiya to labor among the women, by whom they were received with great cordiality. The girls' school of that time was regularly maintained and well attended. Dr. De Forest had thirteen native girls boarders in his family in Beirût, and Mr. Whiting had five. In the Annual Report of the Beirût Station for 1850, it is stated that "a more prayerful spirit prevails among the brethren and sisters. One pleasing evidence of this is the recent establishment of a weekly female prayer-meeting, which is attended by all the female members of the Church. Yet it is somewhat remarkable that in our little Church there is so small a proportion of females. Unhappily, only one of our native brethren is blessed with a pious wife. Some of them are surrounded with relatives and friends whose influence is such as to hinder rather than help them in their Christian course, and in the religious training of their children." This difficulty still exists in all parts of the Protestant community, not only in Syria, but throughout the Turkish Empire, and probably throughout the missionary world. The young men of the Protestant Churches at the present time endeavor to avoid this source of trial and embarrassment by marrying only within the Protestant community, and the rapid growth of female education in these days gives promise that the time is near when the mothers in Syria will be in no respect behind the fathers in either virtue or intelligence. The Beirût Church now numbers 107 members, of whom 57 are men and 50 are women. In 1851, Miss Anna L. Whittlesey arrived in Beirût as an assistant to Dr. and Mrs. De Forest, and died in a year less one day after her arrival, beloved and lamented by all. In July of that year five of the women in Hasbeiya united with the Church. In 1852 and 1853 the Female Seminary in Beirût reached a high degree of prosperity, and the girls' schools in different parts of the land were well attended. Miss Cheney arrived from America to supply Miss Whittlesey's place. In 1854, Dr. De Forest was obliged from failing health, to relinquish his work and return to the United States. A nobler man never lived. As a physician he was widely known and universally beloved, and as a teacher and preacher he exerted a lasting influence. The good wrought by that saintly man in Syria will never be fully known in this world. The lovely Christian families in Syria, whose mothers were trained by him and his wife, will be his monuments for generations to come. It is a common remark in Syria, that the great majority of all Dr. De Forest's pupils have turned out well. I have not been able to find the official reports with regard to the Female Seminary of Dr. De Forest in Beirût for the years 1847, 1848, and 1849, but from the Reports made by Dr. De Forest himself for the years 1850, 1852 and 1853, I make the following extracts: In 1850, the Doctor writes: "The Seminary now has seventeen pupils including two, Khozma and Lulu, who act as teachers. The older class have continued to study the Sacred Scriptures as a daily lesson, and have nearly finished the Old Testament. They have studied a brief Compend of History in Arabic, and have continued Arithmetic and English. Compositions have been required of them weekly in Arabic until last autumn, when they began to write alternately in English and Arabic. A brief course of Astronomy was commenced, illustrated by Mattison's maps, given by Fisher Howe, Esq., of Brooklyn, N.Y. "Recently the pupils have been invited to spend every second Sabbath evening with the other members of the family in conversation respecting some missionary field which has been designated previously. The large missionary map is hung in the sitting-room, and all are asked in turn to give some fact respecting the field in question. Even the youngest, who have not yet learned to read with facility in their own language, furnish their mite of information. "The instruction in this school has been given by Dr. and Mrs. De Forest, aided by Mrs. De Forest's parents and the two elder pupils who have rendered such efficient aid heretofore. The pupils of all the classes have made good progress in their various studies, and their deportment has been satisfactory. They are gaining mental discipline and intellectual furniture, and have acquired much evangelical knowledge. Deep seriousness has been observed on the part of some of the elder pupils at different times, and they give marked and earnest attention to the preached word. "In our labors for the reconstruction of society here, we feel more and more the absolute need of a sanctified and enlightened female influence; such an influence as is felt so extensively in America, and whose beneficent action is seen in the proper training of children, and in the expulsion of a thousand superstitions from the land. Christian schools seem the most evident means of securing such an end. Commerce and intercourse with foreigners, and many other causes are co-operating with missionary effort to enlighten the _men_ of Beirût and its vicinity, but the women, far more isolated than in America, are scarcely affected by any of these causes, and they hinder materially the moral elevation of the other sex. Often the man who seems full of intelligence and enterprise and mental enlargement when abroad, is found when at home to be a mere superstitious child; the prophecy that his mother taught him being still the religion of his home, and the heathenish maxims and narrow prejudices into which he was early indoctrinated still ruling the house. The inquirer after truth is seduced back to error by the many snares of unsanctified and ignorant companionship, and the convert who did run well is hindered by the benighted stubbornness to which he is unequally yoked. "While exerting this deleterious influence over their husbands and children, the females of the land have but little opportunity for personal improvement, and are not very promising subjects of missionary labor. His faith must be strong who can labor with hope for the conversion of women, with whom the customs of society prohibit freedom of intercourse, and who have not learning enough to read a book, or vocabulary enough to understand a sermon, or mental discipline enough to follow continuous discourse." In the Report for 1852, Dr. De Forest writes: "At the date of our last Annual Report, Miss Whittlesey was in good health, was rapidly acquiring the Arabic, and was zealously pressing on in her chosen work, with well-trained intellect, steady purpose and lively hope. But God soon called her away, and she departed in "hope of eternal life which God that cannot lie promised before the world began." The Female Boarding School has suffered much from the loss of its Principal, but the same course of study has been pursued as before, though necessarily with less efficiency. One of the assistant pupils, (Lulu,) who has been relied upon for much of the teaching, and superintendence of the scholars, was married last autumn to the senior tutor of the Abeih Seminary. The number of pupils now in the school is fifteen. The communication of Biblical and religious knowledge has been a main object of this school. All the pupils, as a daily lesson, study the Assembly's Shorter Catechism, first in Arabic with proof-texts, and afterwards in English with Baker's Explanatory Questions and Scripture proofs, and they are taught a brief Historical Catechism of the Old and New Testaments. The first of proper school hours every day is occupied with the Scriptures by all the school. The Epistles to the Hebrews and the Romans formed the subject of these lessons until the autumn, when Mr. Calhoun's revised edition of the "Companion to the Bible" was adopted as a text-book, and the Old Testament has been studied in connection with that work. The pupils all attend the service at the Mission Chapel, and have lessons appropriate to the Sabbath in the intervals of worship. "The evening family worship is in Arabic, and is a familiar Bible Class. All the pupils are present, and not unfrequently some of their relatives and other strangers. In addition to this religious instruction, the several classes have studied the Arabic and English languages, some of them writing in both, geography and history, arithmetic mental and higher, astronomy, and some of the simple works on natural philosophy and physiology. Compositions have been required in Arabic and English. The lessons in drawing, commenced by Miss Whittlesey, have been continued under the instruction of Mrs. Smith, and plain and fancy needle-work have been taught as heretofore. "To those who have watched the growth of intellect, and in some instances, we hope, the growth of grace in these few pupils, and in the other female boarding scholars in some of the mission families, who have seen the pleasing contrast afforded by Syrian females when adorned after the Apostolic recommendation by good works and a "meek and quiet spirit," with those who cover empty heads with pearls and enrobe untidy persons in costly array,--who have rejoiced to see one and another family altar set up, where both heads of the family and the hearts of both unite in acknowledging God,--this branch of our labors need offer no further arguments to justify its efficient prosecution. "The library of the Seminary consists of 220 school books, and 148 volumes of miscellaneous books, chiefly for the young. The school has 6 large fine maps, and 5 of Mr. Bidwell's Missionary maps, and 16 of Mattison's astronomical maps. These maps were the gifts of Mrs. Dr. Burgess and of Fisher Howe, Esq. The school has a pair of globes, one Season's machine, one orrery, a pair of gasometers, a spirit-lamp and retort stand, a centre of gravity apparatus, a capillary attraction apparatus, a galvanic trough, a circular battery, an electromagnet, a horse shoe magnet, a revolving magnet, a wire coil and hemispheric helices, and an electric shocking machine." The report of the Female Seminary for 1853 is written in the handwriting of Mrs. De Forest, owing to the increasing infirmity of Dr. De Forest's health, and this report has a sad interest from its being the last one ever dictated by Dr. De Forest. "A small day-school for girls has been taught by one of the pupils in Mrs. Whiting's family during the winter, and it is contemplated to continue the school hereafter in the Girl's School house on the Mission premises, under the instruction of a graduate of the Female Seminary. The demand for such instruction for girls is steadily increasing. "The teaching force of the Seminary was increased last spring by the arrival of Miss Cheney, who entered at once upon the duties of her position, devoting a portion of her time to the acquisition of Arabic, and a part to the instruction of some classes in English. Still, on account of the repeated illnesses of Dr. De Forest, it was not deemed advisable to receive a new class last autumn. The only girls admitted during the year were one of Mrs. Whiting's pupils who was transferred to the Seminary for one year, one of the class who graduated two years since, and who desired to return for another year, and Sara, the daughter of Mr. Butrus Bistany. These three were received into existing classes, while it was not deemed advisable under the circumstances to make up another class composed of new pupils. "The course of instruction, Biblical and other, has been much the same as that hitherto pursued. Miss Cheney commenced "Watts on the Mind," with some of the older pupils, in English. All the pupils have had familiar lessons on Church History in Arabic, and some of them have begun an abridged work on Moral Philosophy. Much effort has been bestowed upon the cultivation of a taste for the reading of profitable books, and a number of the girls have read the whole of "D'Aubigné's History of the Reformation," and other history with Mrs. De Forest in the evening class, the atlas being always open before them. Mrs. Smith has given some instruction in the rudiments of drawing to a part of the pupils, and Mrs. Bird and Mrs. Calhoun have given lessons in vocal music, for which some of the pupils have considerable taste. "After completing the 'Companion to the Bible' in Arabic, the whole school were engaged daily in a Harmony of the Gospels, and other Biblical and religious instruction has been continued as heretofore. We have ever kept in mind the necessity of not denationalizing these Arab children, and we believe that this desired result has been attained. The long vacation of six weeks in the spring, and the same in the autumn, the commencement of all instruction in Arabic, and the preponderance of Arabic study in the school, have contributed to this result. The older pupils have attained to a considerable knowledge of English, giving them access to books suitable for girls to read, and yet Arabic is the language of the school, and the pupils are Syrians still in dress and manners. The advantages of the school are more and more appreciated in the city, and the adjacent mountains. Many were exceedingly earnest in offering their daughters last autumn, both Protestant and other, and some when repulsed at the Seminary, besought the mission families to receive their children." During the next year, the school was placed in the family of Mr. and Mrs. Wilson, under the charge of Miss Cheney. A class of eight graduated, and the pupils contributed to benevolent objects of the fruits of their industry, over 1200 piastres, or about fifty dollars. In a report on Education, prepared by the Syria Mission in 1855, it was stated, that "without entering into details in regard to the course of study pursued, we are happy to say that the results of Dr. De Forest's Seminary were very gratifying, and proved, if proof were needed, that there is the same capacity in the native female mind of the country that there is in the male, and that under proper instruction, and by the blessing of God, there will be brought forward a class of intelligent, pious and efficient female helpers in the great work of evangelizing this community." The hope implied in the above sentence with regard to the raising up of "a class of intelligent, pious and efficient female helpers," has been abundantly realized. The list of Dr. De Forest's pupils is to a great extent the list of the leading female teachers and helpers in all the various departments of evangelic work in Syria. Not having access to the records of the Seminary as they have been lost, I have obtained from several of the former pupils a list of the members of the various classes from 1848 to 1852. The whole number of pupils during that period was twenty-three. Of these two died in faith, giving good evidence of piety. Of the twenty-one who survive, twelve are members of the Evangelical Church, and nine are now or were recently engaged in _teaching_, although nearly twenty years have elapsed since they graduated. Twenty-one are at the head of families, esteemed and honored in the communities where they reside. The names of the whole class are as follows: Ferha Jimmal, now Kowwar of Nazareth. Sara Haddad, now Myers of Beirût. Sada Sabunjy, now Barakat of Beirût. Sada Haleby, of Beirût. Miriam Tabet, now Tabet of Beirût. Khushfeh Mejdelany, now Musully of Beirût. Khurma Mejdelany, now Ashy of Hasbeiya. Mirta Tabet, now Suleeby of B'hamdûn. Feifun Malûf, of Aramoon. Katrin Roza, of Kefr Shima. Mirta Suleeby, now Trabulsy of Beirût. Sara Suleeby, of Beirût. Esteer Nasif, now Aieed of Suk el Ghurb. Hada Suleeby, now Shidoody of Beirût. Helloon Zazûah, now Zuraiuk of Beirût. Khushfeh Towîleh, now Mutr of Beirût. Fetneh Suleeby, now Shibly of Suk el Ghurb. Akabir Barakat, now Ghubrîn of Beirût. Hamdeh Barakat, now Bû Rehan of Hasbeiya. Eliza Hashem, now Khûri of Beirût. Rufka Haddad, (deceased). Sara Bistany, (deceased). Durra Schemail, of Kefr Shima. Two of the most successful of those engaged in teaching, are now connected with the British Syrian Schools. They are Sada Barakat and Sada el Haleby. The former has written me a letter in English in regard to her own history and religious experience, which I take the liberty to transcribe here verbatim in her own language. She was one of the _least_ religious of all the pupils in the school, when she was first received but the work of conviction and conversion was a thorough one, and she has been enabled by the grace of God to offer constant and most efficient testimony to the reality of Christian experience, in the responsible position she has been called upon to fill in the late Mrs. Thompson's institution. Suk el Ghurb, Mt. Lebanon, _September 3, 1872_. Dear Sir--I am thankful to say, in reply to your inquiry, that I was not persecuted when I became a Protestant, like my other native sisters were when they became Protestants, because I was very young. I was about four years old when my father died, and a year after, my mother married a Protestant man. I came to live with my mother in her new home, with my two brothers. It was very hard to lose a dear loving father who loved his children so much as my mother tells me he did. But the Lord does everything right, because if the Lord had not taken my father away from us I should not have known the true religion. I lived in my step-father's house till I was twelve years old. I was then placed in Dr. De Forest's school, in the year 1848. I stayed there four years. I was not clever at my studies, and especially the English language was very difficult for me. Even until now I remember a lesson in English which was so hard for me that I was punished twice for it, and I could not learn it. Now it will make me laugh to think of these few words, which I could not translate into Arabic: "The hen is in the yard." My mind was more at play than at learning. I was very clever at housework, and at dressing dolls, and was always the leader in all games. From that you can see that I was not a very good girl at school. After the two first years I began to think how nice it would be to become a real Christian like my dear teacher Dr. De Forest. Then I used to pray, and read, especially the "Pilgrim's Progress," and my mind was so busy at it that I used sometimes to leave my lesson and go and sit alone in my room. Nobody knew what was the matter with me, but Dr. De Forest used to ask me why I did not go to school? I told him that I was very troubled, and he told me to pray to God very earnestly to give me a new heart. I did pray, but I did not have an answer then. Three or four times during my school time I began to wish to become a Christian. I prayed and was very troubled. I wept and would not play, and as I got no immediate answer, I left off reading and sometimes praying entirely. Everybody noticed that I did not much care to read, and especially a religious book. I felt that my heart had grown harder than before I had wished to become a Christian. The greatest trial was that I had no faith, and for that reason I used not to believe in prayer, but still I longed to become a real Christian. I left school in the year 1852, and went to live at home with my mother. I was taken ill, and when I was ill I was very much afraid of death, for I felt that God was very angry with me. Till about two years after I left school, I had no religion at all. One evening a young man from Abeih came to our house. His name is Giurgius el Haddad, who is now Mr. Calhoun's cook. After a little while he began to talk about religion, and to read the book, "Little Henry and his Bearer." I felt very much ashamed that others who did not have the opportunity to learn about religion had religion, and I, who had learned so much, had none. That was the blessed evening on which I began to inquire earnestly about my salvation. I was three months praying and found no answer to my prayers. Christian friends tried to lead me to Christ, but I could not take hold of Him, till He Himself appeared to my soul in all His beauty and excellency. Before I found peace Dr. Eli Smith and Mr. Whiting wanted me to teach a day school for them. That was about three years after I left off learning. "Oh," thought I, "how can I teach others about Christ when I do not know Him myself?" However I began the school by opening and closing it with prayer, without any faith at all. So I began by reading from the first of Matthew, till I came to the 16th chapter. When I came to that chapter I read as usual, with blinded eyes; but when I came to the (13th) thirteen verse, and from there to the seventeenth, where it says, "Blessed art thou, Simon Barjona, for flesh and blood hath not revealed it unto thee, but my Father which is in heaven," I felt that this had been said to me, and were these words sounded from heaven I would not have felt happier. How true it is that no flesh could reveal unto me what God had revealed, because many Christian friends tried to make me believe, but I could not, I felt as if everything had become new and beautiful, because my Heavenly Father had made them all. I was sometimes with faith and sometimes doubting, and by these changes my faith was strengthened. After a short time, I asked Mr. Whiting to let me join the Church. He asked me if I saw any change in myself, and I said, "One thing I know, that I used to dislike Christian people, and now they are my best friends." After a short time I was permitted to join the Church. Then I left off teaching the day school, and was asked to teach in a Boarding school with Miss Cheney, in the same Seminary where I was brought up. We taught in that school only six months. Miss Cheney married, and I was engaged to be married. While I was engaged, I went to Mr. Bird's school for girls in Deir el Kamr, and taught there for more than a year. I was married by Mr. Bird in his own house to M. Yusef Barakat, and then we went to Hasbeiya. I stayed there seven months and then went to Beirût, and thence to Damascus with my husband, because he had to teach there. I had nothing to do there but to look after my house, my little boy, and my husband. After some time, the massacre broke out in Damascus, (July 9, 1860,) so we came back as refugees to Beirût. Soon after my husband was taken ill and then died. In that same year 1860, dear Mrs. Bowen Thompson came to Beirût. She felt for the widows and orphans, being herself a widow. She asked me if I would come and teach a school for the widows and orphans, which I accepted thankfully. We opened the school with five children and seven women, and the work, by God's help has prospered, so that now, instead of one school, there are twenty-two schools. Until now I continue teaching in the Institution, and had I known that nearly all my life would be spent in teaching, I should have tried to gain more when I was a child. I can forget father and mother, but can never forget those who taught me, especially about religion. Although some of them are dead, yet still they live by their Christian example, which they have left behind. My whole life will be full of gratitude to those dear Christian friends, and I pray that God himself may reward them a hundred fold. Yours respectfully, Sada Barakat. In the year 1851 the Missionary Sewing Society of the Beirût Female Seminary heard of the interesting state of things in Aintab, and that the women there were anxious to learn to read. The missionaries in Aintab hired an old man to go around from house to house to teach the women to read in their homes, but the women were so eager to learn that the old man was unable to meet the demand. So children were employed to assist. The plan worked admirably, and in 1851, eighty women received instruction and became able to read God's Word. The Arab girls in Mrs. De Forest's school were called together, and it was proposed that they sew and embroider and send the proceeds of their work to pay the little girl teachers in Aintab. There were present, Ferha, (joy,) Sara, Saada Sabunjy, Miriam, Khushfeh, Khurma, Mirta, (Martha) Feifun, Katrina, Hada, Sada el Haleby, Esteer, Helloon, Fetny, Akabir, Hamdy, and Liza. The needles were briskly plied, and in due time, two hundred and fifty piastres were collected and forwarded to Aintab. Mrs. Schneider wrote back thanking the "dear Arab girls." The habits of benevolence thus acquired have continued with the most of these girls until now. The greater part of them are now church-members and the heads of families. The following letter written by Mrs. De Forest in Feb. 1852, gives some account of Lulu Araman. Beirût, Syria, _February, 1852_. My Dear young friends in Thetford: The quilt you sent came safely, and I thank you much for all the care and trouble you have taken to make and quilt it for me. I at first thought of keeping it for myself, but then it occurred to me that perhaps it might please you better and interest you more if I gave it to Lulu, one of my girls, who is to be married some time this year to Mr. Michaiel Araman, one of the teachers in the Abeih Seminary. You will thus have the pleasure of feeling that you have in one sense done something for the school, as she is an assistant pupil, or pupil teacher. She has been with me now for about eight years, and seems almost like my own daughter. Perhaps you will be interested in knowing something of her. She was born in a pleasant valley, Wady Shehrûr, near Beirût, celebrated for its fine oranges, and indeed for almost all kind of fine fruits. She lost both her parents early in life. Her brothers (contrary to the usual custom here where girls are not much regarded or cared for) were very kind to her, and as she was a delicate child, they took great care of her, and often used to make vows to some saint in her behalf. At one time, when she was very ill, they vowed to Mar Giurgis (for they are members of the Greek Church, and St. George is one of the favorite saints of the Greeks, and indeed of all the Christian sects here, and they still show the spot where he is said to have killed the dragon) that if she recovered, she should carry to one of his shrines two wax candles as tall as herself and of a prescribed weight. While she was still feeble they provided the candles, and as she was too weak to walk, they carried her and the candles also, to the holy place and presented them. When she was eight years old, they were persuaded by an acquaintance to place her in one of the Mission families. Here she was instructed in her own language, and especially in the Holy Scriptures. She was allowed, however, to keep her feasts and fasts, and to attend her own church, until she became convinced that these things would not save her and she wished to give them up. One feast day the lady with whom she lived gave her some sewing and told her to seat herself and do her task. She refused, saying it was a feast day, and it was unlawful work. A little while after she asked permission to go and visit her brother's family; but the lady told her, "No, if it is unlawful to work, it is unlawful to visit. I have no objection to your keeping your feast days, but if you do you must keep them as holy time." So she gave her a portion of Scripture to learn, and she was kept very quiet all day, as though it was the Sabbath, and without the day being made agreeable to her like the Sabbath by going to Church and Sabbath School. She did not at all like keeping a feast in this manner, which is very different from the manner in which such a day or even the Sabbath, is kept in this land, and was ever after ready to work when told to do so. When her brothers saw that she was beginning to give up their vain ceremonies, they became anxious to get her away, lest she should become a Protestant; and at one time, when she went home to attend the wedding of one of her relatives, they refused to allow her to return, and it was only through the good management of the native friend who was sent for her, and her own determination to come, that she was permitted to come back. We hope that she became truly pious six years ago, in 1846, as her life evinces that she is striving to live according to the precepts of the gospel. She has never dared to go home again, although it has been a great trial for her to stay away, because she knew that she should be obliged to remain there, and to conform to the idolatrous rites of the Greek Church. She has assisted us in the School for nearly five years, besides teaching a day school at various times, before the Boarding School was commenced, and we shall feel very sorry to part with her. Still we hope that she will yet be useful to her countrywomen, and furnish them an example of a happy Christian home, of which there are so few at present in this country. Our school has now nineteen pupils, most of whom are promising. Some we hope are true Christians. The girls opened their box the other day, and found that they had a little more than last year from their earnings. Some friends added a little, and they have now forty dollars. One half they send to China, and the other half give to the Church here. The hope expressed by Mrs. De Forest in 1852, with regard to the future usefulness of Lulu, has not been disappointed. Her family is a model Christian family, the home of piety and affection, the centre of a pure and hallowed influence. Her eldest daughter Katie, named from Mrs. De Forest, is now a teacher in the Beirût Female Seminary in which her father has been the principal instructor in the Bible and in the higher Arabic branches for ten years. For years this institution was carried on in Lulu's house, and she was the Matron while Rufka was the Preceptress, and its very existence is owing to the patient and faithful labors of those two Christian Syrian women. If any one who reads these lines should doubt the utility of labors for the girls and women of the Arab race, let him visit first the squalid, disorderly, cheerless and Christless homes of the mass of the Arab villagers of Syria, and then enter the cheerful, tidy, well ordered home of Mr. and Mrs. Araman, when the family are at morning prayers, listen to the voice of prayer and praise and the reading of God's word. Instead of the father sitting gloomily alone at his morning meal, and the mother and children waiting till their lord is through and then eating by themselves in the usual Arab way, he would see the whole family seated together in a Christian, homelike manner, the Divine blessing asked, and the meal conducted with propriety and decorum. After breakfast the father and Katie go to the Seminary to give their morning lessons, Henry (named for Dr. De Forest) sets out for the College, in which he is a Sophomore, and the younger children go to their various schools. Lulu's place at church is rarely vacant, and since that "relic of barbarism" the _curtain_ which separated the men from the women has been removed from the building, the whole family, father, mother, and children sit together and join in the worship of God. Her brother and relatives from "Wady" are on the most affectionate terms with her, and her elder sister is in the domestic department of the Beirût Female Seminary. This change is very largely due to the efforts of Mrs. De Forest, whose name with that of her sainted husband is embalmed in the memory of the Christian families of Syria, and will be held in everlasting remembrance. The _second generation_ of Christian teachers is now growing up in Syria. Three of Mrs. De Forest's pupils have daughters now engaged in teaching. Khushfeh, Lulu, and Sada el Haleby; and Miriam Tabet has a daughter married to Mr. S. Hallock, of the American Press in Beirût. FRUITS OF DR. DE FOREST'S GIRL'S SCHOOL. In the autumn of 1852, there was a school of thirty girls in B'hamdûn, a village high up in Mt. Lebanon. Fifteen months before the teacher was the only female in the village who could read, and she had been taught by the native girls in Dr. De Forest's school. Quite a number of the girls of the village had there learned to read, and they all came to the school clean and neatly dressed. They committed to memory verses of Scripture, and it was surprising to see how correctly they recited them at the Sabbath School. At meeting they were quiet and attentive like the best behaved children in Christian lands. It would be difficult to sum up the results of that little school for girls twenty years ago in B'hamdûn. That village is full of gospel light. A Protestant church edifice is in process of erection, a native pastor, Rev. Sulleba Jerawan, preaches to the people, and the mass of the people have at least an intellectual acquaintance with the truth. The picturesque village of B'hamdûn, where Dr. De Forest's school is established, is on the side of a lofty mountain. It is nearly 4000 feet above the level of the Mediterranean Sea. The village is compact as a little city, the streets narrow, rocky and crooked, the houses flat-roofed, and the floors of mud. One of the Protestants, the father of Miriam Tabet, has built a fine large house with glass windows and paved floors, which is one of the best houses in that part of Lebanon. The village is surrounded by vineyards, and the grapes are regarded as the finest in Mt. Lebanon. The people say that they never have to dig for the foundation of a house, but only to sweep off the dust with a broom. There is not a shade tree in the village. One day Dr. De Forest asked, "Why don't you plant a tree?" "We shall not live till it has grown," was the reply. "But your children will," said the Doctor. "Let them plant it then," was the satisfactory answer. My first visit to B'hamdûn was made in February, 1856, a few days after my first arrival in Syria. On Sabbath morning I attended the Sabbath School with Mr. Benton, at that time a missionary of the A.B.C.F.M. One little girl named Katrina Subra, then nine years of age, repeated the Arabic Hymn "Kûmû wa Rettelû," "Awake and sing the song of Moses and the Lamb." She was a bright-eyed child of fair complexion and of unusual intelligence. At that time there was no children's hymn book in Arabic, and I asked Mr. B. to promise the children that when I had learned the Arabic, I would translate a collection of children's hymns into Arabic, which promise was fulfilled first in the printing of the "Douzan el Kethar," "The tuning of the Harp," in 1861. Katrina was the daughter of Elias Subra, one of the wealthiest men in the village, who had just then become a Protestant. She had been interested in the truth for some time, and though at the time only eight years old, was accustomed during the preceding summer to tell the Arab children that she was a Protestant, though they answered her with insults and cursing. At first she could not bear to be abused, and answered them in language more forcible than proper, but by the time of my visit she had become softened and subdued in her manner, and was never heard to speak an unkind word to any one. She undertook, even at that age, to teach the Greek servant girl in the family how to read. One day the old Greek Priest met her in the street and asked her why she did not go to confession as the other Greek children do. She replied that she could go to Christ and confess. The priest then said that her father and the rest of the Protestants go to the missionary and write out their sins on papers which he puts into rat holes in the wall! Katrina knew this to be a foolish falsehood and told the priest so. He then asked her how the Protestants confess. She replied that they confess as the Lord Jesus tells them to, quoting to him the language of Scripture, (Matt. 6:6.) "But thou when thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and when thou hast shut the door, pray to thy Father which is in secret, and thy Father who seeth in secret shall reward thee openly." The priest was confounded by the ready truthful answer of the child, and turned away. Three years later Katrina was a member of the Mission Female Seminary in Suk el Ghurb, a village three hours distant from Beirût, under the instruction of Miss Temple and Miss Johnson, and continued there until the Seminary was broken up by the massacres of May and June, 1860. I remember well the day when that procession of girls and teachers rode and walked down from Suk el Ghurb to Beirût. All Southern Lebanon was in a blaze. Twenty-five villages were burning. Druze and Maronite were in deadly strife. Baabda and Hadeth which we passed on our way to Beirût, were a smoking ruin. Armed bodies of Druzes passed and saluted us, but no one offered to insult one of the girls by word or gesture. Dr. and Mrs. Bliss gave us lunch at their home in the Suk as we came from Abeih, and then followed a few days later to Beirût. Miss Temple tried to re-open the school in Beirût, but the constant tide of refugees coming in from the mountains, and the daily rumors of an attack by Druzes and Moslems on Beirût, threw the city into a panic, and it was found impossible to carry on the work of instruction. The girls were sent to their parents where this was practicable, and the Seminary as such ceased for a time to exist. Katrina, was married in 1864 to M. Ghurzûzy, a Protestant merchant of Beirût, who is now secular agent or Wakil of the Syrian Protestant College. In 1866, she united with the Evangelical Church in Beirût. She has had repeated attacks of illness, in which she has manifested the most entire submission to the Divine will, and a calm and sweet trust in her Lord and Saviour. Her home is a Christian home, and her children are being trained in "the nurture and admonition of the Lord." CHAPTER VIII. RE-OPENING OF THE SCHOOL IN BEIRUT. In 1856 Miss Cheney re-opened the Female Seminary with eight pupils, in Beirût, and in the 34 schools of the Mission there were 1068 pupils, of whom 266 were girls. In 1857, there were 277 girls in the various schools. In 1858, Miss Temple and Miss Johnson arrived from America, and the Female Seminary was opened in Suk el Ghurb in the family of Rev. Dr. Bliss. Miss Johnson and Miss Cheney having returned to the United States, Miss Mason came to aid Miss Temple in February, 1860. The girl's school in Beirût under the care of Rufka Gregory, had about 60 pupils. The civil war in Lebanon, followed by the massacres in Jezzin, Deir el Komr, Hasbeiya, Rasheiya and Damascus, beginning in May, and continuing until the middle of July, broke up all our schools and seminaries, and filled the land with sorrow and desolation. Miss Temple and Miss Mason remained for a season in Beirût, studying the Arabic language, and in 1862 Miss Temple having returned to the U.S.A., Miss Mason opened a Boarding School for girls in Sidon. It was decided that none but Protestant girls should be received into this school, that no English should be taught, and that the style of eating, sleeping and dress should be conformed as much as possible to the standard of native customs in the country villages, in order that the girls might the more readily return to their homes as teachers, without acquiring European tastes and habits. Miss Mason carried on this school until 1865, when she returned to the U.S.A., and it was decided if possible to carry it on with native instructors under the supervision of Mrs. Eddy. In the winter of 1867 it was under the kind charge of Mrs. Watson of Shemlan and her adopted daughter, Miss Handumeh Watson, and is now conducted by two English young ladies, Miss Jacombs and Miss Stanton, who are supported by the London "Society for the Promotion of Female Education in the East." On the removal of the girls' Boarding School to Sidon, it was evident that the Female Seminary must be re-opened in Beirût. Owing to the depressed state of Missionary finances in America, arising from the civil war, it was deemed advisable to reorganize the Beirût Seminary on a new basis, with only native teachers. The Providence of God had prepared teachers admirably fitted for this work, who undertook it with cheerful hope and patient industry. It was decided to make a paying Boarding School of a higher order than any existing institution in Syria, and to resume instruction in the English language, giving lessons also in French and Music to those who were willing to pay for these branches. Mr. Michaiel Araman, for many years a teacher in the Abeih Seminary with Mr. Calhoun, and for some time a native preacher in Beirût, was appointed instructor in the Biblical History and the Higher Arabic branches; his wife Lulu, the Matron, and Miss Rufka Gregory, the Preceptress. Rufka was an orphan, as already stated, and was trained with her sister Sada in the family of Mr. and Mrs. Whiting for many years. As a teacher and a disciplinarian she had not an equal among the women of Syria, and under the joint management of this corps of teachers, aided by competent assistants in the various branches, the Seminary rose in public esteem, until it became one of the most attractive and prosperous institutions in Syria. In March, 1862, Rufka's day school of seventy girls held a public examination in the Chapel. The girls were examined in Arabic reading, geography, grammar, catechism, arithmetic, Scripture lessons and English, with an exhibition of specimens of their needle work. In the fall it was commenced as a Boarding School, with two paying pupils and four charity pupils. The funds for commencing the boarding department were furnished by Mr. Alexander Van Rensselaer, Mrs. Henry Farnum, Col. Frazer, H.B.M. Commissioner to Syria, and others. The Seminary not being under the direction of the Mission as such, nor in connection with the American Board, was placed under the care of a local Board of Managers, consisting of Dr. Thomson, Dr. Van Dyck, Consul J.A. Johnson, and Rev. H.H. Jessup. Dr. Thomson was indefatigable in his efforts to place it on a firm and permanent foundation, as a purely Native Protestant institution, and the fact that such a school could be carried on for a year without a single foreign instructor, was one of the most encouraging features in the history of the Syria Mission. It was the first purely native Female Seminary in Western Asia, and we hope it will not be the last. It will continue to be the aim of the Mission, and of the present able faculty of the institution, to train up Native teachers qualified to carry on the work in the future. At the same time in the fall of 1862, a school for Damascene girls was opened in an upper room of my house, under the care of one of Dr. De Forest's pupils, Sada el Haleby, who carried it on successfully with seventy girls until August, 1864, when, on my departure for the U.S.A. the school was taken up by the late Mrs. Bowen Thompson, whose Society has maintained it until this day. In 1863, the number of paying boarders in the Seminary had increased to twenty, and in 1866 the pupils numbered eighty, and the income from native paying pupils was about fifteen hundred dollars in gold! The Annual Examination was held in the latter part of June, in the Mission Chapel, and continued three days, thronged by a multitude of interested spectators. The Turkish official Arabic Journal of Beirût, the "Hadikat el Akhbar," published a lengthy report of the Examination, pronouncing it the most satisfactory examination of girls that ever took place in Syria. An English clergyman who was present refused to believe that they were Syrian girls, insisting that they must be English. The girls recited in Bible History, giving all the important dates from Adam to Christ, with an account of the rites, sacrifices and prophecies which refer to Christ, giving also the names of all the patriarchs, judges, kings and prophets in their order. Twenty-two different classes were examined, and many of the girls read original compositions. On the Sabbath, July 1st, two of the assistant teachers, Asîn Haddad and Sara Sarkis were received to the communion of the Beirût Church. They traced their religious awakening to the dying testimony of Sara Bistany, which is described in a subsequent chapter. Several of the younger pupils were much interested in the subject of religion at the time, and one little girl about seven years old said to her teacher, "I gave the Lord my heart, and He took it." Asîn died in Latakiah in 1869, triumphing in Christ. The women of the neighborhood came to the house of her brother to hear her joyous expressions of trust in Jesus, and her assurance that she should soon be with Him in glory. She was the second daughter of that young bride of fifteen years of age, who learned to read in 1825, in the school taught by her own husband, Tannus el Haddad. In 1867, the health of Rufka having become seriously impaired, she removed to Egypt, where after a period of rest, she opened on her own account a school for girls in Cairo, which she maintained with her wonted energy, until her marriage with the Rev. Mr. Muir, a Scotch clergyman, whom she accompanied to Melbourne, Australia, in 1869. Since the death of her husband she has returned to her favorite employment of teaching, with marked success, among the British population of Melbourne. While in Cairo, she passed through a deep and agonizing religious experience, which she described in the following letter to Mrs. Whiting, and the result of which was a new life in Christ. Cairo, Egypt, _July 9, 1868_. "I think I shall always remember my stay in Cairo with much pleasure, but the greatest advantage of this year is the opportunity I had of stopping to think of the interests of a never dying soul, of a neglected Saviour, an offended God. Yes, I have reflected, struggled, oh, how hard, and thanks to an ever merciful God, I trust I have been led by the Holy Spirit to see and feel my great sin, and casting myself at the feet of Jesus, stayed there with my sinful heart till a loving Saviour just came and took it up. Oh, how grieved was His tender heart when He saw how defiled it was with sin and wickedness, but He said, fear not, my blood will cleanse it and make it pure; then how He pleaded my case before His Father, setting forth His boundless love and infinite righteousness as a reason why He wished to be accepted. Yes, dear Mrs. Whiting, I hope I can now say, Thy God is my God, and the blessed Saviour you have loved so long is now very precious to me. The past winter has been a solemn time with me. Many hard struggles have I had, much fear that I might have forever grieved God's Holy Spirit, and for a long time it all seemed so dark, there seemed no hope for me who had been so long living away from the Saviour, but in great fear and despair I just rushed and cast myself at His feet, and asked Him to let me perish there if I must perish; there was nothing else for me to do, and I felt such happiness in just leaving myself in His care. How wonderful is His love! But what a life of constant prayer and watching is that of a Christian! in the first place to aim at close walking with God, leaving Him to order our steps for us, and trusting Him so to order our way as to best enable us to walk closely with Him. It has been a most comforting thought when I find it difficult to live right and feel my utter weakness, that Jesus is each day saying to His Father for me, "I pray not she should be taken out of the world, but that she should be _kept from the evil_," and to live up to our privileges and to walk worthy of our high calling. My precious teacher, I know you will rejoice and thank God with me for His great goodness to me in bringing me to the feet of Jesus. Oh, how precious He is to my poor soul! He is Heaven. How He blesses me every moment! His boundless love to _me_ who am most unworthy of the least of His mercies. If ever any one had reason to boast of the loving kindness of the Lord, it surely must be myself. In His great mercy I have had the privilege of openly confessing my faith in Him, and publicly professing my determination to be the Lord's at the last communion in the Church here in May. I put it off till then hoping to do it in Beirût in the Church dear Mr. Whiting had preached in for so many years, and among the girls I had taught, and all the young friends there, but as that was not allowed me, I joined the Church here." Her devoted friend and loving assistant teacher Lucîyah, was deeply affected by what she learned from Rufka of her new spiritual life, and she too turned her thoughts to divine things, and soon after the arrival of Miss Everett and Miss Carruth in 1868, to take charge of the Seminary, she came out openly on the Lord's side, and in the midst of a fire of domestic persecution, publicly professed her faith in Jesus as her only Saviour. Miss Carruth, after staying just long enough in the Seminary to win the hearts of teachers and pupils, was obliged to return to her native land, where she is still an efficient laborer in the New England Woman's Boards of Missions. The year following the departure of Rufka to Egypt was a critical time in the history of the Seminary. Lulu continued in charge of the domestic department, and Mr. Araman managed the business of the school, while Mrs. Salt (a sister of Melita and Salome) aided in several of the classes. But the institution owed its great success during that year, if not its very existence, to the untiring energy and efficient services of Mrs. Dr. Bliss and Miss Emilia Thomson, daughter of the Rev. Dr. Thomson. They each gave several hours every day to instruction in the English language, the Scriptures and music, and the high standard of excellence already attained in the Seminary was maintained if not surpassed. Their perfect familiarity with the Arabic language gave them a great advantage in the management and instruction of the pupils, and their efforts on behalf of the Institution, in maintaining it in full and successful operation during the year previous to the arrival of Miss Everett and Miss Carruth, deserve grateful recognition. In the winter of 1870 and 1871 Miss Sophia Loring, and Miss Ellen Jackson arrived from America as colleagues of Miss Everett, and under their efficient management aided by Mr. Araman, Lucîyah and other native teachers, the Seminary is enjoying a high degree of prosperity. In March, 1864, the Mission had issued an appeal for funds to erect a permanent home for this Seminary, and in 1866 the present commodious and substantial edifice was erected, a lasting monument of the liberality of Christian men and women in America and England. Its cost was about eleven thousand dollars, and the raising of this sum was largely due to the liberality and personal services of Mr. Wm. A. Booth, of New York, who also kindly acted as treasurer of the building fund. The lumber used in its construction was brought from the state of Maine. The doors and windows were made under the direction of Dr. Hamlin of Constantinople, in Lowell, Mass., the tiles came from Marseilles, the stone from the sandstone quarries of Ras Beirût, the stone pavement partly from Italy and partly from Mt. Lebanon, and the eighty iron bedsteads from Birmingham, England. The cistern, which holds about 20,000 gallons, was built at the expense of a Massachusetts lady, and the portico by a lady of New York. The melodeon was given by ladies in Georgetown, D.C., and the organ is the gift of a benevolent lady in Newport, R.I. Time would fail me to recount the generous offerings of Christian men and women who have aided in the support of this school during the ten years of its history. Receiving no pecuniary aid from the American Board, the entire responsibility of its support fell upon a few members of the Syria Mission. Travellers who passed through the Holy Land, sometimes assumed the support of charity pupils, or interested their Sabbath Schools in raising scholarships, on their return home, and a few noble friends in the United States have sent on their gifts from time to time unsolicited, to defray the general expenses of the Institution. Its support has been to some of us a work of _faith_, as well as a labor of love. Not unfrequently has the end of the month come upon us, without one piastre in the treasury for paying the teachers' salaries or buying bread for the children, when suddenly, in some unknown and unexpected way, funds would be received, sufficient for all our wants. About two years since the funds were entirely exhausted. More than a hundred dollars would be owing to the teachers and servants on the following day. The accounts were examined, and all possible means of relief proposed, but without avail. At length one of the members of the Executive Committee asked leave to look over the accounts. He did so, and said he could not find any mention of a sum of about thirty Napoleons, which he was sure he had paid into the treasury several months before, as a donation from Mr. Booth of New York, whose son had died in Beirût. The money had _not_ been paid into the school treasury. The vouchers were all produced, and there was left no resort but prayer. There was earnest supplication that night that the Lord would relieve us from our embarrassment, and provide for the necessities of the school. The next morning the good brother, above mentioned, recalled to mind his having given that money to Dr. Van Dyck in the Mission Library for the School. Dr. Van Dyck was consulted, and at once replied, "Certainly I received the money. It is securely locked up in the safe where it has been for months awaiting orders." The safe was opened, and the money found to be almost to a piastre the amount needed for obligations of the School. Since the transfer of the Syria Mission to the board of Missions of the Presbyterian Church, the pecuniary status of the Seminary has been somewhat modified. The Women's Boards of Missions of New York and Philadelphia have assumed the responsibility of raising scholarships for its support among the Auxiliary Societies and Sabbath Schools; the salaries of the teachers are provided for by individuals and churches, and several of the old friends of the school retain their interest in it, while the danger of a deficit is guarded against, by the guarantees of the good Christian women who are doing so grand and noble a work in this age for the world's evangelization. The annual cost of supporting a pupil now is about sixty dollars gold. The number of paying pupils is increasing, and the prospect for the future is encouraging. In the year 1864, a letter was received from certain Christian women in America, addressed to the girls of the School, and some of the older girls prepared a reply in Arabic, a translation of which was sent to America. It was as follows: "From the girls of the Beirût School in Syria, to the sisters beloved in the Lord Jesus, in a land very far away. We have been honored in reading the lines which reached us from you, O sisters, distant in body but near in spirit, and we have given glory to God the Creator of all, who has caused in your hearts true love to us, and spiritual sympathies which have prompted you, dear sisters in the Lord, to write to us. Yes, it is the Lord Jesus who has brought about between us and between you (Arabic idiom) a spiritual intercourse, without the intercourse of bodily presence. For we have never in our lives seen you, nor your country, nor have we spoken to you face to face, and so you likewise have not seen us. Had neither of us the Word of God, the Holy and Only Book which is from one Father and a God unchangeable, to tell us that we have one nature, and have all fallen into one transgression, and are saved in one way, which is the Lord Jesus, we could not, as we now can, call you in one union, our sisters. The Lord Jesus calls those who love Him His brethren, and since He is the only bond and link, are we not His sisters, and thus sisters to each other? Truly, O dear sisters, we are thirsting to see you, and we all unite in offering prayers and praises to God, through His Son Immanuel, the possessor of the glorious Name, praying that we may see you; but we cannot in this world, for we are in the East, and you are in the West, far, very far. But, O dear friends, as we hope for the resurrection from the dead, so after our period in this world is ended, we shall meet by the blessing of God in those bright courts which are illumined by the light of the Saviour, which need not sun nor moon to give them light,--that holy place which is filled with throngs of angels who never cease to offer glory to God. There we may meet and unite with all the saved in praising the Saviour. There we may meet our friends who have passed on before us "as waiting they watch us approaching the shore," as we sing in the hymn. There around the throne of the glorious Saviour, there in the heavenly Jerusalem, our songs will not be mingled with tears and grief, for the Lord Jesus Himself will wipe away all tears from our eyes. There will not enter sin nor its likeness into our hearts sanctified by the Holy Spirit. There this body which shall rise incorruptible, will not return to the state in which it was in this world. In those courts we shall be happy always, and the reason is that we shall always be with the Great Shepherd, as it is said in the Book of Revelation, 'He shall shepherd them and lead them to fountains of living waters and wipe all tears from their eyes.' Our sisters, were it not for the Holy Bible which the Lord has given to His people, we should have no comfort to console us with regard to our friends whom we have lost by means of death. We beg you to help us by offering prayers to the living and true God that He will make us faithful even unto death,--that He will bless us while on the sea of this life, until we reach the shore of peace without fear or trouble, that we may be ready to stand before the seat of the Lord Jesus the Judge of all, clothed in the robes of His perfect righteousness, which he wove for us on the Cross, and is now ready to give to those who ask Him. Let us then all ask of God that this our only treasure may be placed where no thief can break in and steal, and no moth shall corrupt. And may the Lord preserve you! We love to sing this hymn, 'Holy Bible, Book Divine, Precious treasure, thou art mine!' and we entreat you that when you sing it, you will let it be a remembrancer from us to you." In March, 1865, a little girl was brought to the school under somewhat peculiar circumstances. Years ago, in the days of Mr. Whiting, a Maronite monk named Nejm, became enlightened, left the monastery and was married to a Maronite woman named Zarifeh, by Mr. Whiting. For years the poor man passed through the fires of persecution and trial. Even his wife, in her ignorance, though not openly opposing him, trembled with fear every time he read the Scriptures aloud. At the time mentioned above, their little daughter Resha was about five years of age. The Papal Maronite Bishop of Beirût made a visit to Nejm's village, Baabda, to dispense indulgences, in accordance with the Pope's Encyclical letter. Nejm was called upon to pay his portion of the sum assessed upon the people, but having been a Protestant fifteen years, he refused to pay it. At the instigation of the priests, his wife was then taken from him, and his little Resha, his only child, was carried off by one of the priests to Beirût, and thrust inside the gates of the convent of the French Sisters of Charity. The poor father came to me, well-nigh broken-hearted, pleading for assistance. I laid the case before His Excellency Daûd Pasha, Governor of Lebanon, who was then in Beirût, and drew up a petition to the Pasha of Beirût also, on the subject. Nejm went about weeping and wringing his hands, and my feelings became deeply enlisted in his behalf. Three weeks afterwards, after a series of petitions and visits to the Pasha of Beirût, the girl Resha was removed from the convent and taken by Nejm's enemies to a house near Nahr Beirût, about two miles distant, and just over the border line of the Mountain Pashalic. I then addressed another letter to Daûd Pasha, and he promptly ordered her to be restored to her father. The manner in which Nejm, the father, finally secured the child was not a little amusing. He had been searching for his child for several weeks, waiting and watching, until his patience was about exhausted, when he heard that Resha was again in the hands of the priests in Baabda. The mother followed the child, and the priests threatened to kill her, if she informed her husband where the girl was secreted. Daûd Pasha was then at his winter palace in Baabda, and Nejm took my letter to him. While awaiting a reply at the door, some one informed him that his daughter was at the fountain. Without waiting further for official aid, he ran to the fountain, took up his daughter, put her on his back, and ran for Beirût, a distance of about four miles, where he brought her to my house, and placed her in my room, with loud ejaculations of thanks to God. "Neshkar Allah; El mejd lismoo." Thanks to God! Glory to His name! The mother soon followed, and the girl was sent as a day scholar to the Seminary. They are now living in Baabda. The mother, Zarify, united with the Evangelical Church of Beirût, July 21, 1872, giving the best evidence of a true spiritual experience. The little girl is anxious to teach, and it was proposed to employ her as an assistant in the girls' school in Baabda, but the tyrannical oppressions of the priesthood upon the family who had offered their house for the school, and the refusal of the Pasha of Lebanon to grant protection to the persecuted, have obliged the brethren there to postpone their request for a school for the present. Alas for the poor women of Syria! Even when they seek to obtain the consolations of the Gospel by learning to read the Word of life, they are surrounded by priests and Sheikhs who watch their chance to destroy the "Bread of Life!" In March, 1865, a Maronite woman called at the Press to buy a book of poems, to teach her boy to read. "Why not buy a Testament?" asked the bookseller. "I did buy an Engeel Mushekkel," (a voweled Testament.) "Be careful of it then," said Khalil, "for the edition is exhausted, and you cannot get another for months." "It is too late to be careful now, for the book _has been burned_." "Burned? by whom?" "By the Jesuits, who gathered a large pile and burned them." God grant that as Tyndale's English New Testament, first printed in 1527 was only spread the more widely for the attempts of the Papal Bishop of London to burn it, so the Arabic Bible may receive a new impulse from the similarly inspired efforts of the Bishop's successors! CHAPTER IX. LUCIYA SHEKKUR. The work done for Christ and for Syrian girls in the families of Missionaries in Syria, may well compare with that done in the established institutions of learning. Mrs. Whiting was not alone in the work of training native Arab girls in her own home. The same work had been done by other Missionaries before her, and has been carried on with no little success by Mrs. Bird, Mrs. Calhoun and others, up to the present time. It is an interesting sight to see the Thursday afternoon Women's meeting in the house of Mrs. Calhoun in Abeih, and to know that a large part of that company of bright, intelligent and tidily dressed young native women, who listen so intently to the Bible lesson, and join so heartily in singing the sweet songs of Zion, were trained up either in her own family, or under her own especial influence. By means of her own example in the training of her children, she has taught the women of Abeih, and through them multitudes of women in other villages, the true Christian modes of family government and discipline, and introduced to their notice and practice many of those little conveniences and habits in the training of children, whose influence will be felt for many generations. When Mr. and Mrs. Bird removed to Deir el Komr in 1855, they not only opened a large school for the education of girls, with Sada Haleby, one of Dr. De Forest's pupils, as teacher, but received into their own family three young girls, named Lucîya, Sikkar and Zihry, all of whom entered upon spheres of usefulness. Zihry became a teacher, in Deir el Komr, and has continued to teach until the present time. She was at one time connected with the Beirût Female Seminary, and is now teaching in the Institution of Mrs. Shrimpton, under the auspices of the British Syrian Schools. Luciya taught in Deir el Komr until the school was overwhelmed in the fires and blood of the Massacre year, 1860. In 1862 she taught in the Sidon School, and afterwards married the Rev. Sulleba Jerwan, the first native pastor in Hums. In that great city, and amid the growing interest of the young Protestant community, she found a wide and attractive field of labor. She was a young woman of great gentleness and delicacy of nature, and of strong religious feeling, and entered upon the work of laboring among the women and girls of Hums, with exemplary zeal and discretion. She became greatly beloved, and her Godly example and gentle spirit will never be forgotten. But at length her labors were abruptly cut short. Consumption, a disease little known in Syria, but which afterwards cut down her brother and only sister Sikkar, fastened upon her, and she was obliged, in great suffering, to leave the raw and windy climate of Hums, for the milder air of Beirût. Her two brothers being in the employ of Miss Whately in Cairo, she went, on their invitation, to Egypt, where after a painful illness, she fell asleep in Jesus. Amid all her sufferings, she maintained that same gentle and lovely temper of mind, which made her so greatly beloved by all who knew her. She has rested from her labors, and her works do follow her. Not long after her sister Sikkar, who had also been trained in Mrs. Bird's family, died in her native village Ain Zehalteh. Her last end also, was peace, and although no concourse of Druze Sheikhs came barefoot over the snow to her funeral, as they did on the death of the Sitt Selma, in the same village, no doubt a concourse of higher and holier beings attended her spirit to glory. When Luciya was in Beirût before her departure to Egypt, I used to see her frequently, and I shall never forget the calm composure with which she spoke of her anticipated release from the pains and sufferings of life. Christ was her portion, and she lived in communion with him, certain that ere long she should depart and be with him forever. The poor Moslem women in the houses adjoining her room used to come in, and with half-veiled faces look upon her calm and patient face with wonder. Would that they too might find her Saviour precious to them, in their hours of sickness, suffering and death! Truly, there is no religion but that of Jesus Christ, that can soften the pillow of suffering, and take away the sting and dread of death. One of the most serious difficulties in the way of the higher female education in Syria, is the early age at which girls are married. One young girl attended the Beirût Seminary for two years, from eight to ten, and the teachers were becoming interested in her progress, when suddenly her parents took her out of the school, and gave her to a man in marriage. After the festivities of the marriage week were over at her husband's house, she went home to visit her mother, _taking her dolls with her_ to amuse herself! The Arabic journal "the Jenneh" of Beirût, contained a letter in June, 1872, from its Damascus correspondent, praising the fecundity of Syria, and stating that a young woman who was married at nine and a half, became a grandmother at twenty! Such instances are not uncommon in Damascus and Hums, where the chief and almost the only concern of parents is to marry off their daughters as early as nature will allow, without education, experience or any other qualification for the responsible duties of married life. When the above mentioned letter from Damascus was published, Dr. Van Dyck took occasion to write an article in the "Neshra," the Missionary Weekly, of which he is the editor, exposing the folly and criminality of such early marriages, and demonstrating their disastrous effects on society at large. Since the establishment of schools and seminaries of a high grade for girls, this tendency is being decidedly checked in the vicinity of Beirût, and girls are not given up as incorrigibly old, even if they reach the age of seventeen. Dr. Meshakah of Damascus, who has long been distinguished for his learned and eloquent works on the Papacy, is a venerable white-bearded patriarch and his wife looks as if she were his daughter. I once asked him how old she was when married, and he said _eleven_. I asked him why he married her so young? He said that in his day, young girls received no training at home, and young men who wished properly trained wives, had to marry them young, so as to educate them to suit themselves! Education is rapidly obviating that necessity, and young men are more than willing that girls to whom they are betrothed, should complete their education, lest they be eclipsed by others who remain longer at school. I once called on a wealthy native merchant in Beirût, who remarked that "the Europeans have a thing in their country which we have not. They call it ed-oo-cashion, and I am anxious to have it introduced into Syria." This "ed-oo-cashion" is already settling many a question in Syria which nothing else could settle, and the natives are also learning that something more than mere book-knowledge is needed, to elevate and refine the family. One of the most direct results of female education thus far in Syria has been the abolition from certain classes of society of some of those superstitious fears which harass and torment the ignorant masses. CHAPTER X. RAHEEL. No sketch of Woman's Work for Syrian women would be complete which did not give some account of the life and labors of that pioneer in work for Syrian women, Mrs. Sarah L.H. Smith, wife of Dr. Eli Smith. She reached Beirût, January 28, 1834, full of high and holy resolves to devote her life to the benefit of her Syrian sisters. From the first to the very last of her life in Syria, this was the one great object of her toils and prayers. As soon as April 2, she writes, "Our school continues to prosper, and I love the children exceedingly. Do pray that God will bless this incipient step to enlighten the women of this country. You cannot conceive of their deplorable ignorance. I feel it more and more every day. Their energies are expended in outward adorning of plaiting the hair and gold and pearls and costly array, literally so. I close with one request, _that you will pray for a revival of religion in Beirût_." Again she writes, June 30, 1834, "I feel somewhat thoughtful, this afternoon, in consequence of having heard of the ready consent of the friends of a little girl, that I should take her as I proposed, and educate her. I am anxious to do it, and yet my experience and observation in reference to such a course, and my knowledge of the sinful heart of a child, lead me to think I am undertaking a great thing. I feel, too, that my example and my instruction will control her eternal destiny." This girl was Raheel Ata. Again, August 16: "It is a great favor that so many of the men and boys can read. Alas, our poor sisters! the curse rests emphatically upon them. Among the Druze princesses, some, perhaps the majority, furnish an exception and can read. Their sect is favorable to learning. Not so with the Maronites. I have one scholar from these last, but when I have asked the others who have been here if they wished to read, they have replied most absolutely in the negative, saying that it was for boys, and not for them. I have heard several women acknowledge that they knew no more than the donkeys." August 23. A Maronite priest compelled two little girls to leave her school, but the Greek priest sent "his own daughter, a pretty, rosy-cheeked girl" to be taught by Mrs. Smith. On the 22d of September, 1834, she wrote from B'hamdûn, a village five hours from Beirût, on Lebanon, "Could the females of Syria be educated and regenerated, the whole face of the country would change; even, as I said to an Arab a few days since, to the appearance of the houses and the roads. One of our little girls, whom I taught before going to the mountains, came to see me a day or two since, and talked incessantly about her love for the school, and the errors of the people here, saying that they 'cared not for Jesus Christ, but only for the Virgin Mary.'" October 8. She says, "A servant woman of Mrs. Whiting, who has now lived long enough with her to love her and appreciate her principles, about a year and a half since remarked to some of the Arabs, that the people with whom she lived did 'not lie, nor steal, nor quarrel, nor do any such things; but poor creatures,' said she, 'they have no religion.'" On the 22d of October, she wrote again, "Yesterday I went up to Mr. Bird's to consult about the plan of a _school-house now commenced for females_. I can hardly believe that such a project is actually in progress, and I hail it as the dawn of a happy change in Syria. Two hundred dollars have been subscribed by friends in this vicinity, and I told Mr. B. that if necessary he might expend fifty more upon the building, as our Sabbath School in Norwich had pledged one hundred a year for female education in Syria." The principal contributor to this fund was Mrs. Alexander Tod, formerly Miss Gliddon, daughter of the U.S. Consul in Alexandria. The building stood near where the present Church in Beirût stands, and was removed, and the stones used in the extension of the old Chapel. In the year 1866 Mr. Tod revisited Beirût and contributed £100 towards the erection of the new Female Seminary, saying that as Mrs. Tod aided in the first Female Seminary building in Beirût, he wished to aid in the second. The school-house was a plain structure, and was afterwards used as a boy's school, and the artist who photographed the designs printed in this volume received his education there under the instruction of the late Shahîn Sarkis, husband of Azizy. In the latter part of October, 1834, Mrs. Smith writes, "Yesterday I commenced the female school with four scholars, which were increased to ten to-day, and the number will probably continue to augment as before from week to week. As I walked home about sunset this evening, I thought, 'Can it be that I am a schoolmistress, and the only one in all Syria?' and I tripped along with a quick step amid Egyptians, Turks and Arabs, Moslems and Jews, to my quiet and pleasant home." November 9. "I sometimes indulge the thought that God has sent me to the females of Syria--to the little girls, of whom I have a favorite school--for their good." January 5, 1835. "On Friday I distributed rewards to twenty-three little girls belonging to my school, which, as they are all poor, consisted of clothing. Our Sabbath School also increases. Eighteen were present last Sabbath." On the 11th of January Dr. Thomson wrote, "Mrs. Smith's female school prospers wonderfully, but it is the altar of her own health; and I fear that in the flame that goeth up toward heaven from off that altar, she will soon ascend as did Manoah's angel. We can hardly spare her; she is our only hope for a female school in Beirût at present." The state of society in Syria at that time is well pictured in the following language, used by Mrs. Smith in a letter dated February 12, 1835: "Excepting the three or four native converts, we know not one pious religious teacher, one judicious parent, one family circle regulated by the fear of God; no, _not even one_!" "I wish I had strength to do more, but my school and my studies draw upon my energies continually." Even at that early day Moslem girls came to be taught by Mrs. Smith. She writes June 2, "A few days since, one of my little Moslem scholars, whose father was once an extensive merchant here, came and invited me to make a call upon her mother. I took Raheel and accompanied her to their house which is in our neighborhood. I found it a charming spot and very neatly kept. Hospitality is regarded here as a religious act, I think, and a reputation for it is greatly prized." In July she wrote of what has not ceased to be a trial to all missionaries in Beirût for the past forty years, the necessity of removing to the mountains during the hot summer months. The climate of the plain is debilitating to foreigners, and missionary families are obliged to spend three months of the hot season in the Lebanon villages. "My school interests me more and more every day, and I do not love to think of suspending it even for a few weeks during the hot season. Day before yesterday a wealthy Jewish lady came with her two daughters to the school, and begged me to take the youngest as a scholar." July 19. "At our Sabbath School to-day were _twenty-eight_ scholars, twenty-one girls and seven boys." July 31. "To-day I closed my school for the month of August by the distribution of rewards to _thirty little girls_. The American and English Consuls and a few Arab friends were present, and expressed much pleasure at the sight of so many young natives in their clean dress. A few of the more educated scholars read a little in the New Testament." August 8. "On Saturday I closed my school for the month of August. It was increasing every day in numbers and I would gladly have continued it. Last Sabbath we had at the Sabbath School forty-six scholars, a _fourth of whom were Moslems_." September 29. "Yesterday I commenced my school again with twenty scholars; which, for the first day, was a good number. Mrs. Whiting has ten little Moslem girls in Jerusalem, and the promise of more." December 14. "On Saturday, our native female prayer-meeting consisted of twenty, besides two children. Fourteen were Arabs, more than were ever present before. We met in the girls' school room, where we intend in future to assemble. We sung part of a psalm, as we have begun to teach music in our school. We find the children quite as capable of forming musical sounds as those in our own country; but alas, _we have no psalms or hymns adapted to their capacities_. The Arabic cannot be simplified like the English, without doing violence to Arab taste; at least such is the opinion now. What changes may be wrought in the language, we cannot tell. Of this obstacle in the instruction of the young here, you have not perhaps thought. It is a painful thought to us, that _children's literature_, if I may so term it, is _incompatible with the genius of this language_: of course, infant school lessons must be bereft of many of their attractions." It may be interesting to know whether present missionary experience differs from that of Mrs. Smith and her husband in 1835, with regard to children's literature in the Arabic language. In 1858, Mr. Ford prepared, with the aid of Mr. Bistany, (the husband of "Raheel," Mrs. Smith's adopted child,) a series of children's Scripture Tracts in simple and yet perfectly correct Arabic, so that the youngest child can understand them. In 1862, we printed the first Children's Hymn-book, partly at the expense of the girls in Rufka's school. We have now in Arabic about eighty children's hymns, and a large number of tracts and story books designed for children. We also publish an Illustrated Children's Monthly, called the "Koukab es Subah," "The Morning Star," and the children read it with the greatest eagerness. The Koran, which is the standard of classic Arabic, cannot be changed, and hence can never be a book for children. It cannot be a family book, or a women's book. It cannot attract the minds of the young, with that charm which hangs around the exquisitely simple and beautiful narratives of the Old and New Testament. It is a gem of Arabic poetry, but like a gem, crystalline and unchanging. It has taken a mighty hold upon the Eastern world, because of its Oriental style and its eloquent assertion of the Divine Unity. It is reverenced, but not loved, and will stand where it is while the world moves on. Every reform in government, toleration and material improvement in the Turkish Empire, Persia and Egypt, is made in spite of the Koran and contrary to its spirit. The printing of the Koran is unlawful, but it is being printed. All pictures of living objects are unlawful, but the Sultan is photographed, Abd el Kader is photographed, the "Sheikh ul Islam" is photographed. European shoes are unlawful because sewed with a swine's bristle, but Moslem Muftis strut about the streets in French gaiters, and the women of their harems tottle about in the most absurd of Parisian high-heeled slippers. The Arabic Bible translated by Drs. Eli Smith and Cornelius Van Dyck, is voweled with the grammatical accuracy and beauty of the Koran with the aid of a learned Mohammedan Mufti, and yet has all the elegant simplicity of the original and is intelligible to every Arab, old and young, who is capable of reading at all. The stories of Joseph, Moses, and David, of Esther, Daniel and Jonah are as well adapted to the comprehension of children in the Arabic as in the English. Not a few of the hymns in the Children's Hymn book are original, written by M. Ibrahim Sarkis, husband of Miriam of Aleppo, and M. Asaad Shidoody, husband of Hada. This Hymn book was published in 1862, with Plates presented by Dr. Robinson's Sabbath School of the First Presbyterian Church, Brooklyn. This digression seemed necessary, in order to show the great progress that has been made since 1836, in preparing a religious literature. It is no longer true as in Mrs. Smith's day, "that we have no psalms or hymns adapted to the capacities of children." Nor is it longer true that "_children's literature is incompatible with the genius of the Arabic language_." In a letter addressed to the young women in the "Female Academy at Norwich," February, 1836, Mrs. Smith gives a vivid description of the "average woman" of Syria in her time, and the description holds true of nine-tenths of the women at the present day. There are now native Christian homes, not the least attractive of which is the home of her own little protegé Raheel, but the great mass continue as they were forty years ago. She says, "My dear friends, will you send your thoughts to this, which is not a heathen, but an unevangelized country. I will not invite you to look at our little female school of twenty or thirty, because these form but a drop among the thousands and thousands of youth throughout Syria; although I might draw a contrast even from this not a little in your favor. But we will speak of the young Syrian females at large, moving in one unbroken line to the land of darkness and sorrow. Among them you will find many a fine form and beautiful face; but alas! the perfect workmanship of their Creator is rendered tame and insipid, for want of that mental and moral culture which gives a peculiar charm to the human countenance. It is impossible for me to bring the females of this country before you in so vivid a manner that you can form a correct idea of them. But select from among your acquaintances a lady who is excessively weak, vain and trifling; who has no relish for any intellectual or moral improvement; whose conversation is altogether confined to dress, parties, balls, admiration, marriage; whose temper and faults have never been corrected by her parents, but who is following, unchecked, all the propensities of a fallen, corrupt nature. Perhaps you will not be able to find any such, though I have occasionally met with them in America. If you succeed, however, in bringing a person of this character to your mind, then place the thousands of girls, and the women, too, of this land, once the land of patriarchs, prophets and apostles, in her class." "These weak-minded Syrian females are not attentive to personal cleanliness; neither have they a neat and tasteful style of dress. Their apparel is precisely such as the Apostle recommended that Christian females should avoid; while the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit is thrown wholly out of the account. They have no books, and no means of moral or intellectual improvement. It is considered a disgrace for a female to know how to read and write, and a serious obstacle to her marriage, which is the principal object of the parent's heart. This abhorrence of learning in females, exists most strongly in the higher classes. Nearly every pupil in our school is very indigent. Of God's word they understand nothing, for a girl is taken to church perhaps but once a year, where nothing is seen among the women but talking and trifling; of course she attaches no solemnity to the worship of God. No sweet domestic circle of father, brother, mother and sister, all capable of promoting mutual cheerfulness and improvement, greets her in her own house. I do not mean to imply that there exists no family affection among them, for this tie is often very strong; but it has no foundation in respect, and is not employed to promote elevation of character. The men sit and smoke their pipes in one apartment, while in another the women cluster upon the floor, and with loud and vociferous voices gossip with their neighbors. The very language of the females is of a lower order than that of the men, which renders it almost impossible for them to comprehend spiritual and abstract subjects, when first presented to their minds. I know not how often, when I have attempted to converse with them, they have acknowledged that they did not understand me, or have interrupted me by alluding to some mode or article of dress, or something quite as foolish." "Thus you see, my young friends, how unhappy is the condition of the females of Syria, and how many laborers are wanted to cultivate this wide field. On the great day of final account, the young females of Syria, of India, of every inhabited portion of the globe, who are upon the stage of life with you, will rise up, either to call you blessed, or to enhance your condemnation." "God is furnishing American females their high privileges, with the intention of calling them forth into the wide fields of ignorance and error, which the world exhibits. I look over my country and think of the hundreds and thousands of young ladies, intelligent, amiable and capable, who are assembled in schools and academies there; and then turn my eye to Jerusalem, Hebron, Nazareth, Sychar, Damascus, Tyre, Sidon, Jaffa, and to the numerous villages of Mount Lebanon, and think, 'Why this inequality of condition and privileges? Why can there not be stationed at every one of those morally desolate places, at least one missionary family, and one single female as a teacher? Does not Jesus Christ, the Good Shepherd, require it of His youthful friends in America, that from love to Him, gratitude for their own distinguished mercies, compassion for perishing souls, and the expectation of perfect rest and happiness in heaven, they should spread themselves over the wide world, and feed the sheep and the lambs scattered without a shepherd upon the mountains?' Yes, He requires it, and angels will yet behold it; but shall we not see it in our day?" Great changes have come over Syria since the above words were written. Not less than twelve high schools for girls have been established since then in Syria and Palestine, and not far from forty common schools, exclusively for girls, under the auspices of the different Missionary Societies. In February, 1836, Mrs. Smith also undertook the work of _systematic visiting among the mothers of her pupils_. She says, "Perhaps it will be a very long time before we shall see any fruit. Indeed those who enter into our labors may gather it in our stead; yet I am anxious that we should persevere until we die, though no apparent effect be produced." In April, 1836, she wrote, "My mind is much upon a female boarding school; and if I can get the promise of ten girls, we shall, God willing, remove the press from our house, and commence one in the fall." In May she commenced a new term of her day school with twenty-six scholars. She says, "The wife of a persecuted Druze is very anxious to learn to read, and she comes to our house every day to get instruction from Raheel." She also says, "We feel the want of books exceedingly. The little girl whom I took more than a year since, and who advances steadily in intelligence and knowledge, has no book but the Bible to read, not one." Then again, "Should our press get into successful operation, I despair in doing anything in the way of infant schools, because the Arabic language cannot be simplified, at least under existing prejudices. If every hymn and little story must be dressed up in the august habiliments of the Koran, what child of three and six years old will be wiser and better for them! How complete is the dominion of the Great Adversary over this people! All the links of the chain must be separated, one by one. And what a long, I had almost said, tedious process! But I forget that to each one will be assigned a few only of these links. We are doing a little, perhaps, in this work; if faithful, we shall rest in heaven, and others will come and take our places and our work." On the eleventh of June, Mrs. Smith's health had become so impaired from the dampness of the floor and walls of her school building, that her physician advised a sea voyage for her. After suffering shipwreck on the coast of Asia Minor, and enduring great hardships, she reached Smyrna, where she died on the 30th of September, in the triumphs of the Gospel. Her Memoir is a book worthy of being read by every Christian woman engaged in the Master's service. In a letter written from Smyrna, July 28, she says, "I had set my heart much upon taking Raheel with me. Parents, however, in Syria, have an especial aversion to parting with their children for foreign countries. One of my last acts therefore was to make a formal committal of her into the hands of my kind friend Miss Williams. I had become so strongly attached to the little girl, and felt myself so much rewarded for all my efforts with her, that the circumstances of this separation were perhaps more trying than any associated with our departure." Mrs. Smith had from the first a desire to take a little Arab girl to be brought up in her family, and at length selected Raheel, one of the most promising scholars in her school, when about eight years of age, and with the consent of her parents adopted her. In her care, attentions and affections, she took almost the rank of a daughter. She was trained to habits of industry, truth and studiousness, and although Mrs. S. had been but nine months in the country when she adopted her, she commenced praying with her in Arabic from the very first. Dr. Eli Smith says, "In a word, the expectations Mrs. Smith had formed in taking her, were fully answered; and she was often heard to say, that she had every day been amply repaid for the pains bestowed upon her. It will not be wondered at, that her affections became entwined very closely around so promising a pupil, and that the attachment assumed much of the character of parental kindness. Mrs. Smith's sharpest trial, perhaps, at her departure from Beirût, arose from leaving her behind." After the departure of Mrs. Smith, her fellow-laborer, Miss Williams, afterwards Mrs. Hebard, took charge of Raheel, who remained with her five years. She then lived successively with Mrs. Lanneau and Mrs. Beadle, and lastly with Dr. and Mrs. De Forest. When in the family of Dr. De Forest, she became engaged to be married to Mr. Butrus Bistany, a learned native of the Protestant Church, who was employed by the Mission as a teacher. Her mother and friends were opposed to the engagement, as they wished to marry her to a man of their own selection. On Carnival evening, February 20, in the year 1843, her mother invited her to come and spend the feast with the family. She hesitated, but finally consented to go with Dr. De Forest and call upon her family friends and return before night. After sitting several hours, the Doctor arose to go and she prepared to follow him. Her mother protested, saying that they would not allow her to return to her home with the missionary. Finding that the mother and brother-in-law were preparing to resist her departure by violence, Dr. De Forest retired, sending a native friend to stay in the house until his return. He repaired to the Pasha and laid the case before him. The Pasha declared her free to choose her own home, as she was legally of age, and sent a janizary with Dr. De Forest to examine the case and insure her liberty of action. On entering the house, the janizary called for Raheel and asked her whether she wished to go home or stay with her mother? She replied, "I wish to go home to Mrs. De Forest." The janizary then wrote down her request, and told her to go. She arose to go, but could not find her shoes. There was some delay, when her brother-in-law seized her arm and attempted to drag her to an inner room. The Pasha's officer seized the other arm and the poor girl was in danger of having her shoulders dislocated. At length the officer prevailed and she escaped. Her mother and the women who had assembled from the neighborhood, then set up a terrific shriek, like a funeral wail, "She's lost! she's dead! wo is me!" It was all pre-arranged. The brother-in-law had been around to the square to a rendezvous of soldiers, and told them that an attempt would be made to abduct his sister by force, and if they heard a shriek from the women, to hasten to his house. The rabble of soldiers wanted no better pastime than such a melée among the infidels, and promised to come. When they heard the noise they started on a run. Raheel, having suspected something of the kind, induced Dr. De Forest to take another road, and as they turned the corner to enter the mission premises, they saw the rabble running in hot haste towards her mother's house, only to find that the bird had flown. In the following summer she was married to Mr. Bistany, who was for eight years assistant of Dr. Eli Smith in the work of Bible translation, and for twenty years Dragoman of the American Consulate. He is now Principal of a private Boarding School for boys, called the "Medriset el Wutaniyet" or "Native School," which has about 150 pupils of all sects. He and his son Selim Effendi are the editors and proprietors also of three Arabic journals; the _Jenan_, a Monthly Literary Magazine, illustrated by wood-cuts made by a native artist, and having a circulation of about 1500; the _Jenneh_, a semi-weekly newspaper published Tuesday and Friday; and the _Jeneineh_, published Monday, Wednesday, Thursday and Saturday. There is not a more industrious man in Syria than Mr. Bistany, and he is doing a great work in the enlightenment of his countrymen. Raheel's home is one of affection, decorum, and Christian refinement, and she has fulfilled the highest hopes and prayers of her devoted foster mother, in discharging the duties of mother, neighbor, church member, and friend. May every missionary woman be rewarded in seeing such fruits of her labors! In January, 1866, Sarah, one of Raheel's daughters, named after Mrs. Sarah L. Smith, was attacked by typhoid pneumonia. From the first she was deeply impressed on the subject of religion, and in deep concern about her soul. She sent for me, and I found her in a very hopeful state of mind. Day after day I called and conversed and prayed with her, and her views of her need of Christ were most clear and comforting, and she wished her testimony to His love to be known among all her young companions. Her friends from the school gathered at her request to see her, and she urged them to come to Christ, and several who have since united with the Church traced their first awakening to her words on her death-bed. One day Sarah said to me, "How thankful I am for this sickness! It has been the voice of God to my soul! I have given myself to Jesus forever! I have been a great sinner, and I have been thinking about my sins, and my need of a Saviour, and I am resolved to live for Him hereafter." On her father's coming into the room, she said in English, "Papa, I am so happy that the Lord sent this sickness upon me. You cannot tell how I thank him for it." After a season spent in prayer, I urged her, on leaving, to cast herself entirely on the Saviour of sinners, before another hour should pass. The next day as I entered the room, she said, "I am at peace now. I _did_ cast myself on Jesus and He received me. I know His blood has washed my sins away." She had expressed some fear that she might not be able to live a consistent Christian life should she recover, "but," said she, "I could trust in Christ to sustain me." After a few words of counsel and prayer, and reading a portion of Scripture, she exclaimed, "It is all one now, whether I die or live. I am ready to go or stay. The Lord knows best." At the last interview between her and her father, she expressed her determination to make the Bible henceforth her study and guide, and requested him to read the 14th chapter of John, which seemed to give her great comfort. Soon after that she ceased to recognize her friends, and on Monday night, January 5, she gently fell asleep. I was summoned to the house at 2 A.M. by a young man who said, "She is much worse, hasten." On reaching the house I met Rufka, teacher of the Seminary, who exclaimed, "She is gone, she is gone." Entering the mukod room, I found all the family assembled. There were no shrieks and screams and loud wailings, as is the universal custom in this land. All were seated, and the father, Abû Selim, was reading that chapter which Sarah had asked him to read. I then led the family in prayer, and all were much comforted. She had lived a blameless life, beloved by all who knew her, and had been a faithful and exemplary daughter and sister, but her only trust at the last was in her Saviour. She saw in her past life only sin, and hoped for salvation in the blood of Christ alone. The funeral was attended by a great concourse of people of all sects, and the Protestant chapel was crowded. CHAPTER XI. HUMS. The city of Hums, the ancient Emessa, is situated about one mile east of the river Orontes, and about half way between Aleppo and Damascus. It is in the midst of a vast and fertile plain, extending to Palmyra on the east, and to the Orontes on the west. With the exception of a few mud-built villages along the east and near the city, there is no settled population between Hums and Palmyra. The wild roving Bedawin sweep the vast plains in every direction, and only a few years ago, the great gates of Hums were frequently closed at midday to prevent the incursion of these rough robbers of the desert. On the west of the city are beautiful gardens and orchards of cherry, walnut, apricot, plum, apple, peach, olive, pomegranate, fig and pear trees, and rich vineyards cover the fields on the south. It is a clean and compact town of about 25,000 inhabitants, of whom 7000 are Greek Christians, 3000 Jacobites, and the rest Mohammedans. The houses are built of sun-dried bricks and black basaltic rock, and the streets are beautifully paved with small square blocks of the same rock, giving it a neat and clean appearance. There are few windows on the street; the houses are one story high, with diminutive doors, not more than four feet high; and the low dull walls stretching along the streets, give the city a dismal and monotonous appearance. The reason of building the doors so _low_, is to prevent the quartering of Turkish government horsemen on their families, as well as to prevent the Bedawin Arabs from plundering them. On the southwest corner of the city stands an ancient castle in ruins, built on an artificial mound of earth of colossal size, which was once faced with square blocks of black trap rock, but this facing has been all stripped off to build the modern city. The people are simple and country-like in dress and manners, and the most of them have a cow-yard within the courts of their houses, thus combining the pastoral with the citizen life. The majority of the Greeks are silk-weavers and shoemakers, weaving girdles, scarfs and robes for different parts of Syria and Egypt, and supplying the Bedawin and the Nusairy villagers with coarse red-leather boots and shoes. Hums early became the seat of a Christian Church, and in the reign of Diocletian, its bishop, Silvanus, suffered martyrdom. In 636 A.D., it was captured by the Saracens, (or "Sherakîyeen," "Easterns," as the Arab Moslems were called,) and although occupied for a time by the Crusaders, it has continued a Moslem city, under Mohammedan rule. The Greek population have been oppressed and ground to the very dust by their Moslem neighbors and rulers, and their women have been driven for protection into a seclusion and degradation similar to that of the Moslem hareems. The Rev. D.M. Wilson, a missionary of the A.B.C.F.M., took up his residence in Hums in October 1855, and remained until obliged to leave by the civil war which raged in the country in 1860. Mr. and Mrs. Aiken went to Hums in April, 1856, but Mrs. Aiken died June 20, after having given promise of rare usefulness among the women of Syria. After Mr. Wilson left Hums, a faithful native helper, Sulleba Jerwan, was sent to preach in Hums. His wife, Luciya Shekkoor, had been trained in the family of Rev. W. Bird in Deir el Komr, and was a devoted and excellent laborer on behalf of the women of Hums. In October, 1862, one of the more enlightened men among the Greeks was taken ill, and sent for Pastor Sulleba to come and make him a religious visit. He went, and found quite a company of relatives and friends present. The sick man asked him to read from the Word of God, and among the passages selected, was that containing the Ten Commandments. While he was reading the _Second_ Commandment, the _wife_ of the sick man exclaimed, "Is that the Word of God? If it is, read it again." He did so, when she arose and tore down a wooden painted picture of a saint, which had been hung at the head of the bed, declaring that henceforth there should be no idol worship in that house. Then taking a knife, she scraped the paint from the picture, and took it to the kitchen to serve as the cover to a saucepan! This was done with the approbation of all present. The case was the more remarkable, as it was one of the first cases in Syria in which a woman has taken such a decided stand against picture-worship and saint-worship, in advance of the rest of the family. In the year 1863, before the ordination of Pastor Sulleba, there being no Protestant properly qualified to perform the marriage ceremony in Hums, I went to that city to marry two of the Protestant young men. It was the first time a Protestant marriage had ever taken place in Hums, and great interest was felt in the ceremony. It is the custom among the other sects to _pronounce_ the bride and groom husband and wife, neither giving an opportunity to spectators to object, nor asking the girl if she is willing to marry the man. The girl is oftentimes not consulted, but simply told she is to marry such a man. If it pleases her, well and good. If not, there is no remedy. The Greek Church gives no liberty in this respect, although the priest takes it for granted that the friends have satisfied both bride and groom with regard to the desirableness of the match. If they are not satisfied, the form of the ceremony gives neither of them the right of refusal. The two young men, Ibrahim and Yunis, called upon me soon after my arrival, to make arrangements for the marriage. I read them the form of the marriage ceremony and they expressed their approval, but said it would be necessary to give the brides very careful instructions as to how and when to answer, lest they say yes when they should say _no_, and _no_ when they wished to say _yes_! I asked them to accompany me to the houses of the girls, that I might give them the necessary directions. They at once protested that this would not be allowed. They had never called at the brides' houses when the girls were present, and it would be a grievous breach of decorum for them to go even with me. So certain of the male relatives of the girls were sent for to accompany me, and I went to their houses. On entering the house of the first one, it was only after long and elaborate argument and diplomatic management, that we could induce the bride to come in from the other room and meet me. At length she came, with her face partially veiled, and attended by several married women, her relatives. They soon began to ply me with questions. "Do you have the communion before the ceremony?" "No." "Do you use the "Ikleel" or crown, in the service?" "No, we sometimes use the ring." Said one, "I hear that you ask the girl if she is willing to take this man to be her husband." "Certainly we do." "Well, if that rule had been followed in my day, I know of _one_ woman who would have said _no_; but they do not give us Greek women the chance." I then explained to them that the bride must stand beside the bridegroom, and when I asked her if she knew of any lawful reason why she should _not_ marry this man, Ibrahîm, she should say _No_,--and when I asked her if she took him to be her lawful and wedded husband, she must answer _Yes_. Some of the women were under great apprehension that she might answer No in the wrong place; so I repeated it over and over again until the girl was sure she should not make a mistake. The woman above alluded to now said, "I would have said No in the _right_ place, if I had been allowed to do it!" I then went to the house of the other bride and gave her similar instructions. The surprise of the women who came in from the neighborhood, that the girl should have the right to say yes or no, was most amusing and suggestive. That one thing seemed to give them new ideas of the dignity and honor of woman under the Gospel. Marriage in the East is so generally a matter of bargain and sale, or of parental convenience and profit, or of absolute compulsion, that young women have little idea of exercising their own taste or judgment in the choice of a husband. This was new doctrine for the city of Heliogabalus, and, as was to be expected, the news soon spread through the town that the next evening a marriage ceremony was to be performed by the Protestant minister, in which the bride was to have the privilege of refusing the man if she wished. And, what was even more outrageous to Hums ideas of propriety, it was rumored that the brides were to walk home from the Church _in company with their husbands_! This was too much, and certain of the young Humsites, who feared the effect of conferring such unheard-of rights and privileges on women, leagued together to mob the brides and grooms if such a course were attempted. We heard of the threat and made ample preparations to protect Protestant women's rights. The evening came, and with it such a crowd of men, women and children, as had never assembled in that house before. The houses of Hums are built around a square area into which all the rooms open, and the open space or court of the mission-house was very large. Before the brides arrived, the entire court, the church and the schoolroom, were packed with a noisy and almost riotous throng. Men, women and children were laughing and talking, shouting and screaming to one another, and discussing the extraordinary innovation on Hums customs about to be enacted. Soon the brides arrived, accompanied by a veiled and sheeted crowd of women, all carrying candles and singing as they entered the house. We took them into the study of the native preacher Sulleba, and after a reasonable delay, we forced a way for them through the crowd into the large square room, then used as a church. My brother and myself finally succeeded in placing them in a proper position in front of the pulpit, and then we waited until Asaad and Michaiel and Yusef and Nasif had enforced a tolerable stillness. It should be said that silence and good order are almost unknown in the Oriental churches. Men are walking about and talking, and even laughing, while the priests are "performing" the service, and they are much impressed by the quiet and decorum of Protestant worship. The two brides were closely veiled so that I could not distinguish the one from the other. Ibrahim was slender and tall, at least six feet three, and Yunis was short and corpulent. So likewise, one of the brides was very tall, and the other even shorter than Yunis. As we could not see the brides' faces, we arranged them according to symmetry and apparent propriety, placing the tall bride by the tall groom, and the two short ones together. After the introductory prayer, I proceeded to deliver a somewhat full and practical address on the nature of marriage, and the duties and relations of husband and wife, as is our custom in Syria, not only for the instruction of the newly married pair, but for the good of the community. No Methodist exhorter ever evoked more hearty responses, than did this address, from the Hums populace. "That is true." "That is news in _this_ city." "Praise to God." _Mashallah!_ A woman exclaimed on hearing of the duties of husband to wife, "Praise to God, women are something after all!" I then turned to the two pairs, and commenced asking Ibrahim the usual question, "Do you" (etc., etc.,) when a woman screamed out, "Stop, stop, Khowadji, you have got the wrong bride by that man. He is to marry the short girl!" Then followed an explosion of laughter, and during the confusion we adjusted the matter satisfactorily. A Moslem Effendi who was present remarked after listening to the service throughout, "that is the most sensible way of getting married that I ever heard of." After the ceremony, we sent the newly married pairs to the study to await the dispersion of the multitude, before going into the street. But human curiosity was too great. None would leave until they saw the extraordinary sight of a bride and groom walking home together. So we prepared our lanterns and huge canes, and taking several of the native brethren, my brother and myself walked home first with Ibrahim and wife, and then with Yunis and his wife. We walked on either side of them, and the riotous rabble, seeing that they could not reach the bride and groom, without first demolishing two tall Khowadjis with heavy canes, contented themselves with coarse jokes and contemptuous laughter. This was nine years ago, and on a recent visit to Hums, the two brides and their husbands met me at the door of the church on Sunday, to show me their children. Since that time numerous Protestant weddings have taken place in Hums, and a new order of things is beginning to dawn upon that people. The present native pastor, the Rev. Yusef Bedr, was installed in June, 1872. His wife Leila, is a graduate of the Beirût Female Seminary, and has been for several years a teacher. Her father died in January, 1871, in the hospital of the Beirût College, and her widowed mother, Im Mishrik, has gone to labor in Hums as a Bible Woman. When her father was dying, I went to see him. Noticing his emaciated appearance, I said, "Are you very ill, Abû Mishrik?" "No my friend, _I_ am not ill. My body is ill; and wasting away but _I_ am well. I am happy. I cannot describe my joy. I have no desire to return to health again. If you would fill my hands with bags of gold, and send me back to Abeih in perfect health, to meet my family again, I would not accept the offer, in the place of what I _know_ is before me. I am going to see Christ! I see Him now. I know He has borne my sins, and I have nothing now to fear. It would comfort me to see some of my friends again, and especially Mr. Calhoun, whom I love; but what are my friends compared with Christ, whom I am going so soon to see?" After prayer, I bade him good bye, and a few hours after, he passed peacefully away. The teacher of the Girls' School in Hums, is Belinda, also a former pupil of the Beirût Seminary. Her brother-in-law, Ishoc, is the faithful colporteur, who has labored so earnestly for many years in the work of the Gospel in Syria. His grandfather was a highway robber, who was arrested by the Pasha, after having committed more than twenty murders. When led out to the gallows, the Pasha offered him office as district governor, if he would turn Moslem. The old murderer refused, saying that he had not much religion, but he would not give up the Greek Church! So he was hung, and the Greeks regarded him as a martyr to the faith! Ishoc's father was as bad as the grandfather, and trained Ishoc to the society of dancing girls and strolling minstrels. When Ishoc became a Protestant, the father took down his sword to cut off his head, but his mother interceded and saved his life. Afterwards his father one day asked him if it was possible that a murderer, son of a murderer, could be saved. He read the gospel to him, prayed with him, and at length the wicked father was melted to contrition and tears. He died a true Christian, and the widowed mother is now living with Ishoc in Beirût. Belinda has a good school, and the wealthiest families of the Greeks have placed their daughters under her care. CHAPTER XII. MIRIAM THE ALEPPINE. The city of Aleppo was occupied as a Station of the Syria Mission for many years, until finally in 1855 it was left to the Turkish-speaking missionaries of the Central Turkey Mission. It is one of the most difficult fields of labor in Turkey, but has not been unfruitful of genuine instances of saving faith in Christ. Among them is the case of Miriam Nahass, (or Mary Coppersmith,) now Miriam Sarkees of Beirût. From a letter published in the Youth's Dayspring at the time, I have gathered the following facts: In 1853 and 1854 the Missionaries in Aleppo, Messrs. Ford and Eddy, opened a small private school for girls, the teacher of which was Miriam Nahass. When the Missionaries first came to Aleppo, her father professed to be a Protestant, and on this account suffered not a little persecution from the Greek Catholic priests. At times he was on the point of starvation, as the people were forbidden to buy of him or sell to him. One day he brought his little daughter Miriam to the missionaries, and asked them to take her and instruct her in all that is good, which they gladly undertook, and her gentle pleasant ways soon won their love. Her mother was a superstitious woman, who hated the missionaries, and could not bear to have her daughter stay with them. She used for a long time to come almost daily to their house and bitterly complain against them and against her husband for robbing her of her daughter. She would rave at times in the wildest passion, and sometimes she would weep as if broken-hearted; not because she loved her child so much, but because she did not like to have her neighbors say to her, "Ah! You have let your child become a Protestant!" It may well be supposed that this was very annoying to the missionary who had her in special charge, and so it was; but he found some profit in it. He was just then learning to speak the language, and this woman by her daily talk, taught him a kind of Arabic, and a use of it, not to be obtained from grammars and dictionaries. He traced much of his ready command of the language to having been compelled to listen so often to the wearisome harangues of Miriam's mother. Sometimes the father would be overcome by the mother's entreaties and would take away the girl, but after awhile he would bring her back again, to the great joy of those who feared they had lost her altogether. This state of things continued two or three years, while Miriam's mind was daily improving and her character unfolding, and hopes were often entertained that the Spirit of God was carrying on a work of grace in her soul. One day her father came to the missionary, and asked him to loan him several thousand piastres (a thousand piastres is $40,) with which he might set up business. This was of course refused, when he went away greatly enraged. He soon returned and took away his daughter, saying that Protestantism did not pay what it cost. It had cost him the loss of property and reputation; it had cost him the peace of his household and the presence of his little girl, and it did not bring in to him in return even the loan of a few piastres, and he would try it no longer. Prayer continued to be offered without ceasing for Miriam, thus taken back to an irreligious home; and though the missionaries heard of her return and her father's return to the corrupt Greek Catholic Church, and of the exultation of the mother over the attainment of her wishes, yet they did not cease to hope that God would one day bring her back and make her a lamb of His fold. An Arab young woman, Melita, trained in the family of Mrs. Whiting in Beirût, was sent to Aleppo about this time to open a girls' school there. The Greek Catholic priests then thought to establish a similar school of their own sect to prevent their children from attending that of the Protestants. They secured Miriam as their teacher. As she went from her home to the school and back again, she used sometimes to run into the missionary's house by stealth, and assure him that her heart was still with him, and her faith unchanged. The school continued a few weeks, but the priests having failed to pay anything towards its support, her father would let her teach no more. Perhaps two years passed thus, with but little being seen of Miriam, but she was not forgotten at the throne of grace. The teacher from Beirût having returned to her home, it was proposed to Miriam's father that she should teach in the Protestant school. Quite unexpectedly he consented, with the understanding that she was to spend every evening at home. At first, little was said to her on the subject of religion; soon she sought religious conversation herself, and brought questions and different passages of Scripture to be explained. After about a month, having previously conversed with the missionary about her duty, when her father came for her at night, she told him that she did not want to go home with him, but to stay where she was. She ought to obey God rather than her parents. They had made her act the part of a hypocrite long enough; to pretend to be a Catholic when she was a Protestant at heart, and they knew that she was. Her father promised that everything should be according to her wishes, and then she returned with him. Two or three days passed away and nothing was seen or heard of Miriam. A servant was then sent to her father's house to inquire if she was sick, and he was rudely thrust away from the door. The missionary felt constrained to interfere, that Miriam might at least have the opportunity of declaring openly her preference. According to the laws of the Turkish government, the father had no right to keep her at her age, against her will, and it was necessary that she have an opportunity to choose with whom she wished to live. The matter was represented to the American Consul, who requested the father to appear before him with his daughter. When the officer came to his house, he found that the father had locked the door and gone away with the key. From an upper window, however, Miriam saw him and told him that she was shut up there a prisoner, not knowing what might be done with her, and she begged for assistance. She had prepared a little note for the missionary, telling of her attachment to Christ's cause, and closing with the last two verses of the eighth chapter of Romans, "For I am persuaded, that neither death nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, nor height nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord." The janizary proposed to her to try if she could not get out upon the roof of the next house, and descend through it to the street, which she successfully accomplished, and was soon joyfully on her way to a place of protection in the Consulate. Miriam, after staying three days at the Consul's house, returned to that of the missionary. Her parents tried every means to induce her to return. They promised and threatened and wept, but though greatly moved at times in her feelings, she remained firm to her purpose. They tried to induce her to go home for a single night only, but she knew them too well to trust herself in their hands. Her mother had artfully arranged to meet her at the house of a friend; but her brother came, a little before the time, to warn her that a plan was laid to meet her at this house with a company of priests who were all ready to marry her forcibly to a man whom she knew nothing about, as is often done in this country. Miriam thus gave up father and mother, brothers and sisters, for the sake of Christ and his gospel. In the year 1855 Mr. Ford removed to Beirût, and Miriam accompanied him. She made a public profession of her faith in Christ in 1856, and was married in 1858 to Mr. Ibrahim Sarkees, foreman and principal proof reader of the American Mission Press. Her father has since removed to Beirût, and all of the family have become entirely reconciled to her being a Protestant. Her brother Habibs is a frequent attendant on Divine service, and regards himself as a Protestant. Miriam is now deeply interested in Christian work, and the weekly meetings of the Native Women's Missionary Society are held at her house. The Protestant women agree either to attend this Sewing Society, or pay a piastre a week in case of their absence. I close this chapter with the mention of Werdeh, [Rose,] daughter of the celebrated Arabic poet Nasif el Yazijy, who aided Dr. Eli Smith in the translation of the Bible into Arabic. She is now a member of the Evangelical Church in Beirût. She herself has written several poems of rare merit; one an elegy upon the death of Dr. Smith; another expressing grateful thanks to Dr. Van Dyck for attending her sick brother. Only this can be introduced here, a poem lamenting the death of Sarah Huntington Bistany, daughter of Raheel, who died in January, 1866. Sarah's father and her own father, Sheikh Nasif, had been for years on the most intimate terms, and the daughters were like sisters. The account of Sarah's death will be found in another part of this volume. Oh sad separation! Have you left among mortals, An eye without tears, hot and burning with sorrow? Have you left on this earth a heart without anguish, Or a soul unharrowed with grief and emotion? Thou hast plucked off a flower from our beautiful garden, Which shall shine like the stars in the gardens celestial. Wo is me! I have lost a fair branch of the willow Broken ruthlessly off. And what heart is _not_ broken? Thou hast gone, but from me thou wilt never be absent. Thy person will live to my sight and my hearing. Tears of blood will be shed by fair maids thy companions, Thy grave will be watered by tears thickly falling. Thou wert the fair jewel of Syrian maidens, Far purer and fairer than pearls of the ocean. Where now is thy knowledge of language and science? This sad separation has left to us nothing. Ah, wo to the heart of fond father and mother, No sleep,--naught but anguish and watching in sorrow Thou art clad in white robes in the gardens of glory. We are clad in the black robe of sorrow and mourning Oh grave, yield thy honors to our pure lovely maiden, Who now to thy gloomy abode is descending! Our Sarah departed, with no word of farewell, Will she ever return with a fond word of greeting? Oh deep sleep of death, that knows no awaking! Oh absence that knows no thought of returning! If she never comes back to us here in our sorrow, We shall go to her soon. 'Twill be but to-morrow CHAPTER XIII. MODERN SYRIAN VIEWS WITH REGARD TO FEMALE EDUCATION. In the year 1847, a Literary Society was formed in Beirût, through the influence of Drs. Thomson, Eli Smith, Van Dyck, De Forest and Mr. Whiting, which continued in operation for about six years, and numbered among its members the leading men of all the various native communities. Important papers were read on various scientific and social subjects. The missionaries had been laboring for years to create an enlightened public sentiment on the subject of female education, contending against social prejudices, profound ignorance, ecclesiastical tyranny and selfish opposition, and at length the fruit of their labors began to appear. In the following articles may be seen something of the views of the better class of Syrians. The first was read before the Beirût Literary Society, Dec. 14, 1849, by Mr. Butrus Bistany, who, as stated above, married Raheel, and is now the head of a flourishing Academy in Beirût, and editor of three Arabic journals. I have translated only the salient points of this long and able paper:-- We have already spoken of woman in barbarous lands. The Syrian women, although better off in some respects than the women of barbarous nations, are still in the deepest need of education and elevation, since they stand in a position midway between the barbarous and the civilized. How few of the hundreds of thousands of women in Syria know how to read! How few are the schools ever established here for teaching women! Any one who denies the degradation and ignorance of Syrian women, would deny the existence of the noonday sun. Do not men shun even an allusion to women, and if obliged to speak of them, do they not accompany the remark with "a jellak Allah," as if they were speaking of a brute beast, or some filthy object? Are they not treated among us very much as among the barbarians? To what do they pay the most attention? Is it not to ornament and dress, and refining about styles of tatooing with the "henna" and "kohl?" What do they know about the training of children, domestic economy and neatness of person, and the care of the sick? How many abominable superstitions do they follow, although forbidden by their own religions? Are not the journals and diaries of travellers full of descriptions of the state of our women? Does not every one, familiar with the state of society and the family among us, know all these things, and mourn over them, and demand a reform? Would that I might awaken among the women the desire to learn, that thus they might be worthy of higher honor and esteem! "Woman should be instructed in _religion_. This is one of her highest rights and privileges and her bounden duty. "She should be taught in her own vernacular tongue, so as to be able to express herself correctly, and use pure language. Woman should learn to _write_. "She should be taught to _read_. How is it possible for woman to remember all her duties, religious and secular, through mere oral instruction? But a written book, is a teacher always with her, and in every place and circumstance. It addresses her without a voice, rebukes her without fear or shame, answers without sullenness and complaint. She consults it when she wishes, without anxiety and embarrassment, and banishes it if not faithful or satisfactory, or even burns it without crime! "Why forbid woman the use of the only means she can have of sending her views and feelings where the voice cannot reach? _Now_ when a woman wishes to write a letter, she must go, closely veiled to the street, and hire a professional scribe to write for her, a letter which she cannot read, and which may utterly misrepresent her! "Woman should also have instruction in the _training of children_. The right training of children is not a natural instinct. It is an art, and a lost art among us. It must be learned from the experience and observation of those who have lived before us; and where do we now find the woman who knows how to give proper care to the bodies and souls of her children?" Mr. Bistany then speaks of the importance of teaching woman domestic economy, sewing, cooking, and the care of the sick, as well as geography, arithmetic, and history, giving as reasons for the foregoing remarks, that the education of woman will benefit herself, her husband, her children and her country. "How can she be an intelligent wife, a kind companion, a wise counsellor, a faithful spouse, aiding her husband, lightening his sufferings, training his children, and caring for his home, without education? Without education, her taste is corrupt. She will seek only outward ornament, and dress, and painting, as if unsatisfied with her Creator's work; becoming a mere doll to be gazed at, or a trap to catch the men. She will believe in countless superstitions, such as the Evil Eye, the howling of dogs, the crying of foxes, etc., which are too well known to need mention here. He who would examine this subject, should consult that huge unwritten book, that famous volume called "Ketab en Nissa," the "Book of the Women," a work which has no existence among civilized women; or ask the old wives who have read it, and taught it in their schools of superstition. "Let him who would know the evils of neglecting to educate woman, look at the ignorant, untaught woman in her language and dress, her conduct at home and abroad; her notions, thoughts, and caprices on religion and the world; her morals, inclinations and tastes; her house, her husband, her children and acquaintances, when she rejoices or mourns, when sick or well; and he will agree with us that an uneducated woman is a great evil in the world, not to say the greatest evil possible to be imagined. "In the reformation of a nation, then, the first step in the ladder is the education of the women from their childhood. And those who neglect the women and girls, and expect the elevation of the people by the mere training of men and boys, are like one walking with one foot on the earth, and the other in the clouds! They fail in accomplishing their purpose and are barely able, by the utmost energy, to repair that which woman has corrupted and destroyed. They build a wall, and woman tears down a castle. They elevate boys one degree, and women depress them many degrees. "Perhaps I have now said enough on a subject never before written upon by any of our ancestors of the sons of the Arabs. My object has been to prove the importance of the education of woman, based on the maxim, that, 'she who rocks the cradle with her right hand, moves the world with her arm.'" The next article I have translated from Mr. Bistany's Semi-monthly Magazine, called the "Jenan," for July, 1870. It was written by an Arab _woman_ of Aleppo, the Sitt Mariana Merrash. She writes with great power and eloquence in the Arabic; and her brother, Francis Effendi, is one of the most powerful writers of modern Syria. The paper of the Sitt Mariana is long, and the introduction is most ornate and flowery. She writes on the condition of woman among the Arabs, and refutes an ancient Arab slander against women that they are cowardly and avaricious, because they will not fight, and carefully hoard the household stores. She then proceeds:-- "Wo to us Syrian women, if we do not know enough to distinguish and seek after those qualities which will elevate and refine our minds, and give breadth to our thoughts, and enable us to take a proper position in society! We ought to attract sensible persons to us by the charm of our cultivation and refinement, not by the mere phantom of beauty and personal ornament. Into what gulfs of stupidity have we plunged! Do we not know that the reign of beauty is short, and not enough of itself to be worthy of regard? And even supposing that it were enough of itself, in the public estimation, to make us attractive and desirable, do we not know assuredly that after beauty has faded, we should fall at once into a panic of anxiety and grief, since none would then look at us save with the eye of contempt and ridicule, to say nothing of the vain attempts at producing artificial beauty which certain foolish women make, as if they were deaf to the insults and abuse heaped upon them? Shall we settle down in indolence, and never once think of what is our highest advantage and our chiefest good? Shall we forever run after gay attire and ornament? Let us arise and run the race of mental culture and literary adornment, and not listen for a moment to those who insult us by denying the appropriateness of learning to women, and the capacity of women for learning! "Were we not made of the same clay as men? Even if we are of weaker texture, we have the same susceptibility which they have to receive impressions from what is taught to us. If it is good, we receive good as readily as they; and if evil, then evil. Of what use is a crown of gold on the brow of ignorance, and what loveliness is there in a jewelled star on the neck of coarseness and brutality, or in a diamond necklace over a heart of stupidity and ignorance? The great poet Mutanebbi has given us an apothegm of great power on this very subject. He says: 'Fukr el jehûl bela okl ila adab, Fukr el hamar bela ras ila resen,' 'A senseless fool's need of instruction is like a headless donkey's need of a halter.' "Let us then gird ourselves with wisdom and understanding, and robe ourselves with true politeness and meekness, and be crowned with the flowers of the 'jenan' (gardens) of knowledge (a pun on the name of the magazine) now opened to us. Let us pluck the fruits of wisdom, lifting up our heads in gratulation and true pride, and remain no longer in that cowardice and avarice which were imputed to the women of the Arabs before us!" The next article I shall translate, is a paper on the Training of Children in the East, by an Arab woman of Alexandria, Egypt, the Sitt Wustina Mesirra, wife of Selim Effendi el Hamawy. It was printed in the "Jenan" for Jan., 1871. After a long and eloquent poetical introduction, this lady says:-- "Let us put off the robes of sloth and inertness, and put on the dress of zeal and earnestness. We belong to the nineteenth century, which exceeds all the ages of mankind in light and knowledge. Why shall we not show to men the need of giving us the highest education, that we may at the least contribute to _their_ happiness and advantage, and rightly train our children and babes, not to say that we may pluck the fruits of science, and the best knowledge for ourselves? Let them say to us, you are weak and lacking in knowledge. I reply, by perseverance and patience, we shall attain our object. "Inasmuch as every one who reaches mature years, must pass by the road of childhood and youth, everything pertaining to the period of childhood becomes interesting and important, and I beg permission to say a word on the training of children. "When it pleased God to give us our first child, I determined to train it according to the old approved modes which I had learned from my family relatives and fellow-countrywomen. So I took the baby boy soon after his birth, and put him in a narrow cradle provided with a tin tube running down through a perforation in the little bed, binding and tying him down, and wrapping and girding him about from his shoulders to his heels, so that he was stiff and unmovable, excepting his head, which rolled and wriggled about from right to left, with the rocking of the cradle, this rocking being deemed necessary for the purpose of inducing sleep and silence in the child. My lord and husband protested against this treatment, proving to me the evil effects of this wrapping and rocking, by many and weighty reasons, and even said that it would injure the little ones for life, even if they survived the outrageous abuse they were subjected to. I was astonished, and said, how can this be? We were all trained and treated in this manner, and yet lived and grew up in the best possible style. All our countrymen have been brought up in this way, and none of them that I know of have ever been injured in the way you suggest. He gave it up, and allowed me to go on in the old way, until something happened which suddenly checked the babe in his progress in health and happiness. He began to throw up his milk after nursing, and to grow ill, giving signs of brain disease, and then my lord said, you must now give up these customs and take my counsel. So, on the spur of the moment, I accepted his advice and gave up the cradle. I unrolled the bindings and wrappings and gave up myself to putting things in due order. I clothed my child with garments adapted to his age and circumstances, and to the time and place, and regulated the times of his eating and play by day, and kept him awake as much as might be, so that he and his parents could sleep at night. I soon saw a wonderful change in his health and vigor, though I experienced no little trouble from my efforts to wean him from the rocking of the cradle to which he was accustomed. My favorable experience in this matter, led me to use my influence to induce the daughters of my race, and my own family relatives, to give up practices which are alike profitless, laborious and injurious to health. My husband also aided me in getting books on the training of children, and I studied the true system of training, learning much of what is profitable to the mothers and fathers of my country in preserving the health of their children in mind and body. The binding and wrapping of babes in the cradle prevents their free and natural movements, and the natural growth of the body, and injures their health." The next paper is from the pen of Khalil Effendi, editor of the Turkish official journal of Beirût. It appeared in the columns of the "Hadikat el Akhbar" of January, 1867. It represents the leading views of a large class of the more enlightened Syrians with regard to education, and by way of preface to the Effendi's remarks, I will make a brief historical statement. The Arab race were in ancient times celebrated for their schools of learning, and although the arts and sciences taught in the great University under the Khalifs of Baghdad, were chiefly drawn from Greece, yet in poetry, logic and law the old Arab writers long held a proud preëminence. But since the foundation of the present Ottoman Empire, the Arabs have been under a foreign yoke, subject to every form of oppression and wrong, and for generations hardly a poet worth the name has appeared excepting Sheikh Nasif el Yazijy. Schools have been discouraged, and learning, which migrated with the Arabs into Spain, has never returned to its Eastern home. There are in every Moslem town and city common schools, for every Moslem boy must be taught to read the Koran; but with the exception of the Egyptian school of the Jamea el Azhar in Cairo, there had not been up to 1867 for years even a high school under native auspices, in the Arabic-speaking world. But what the Turks have discouraged and the Arab Moslems have failed to do, is now being done among the nominal Christian sects, and chiefly by foreign educators. During the past thirty years a great work in educating the Arab race in Syria has been done by the American Missionaries. Their Seminary in Abeih, on Mount Lebanon, has trained multitudes of young men, who are now scattered all over Syria and the East, and are making their influence felt. Other schools have sprung up, and the result is, that the young men and women of Syria are now talking about the "Asur el Jedid," or "New Age of Syria," by which they mean an age of education and light and advancement. The Arabic journal, above referred to, is owned by the Turkish government, or rather subsidized by it, and its editor is a talented young Greek of considerable poetic ability. It is not often that he ventures to speak out boldly on such a theme as education, but the pressure from the people upon the Governor-General was so great at the time, that he gave permission to the editor to utter his mind. I translate what he wrote, quite literally. "There can be no doubt that the strength of every people and the source of their happiness, rest upon the diffusion of knowledge among them. Science has been in every age the foundation of wealth and national progress, and since science and the arts are the forerunners of popular civilization, and the good of the masses and their elevation in the scale of intellectual and physical growth, therefore primary education is the necessary preparation for all scientific progress. And in view of this, the providence of our most exalted government has been turned to the accomplishment of what has been done successfully in other lands, in the multiplication of schools and colleges. And none can be ignorant of the great progress of science and education, under His August Imperial Excellency the Sultan, in Syria, where schools and printing presses have multiplied, especially in the city of Beirût and its vicinity. For in Beirût and Mount Lebanon, there are nearly two thousand male pupils, large and small, in Boarding Schools, learning the Arabic branches and foreign languages, and especially the French language, which is more widely spread than any other. The most noted of these schools are the French Lazarist School at Ain Tura in Lebanon, the American Seminary in Abeih, the Jesuit School at Ghuzir, and the Greek School at Suk el Ghurb, the most of the pupils being from the cities of Syria. Then there are in Beirût the Greek School, the school of the Greek Catholic Patriarch, the Native National College of Mr. Betrus el Bistany, and there are also nearly a thousand _girls_ in the French Lazarist School, the Prussian Protestant Deaconesses, the American Female Seminary and Mrs. Thompson's British Syrian School, and other female schools. And here we must mention that all of these schools, (excepting the Druze Seminary,) are in the hands of _Christians_, and the Mohammedans of Beirût have not a single school other than a common school, although in Damascus and Tripoli they have High Schools which are most successful, and many of their children in Beirût, are learning in Christian schools, a fact which we take as a proof of their anxiety to attain useful knowledge, although they have not as yet done aught to found schools of their own. And though the placing of their children in Christian schools is a proof of the love and fellowship between these two sects in this glorious Imperial Age, we cannot but say that it would be far more befitting to the honor and dignity of the Mussulmen to open schools for their own children as the other sects are doing. And lately the Imperial Governor of Syria has been urging them to this step, and they are now planning the opening of such a school, which will be a means of great benefit and glory to Islam." The editor then states that the great want of Syria is a school where a high _practical_ education can be given, and says:-- "We now publish the glad tidings to the sons of Syria that such a College has just been opened in Syria, in the city of Beirût, by the liberality of good men in America and England, and called the "Syria Protestant College." It is to accommodate eventually one thousand pupils, will have a large library and scientific apparatus, including a telescope for viewing the stars, besides cabinets of Natural History, Botany, Geology and Mineralogy. It will teach all Science and Art, Law and Medicine, and we doubt not will meet the great want of our native land." Five years have passed since the above was written. Since that time the number of pupils in the various schools in Beirût has trebled, and new educational edifices of stately proportions are being built or are already finished, in every part of the city. It may be safely said that the finest structures in Beirût are those built for educational purposes. The Latins have the Sisters of Charity building of immense proportions, the Jesuit establishment, the Maronite schools, and the French Sisters of Nazareth Seminary, which is to be one of the most commanding edifices of the East. The Greeks have their large High School, and the Papal-Greeks, or Greek-Catholics their lofty College. The Moslems have built with funds drawn from the treasury of the municipality, a magnificent building for their Reshidiyeh, while the Protestants have the imposing edifices occupied by the American Female Seminary, the British Syrian Schools, the Prussian Deaconesses Institute, and most extensive and impressive of all, the new edifices of the Syrian Protestant College at Ras Beirût. As another illustration of public sentiment in Syria with regard to evangelical work, I will translate another paragraph from this official newspaper: "We have been writing of the progress of the Press in Syria, and of Arabic literature in Europe, but we have another fact to mention which will no doubt fill the sons of our country with astonishment. You know well the efforts which were put forth some time since in the printing of the Old and New Testaments in various editions in the Arabic language, in the Press of the American Mission in Beirût. This work is under the direction of the distinguished scholar Dr. Van Dyck, who labored assiduously in the completion of the translation of the Bible from the Hebrew and Greek languages, which was commenced by the compassionated of God, Dr. Eli Smith. They had printed from time to time large editions of this Bible with great labor and expense, and sold them out, and then were obliged to set up the types again for a new edition. But Dr. Van Dyck thought it best, in order to find relief from the vast expenditure of time and money necessary to reset the types, to prepare for every page of the Bible a plate of copper, on whose face the letters should be engraved. He therefore proceeded to New York, and undertook in co-operation, with certain men skilled in the electrotyping art, to make plates exactly corresponding to the pages of the Holy Book, and he has sent to us a specimen page taken from the first plate of the vowelled Testament, and on comparison with the page printed here, we find it an exact copy of the Beirût edition which is printed in the same type with our journal. We regard it as far clearer and better than the sheets printed from movable types, and we congratulate Dr. Van Dyck, and wish him all success in this enterprise." Such statements as these derive their value from the fact that they appear in the official paper of a Mohammedan government, and are a testimony to the value of the Word of God. The next article is a literal translation of an address delivered in June, 1867, at the Annual Examination of the Beirût Female Seminary. This Seminary was the first school in Syria for girls, which was established on the paying principle, and in the year 1867 its income from Syrian girls who paid their own board and tuition was about fifteen hundred dollars in gold. It commenced with six pupils, and now has fifty boarders. A crowded assembly attended the examination in the year above mentioned, and at its close, several native gentlemen made addresses in Arabic. The most remarkable address was made by a Greek Priest, Ghubrin Jebara, the Archimandrite and agent of the Patriarch. When it is remembered that in the days of Bird, Goodell and Fisk, the Greek clergy were among the most bitter enemies of the missionaries, it will be seen that this address indicates a great change in Syria. Turning to the great congregation of three or four hundred people who were assembled in the American Chapel, Greeks, Maronites, Mohammedans, Catholics and Protestants, he said: "You know my friends, into what a sad state our land and people had fallen, morally, socially and intellectually. We had no schools, no books, no means of instruction, when God in His Providence awakened the zeal of good men far across two seas in distant America, of which many of us had never heard, to leave home and friends and country to spend their lives among us, yes even among such as I am. In the name of my countrymen in Syria, I would this day thank these men, and those who sent them. They have given us the Arabic Bible, numerous good books, founded schools and seminaries, and trained our children and youth. But for the American Missionaries the Word of God would have well nigh died out of the Arabic language. But now through the labors of the lamented Eli Smith and Dr. Van Dyck, they have given us a translation so pure, so exact, so clear and so classical as to be acceptable to all classes and all sects. But for their labors, education would still be where it was centuries ago, and our children would still have continued to grow up like wild beasts. Is there any one among us so bigoted, so ungrateful, as not to appreciate these benevolent labors; so blind as not to see their fruits? True, other European Missionaries have come here from France and Italy, and we will not deny their good intentions. But what have they brought us? And what have they taught? A little French. They tell us how far Lyons is from Paris, and where Napoleon first lived, and then they forbid the Word of God, and scatter broadcast the writings of the accursed infidel Voltaire. But these Americans have come thousands of miles, from a land than which there is no happier on earth, to dwell among such as we are, yes, I repeat it, such as I am, to translate God's word, to give us schools and good books, and a goodly example, and I thank them for it. I thank them and all who are laboring for us. I would thank Mr. Mikhaiel Araman, the Principal of this Female Seminary, who is a son of our land, and Miss Rufka Gregory, the Preceptress, who is a daughter of our own people, for the wonderful progress we have witnessed during these three days among the daughters of our own city and country, in the best kind of knowledge. Allah grant prosperity to this Seminary, and all its teachers and pupils, peace and happiness to all here present to-day and long life to our Sultan Abdul Aziz." As my object in giving these extracts from Arab writers and orators of the present day, is to give some idea of the change going on in Syrian public sentiment with regard to education, the dignity of woman, and the abolition of superstitious social usages, I cannot do better than to translate from the official journal of Daûd Pasha, late governor of Mt. Lebanon, an article on the customs of the Lebanon population. This paper was styled "Le Liban," and printed both in Arabic and French in July, 1867. It gives us a glimpse of the civilizing and Christianizing influences which are at work in Syria. "In Mount Lebanon there exist certain customs, which had their origin in kindly feeling and sympathy, but have now passed beyond the limits of propriety, and lost their original meaning. For example, when one falls sick, his relatives and friends at once begin to pour in upon him. The whole population of the town will come crowding into the house, each one speaking to the sick a word of comfort and encouragement, and then sitting down in the sick room. The poor invalid must respond to all these salutations, and even be expected to rise in bed and bow to his loving friends. Then the whole company must speak a word to the family, to the wife and children, assuring them that the disease is but slight, and the sick man will speedily recover. Then they crowd into the sick room (and _such_ a crowd it is!) and the family and servants are kept running to supply them with cigars and narghîlehs, by means of which they fill the room with a dense and suffocating smoke. Meantime, they talk all at once and in a loud voice, and the air soon becomes impure and suffocating, and all these things as a matter of course injure the sick man, and he becomes worse. Then the childish doctors of the town are summoned, and in they come with grave faces, and a great show of wisdom, and each one begins to recount the names of all the medicines he has heard of, and describes their effects in working miraculous cures. Then they enter into ignorant disputes on learned subjects, and talk of the art of medicine of which they know nothing save what they have learned by hearsay. One will insist that this medicine is the best, because his father used it with great benefit just before he died, and another will urge the claims of another medicine, of a directly opposite character, and opinions will clash, and all in the presence of the sick man, who thus becomes agitated and alarmed. He takes first one medicine and then its opposite, and then he summons other doctors and consults his relatives. Then all the old women of the neighborhood take him in hand and set at naught all that the doctors have advised, give him medicines of whose properties they are wholly ignorant, and thus they hasten the final departure of their friend on his long last journey. And if he should die, the whole population of the town assembles at once at the house and the relatives, friends, and people from other villages come thronging in. They fill the house with their screams and wails of mourning. They recount the virtues of the departed with groans and shrieks, and lamentations in measured stanzas. This all resembles the customs of the old Greeks and Romans who hired male and female mourners to do their weeping for them. After this, they proceed at once to bear the corpse to the grave, without one thought as to proving whether there be yet life remaining or not, not leaving it even twelve hours, and never twenty-four hours. It is well known that this custom is most brutal and perilous, for they may suppose a living man to be dead, and bury him alive, as has, no doubt, often been done. Immediately after the burial, the crowd return to the house of the deceased, where a sumptuous table awaits them, and all the relatives, friends, and strangers eat their fill. After eight days, the wailing, assembling, crowding, and eating are repeated, for the consolation of the distracted relatives. And these crowds and turbulent proceedings occur, not simply at Syrian funerals, but also at marriages and births, in case the child born is a _boy_, for the Syrians are fond of exhibiting their joy and sorrow. But it should be remembered, that just as in civilized lands, all these demonstrations of joy and sorrow are tempered by moderation and wisdom, and subdued by silent acquiescence in the Divine will, so in uncivilized lands, they are the occasion for giving the loose rein to passion and tumult and violent emotion. How much in conformity with true faith in God, and religious principle, is the quiet, well-ordered and moderate course of procedure among civilized nations! "So in former times, the man was everywhere the absolute tyrant of the family. The wife was the slave, never to be seen by others. And if, in conversation, it became necessary to mention her name, it would be by saying this was done by my wife 'ajellak Allah.' But now, there is a change, and woman is no longer so generally regarded as worthy of contempt and abuse, and the progress being made in the emancipation and elevation of woman, is one of the noblest and best proofs of the real progress of Lebanon in the paths of morality and civilization." This is the language of the official paper of the Lebanon government. Yet how difficult to root out superstitious and injurious customs by official utterances! At the very time that article was written, these customs continued in full force. A woman in Abeih, whose husband died in 1866, refused to allow her house or her clothes to be washed for more than a whole year afterward, just as though untidiness and personal uncleanliness would honor her deceased husband! CHAPTER XIV. BEDAWIN ARABS. There is one class of the Arab race, of which little or nothing has been said in the preceding pages, for the simple reason that there is little to be said of missionary work or progress among them. We refer to the Bedawin Arabs. The true sons of Ishmael, boasting of their descent from him, living a wild, free and independent life, rough, untutored and warlike, plundering, robbing and murdering one another as a business; roaming over the vast plains which extend from Aleppo to Baghdad, and from Baghdad to Central Arabia, and bordering the outskirts of the more settled parts of Syria and Palestine; ignorant of reading and writing, and yet transacting extensive business in wool and live-stock with the border towns and cities; nominally Mohammedans, and yet disobeying every precept of Moslem faith and practice; subjects of the Ottoman Sultan, and yet living in perpetual rebellion or coaxed by heavy bribes into nominal submission; suffering untold hardships from their life of constant exposure to winter storms and summer heats; without proper food, clothing or shelter, and utterly destitute of medical aid and relief, and yet despising the refinements of civilized life, and regarding with contempt the man who will sleep under a roof; they constitute a most ancient, attractive class of men, interesting to every lover of his race, and especially to the Missionary of the Cross. European missionaries can do little among them. To say nothing of the rough, nomadic, unsettled and perilous life they lead, any European would find himself so much an object of curiosity and suspicion among them, and the peculiar Bedawin pronunciation of the Arabic so different from the correct pronunciation, that he would be constantly embarrassed. Native missionaries, on the other hand, can go among them freely, and if provided with a supply of vaccine virus and simple medicines, can have the most unrestrained access to them. During the last ten years, several native colporteurs have been sent among the Bedawin, and lately the Native Missionary Society in Beirût has sent out one of its teachers as a missionary to the Arabs. There is little use in taking books among them, as very few can make use of them. Mr. Arthington of Leeds, England, has been making earnest efforts to induce the Bedawin to send their children to schools in the towns, or allow schools to be opened among their own camps. We have tried every means to induce their leading Sheikhs to send their sons and daughters to Beirût for instruction, but the Arabs all dread sending their children to any point within the jurisdiction of the Turks, lest they be suddenly seized by the Turks as hostages for the good behavior of their parents. The latter course, _i.e._, sending teachers to live among them, to migrate with them and teach their children as it were "on the wing," seems to be the one most practicable, as soon as teachers can be trained. Until the Turkish government shall compel the Bedawin to settle down in villages and till the soil, there can be little done in the way of instructing them. And when that step is taken, it is quite doubtful whether the Moslem government will not send its Khoteebs or religious teachers, and compel them all to embrace the religion of Islam. If that should be done, Christian teachers will have but little opportunity of opening schools among them. One of the leading tribes of the Bedawin is the Anazy, who are more numerous, powerful and wealthy than any other Kobileh of the Arabs. Their principal Sheikh on the Damascus border is Mohammed ed Dûkhy, the warlike and successful leader of ten thousand Arab horsemen, of the Weled Ali. He is now an officer of the Turkish government, with a salary of ten thousand dollars a year, employed to protect the great Haj or Pilgrim Caravan, which goes annually from Damascus to Mecca. He furnishes camels for the Haj, and a powerful escort of horsemen, and is under bonds to keep the Arabs quiet. In February, 1871, he came to Beirût on business, and was the guest of a Maronite merchant, who brought him at our invitation to visit the Female Seminary, the College and the Printing Press. After looking through the Seminary, examining the various departments, and inquiring into the course of study he turned to the pupils and said, "Our Bedawin girls would learn as much in six months as you learn in two years." I told him we should like to see the experiment tried, and that if he would send on a dozen Bedawin girls, we would see that they had every opportunity for improvement. He said, "Allah only knows the future. Who knows but it may yet come to pass?" The Sheikh himself can neither read nor write, but his wife, the Sitt Harba, or Lady Spear, who came from the vicinity of Hamath, can read and write well, and she is said to be the only Bedawîyeh woman who can write a letter. With this in view we prepared an elegant copy of the Arabic Bible, enclosed in a waterproof case made by the girls of the Seminary, and presented it to him at the Press. He expressed great interest in it, and asked what the book contained. We explained the contents, and he remarked, "I will have the Sitt Harba read to me of Ibrahim, Khalil Allah, (the Friend of God), and Ismaeel, the father of the Arabs, and Neby (prophet) Moosa, and Soleiman the king, and Aieesa, (Jesus,) the son of Mary." The electrotype apparatus deeply interested him, but when Mr. Hallock showed him the steam cylinder press, rolling off the sheets with so great rapidity and exactness, he stood back and remarked in the most deliberate manner, "the man who made that press can conquer anything but death!" It seemed some satisfaction to him that in the matter of _death_ the Bedawin was on a level with the European. From the Press, the Sheikh went to the Church, and after gazing around on the pure white walls, remarked, "There is the Book, but I see no pictures nor images. You worship only God here!" He was anxious to see the _Tower Clock_, and although he had lost one arm, and the other was nearly paralyzed by a musket shot in a recent fight in the desert, he insisted on climbing up the long ladders to see the clock whose striking he had heard at the other end of the city, and he gazed long and admiringly at this beautiful piece of mechanism. On leaving us, he renewedly thanked us for _The Book_, and the next day he left by diligence coach for Damascus. In the summer we sent, at Mr. Arthington's expense, a young man from the Beirût Medical College, named Ali, as missionary to itinerate among the Bedawin, with special instructions to persuade the Arabs if possible to send their children to school. He remained a month or two among them, by day and by night, sleeping by night outside the tents with his horse's halter tied to his arms to prevent its being stolen, and spending the evenings reading to the assembled crowd from the New Testament. He was present as a spectator at a fight between Mohammed's men and the Ruella Arabs east of the Sea of Galilee, in which the Ruella were defeated, but Mohammed's son Faûr was wounded, and Ali attended him. The Sitt Harba told Ali that a papist named Shwiry, in Damascus, had taken the Arabic Bible from them! So Ali gave them another. This Bible-hating spirit of the Papacy is the same the world over. How contemptible the spirit of a man _professing_ the name of Christian, and yet willing to rob the only woman among the Bedawin who can read, of the word of everlasting life! The whole family of the Sheikh were interested in reading an illustrated book for children of folio size, styled "Lilies of the Field," which we printed in Beirût last year. When Ali set out on this journey, I gave him a letter to the Sheikh, reminding him of his visit to Beirût, and urging again upon him the sending of his children to school. The Sheikh sent me the following reply, written by his wife, the Sitt Harba, and sealed with his own signet ring. I value the letter highly as being written by the only Bedawin woman able to write: To his excellency the most honored and esteemed, our revered Khowadja Henry Jessup, may his continuance be prolonged! Amen. After offering you the pearls of salutation, and the ornaments of pure odoriferous greeting, we would beg to inform you that your epistle reached us in the hand of Ali Effendi, and we perused it rejoicing in the information it contained about your health and prosperity. You remind us of the importance of sending our sons and daughters to be educated in your schools. Ali Effendi has urged us very strongly to this course; and has spent several weeks with us among the Arabs. He has read to the children from The Book, and tried to interest them in learning to read. He has also gone from tent to tent among our Bedawin, talking with them and urging upon them this great subject. He constantly read to them that which engaged their attention, and we aided him in urging it upon them. Inshullah (God grant) that there may soon be a school among the Arabs themselves. We Bedawin do not understand the language nor the ways of Europeans, and we should like to have one like Ali Effendi, who knows our way of talking and living, come to teach us and our children. We would also inform you that the book with pictures, which you sent to the Sitt Harba, has reached her, and she has read it with great pleasure, and asks of God to increase your good. She sends salams to you and to the Sitt, and all your family. And may you live forever! Salam MOHAMMED DUKHY. 29 Jemady Akhar 1289 of the Hegira "Postscript.--There has been a battle between us and the Ruella tribe, and the Ruellas ate a defeat, Ali Effendi was present and will give you the particulars." At the date of this writing, Ali has been again to Mohammed's camp, taking books and medicines, and has done his utmost to prepare the way for opening schools among the Bedawin in their own camps. Ali has brought another letter from Sitt Harba, in which she gives her views with regard to the education of the Bedawin. I sent several written questions to her in Arabic, to which she cheerfully gave replies. The following is the substance of her answers: I. The Bedawin Arabs ought to learn to read and write, in order to learn religion, to increase in understanding, and to become acquainted with the Koran. They profess to be Moslems, but in reality have no religion. II. The reason why so few of the Bedawin know how to read, is because it is out of their line of business. They prefer fighting, plundering, and feeding flocks and herds. Reading and books are strange and unknown to them. III. If they wished to learn to read, the true time and place would be in the winter, when they migrate to the East in the Jowf, where they are quiet and uninterrupted by government tax-gatherers. IV. I learned to read in the vicinity of Hums. My father brought for my instruction a Khoteeb or Moslem teacher, who taught me reading. His name was Sheikh Abdullah. The Sheikh Mohammed taught me writing. V. The Bedawin esteem a boy better than a girl, because the boy may rise to honor, but the girl has nothing to expect from her husband, and his parents and relatives, but cursing and abuse. VI. A man may marry four wives. If one of them ceases bearing children, and she be of his family, he makes a covenant of fraternity with her, and he supports her in his own camp, but she is regarded simply as a sister. If she be of another family, he sends her home, and pays her what her friends demand. VII. The girls and women have no more religion than the boys and men. They never pray nor fast, nor make the pilgrimage to Mecca. But the old women repeat certain prayers, and visit the ziyaras, mazars, and welys, and other holy places. VIII. If teachers would come among us, who can live as we do, and dwell in our camps, and travel with us to the desert, they could teach the great part of our children to read, especially if they understood the art of medicine. Ali spent several weeks among them, sleeping in the camp, and attending upon their sick. The camp was on the mountains east of the Sea of Galilee. Fevers prevailed through the entire district from Tiberias to Damascus, and Ali devoted himself faithfully to the care of the sick. The Sheikh himself was ill with fever and ague, as were several members of his family. One day Ali prepared an effervescing draught for him, and when the acid and the alkali united, and the mixture effervesced, the Bedawin seated in the great tent screamed and ran from the tent as if the Ruellas were down upon them! What, said they, is this? He pours water into water, and out come fire and smoke! The Sheikh himself was afraid to drink it, so Ali took it himself, and finally, after explaining the principle of the chemical process, he induced both the Sheikh and the Sit Harba to drink the draught. On leaving the encampment, the Sheikh gave Ali a guard, and three Turkish pounds (about $14,) to pay for his medicines and medical services, saying, that as his Bedawin were growing poor since they were forbidden to make raids on other tribes, they could not pay for his services, and he would pay for all. He offered to give him a goat skin bottle of semin (Arab butter) and several sheep, but Ali was unable to carry either, and declined the offer. Ali brought a specimen of Bedawin bread. It is black, coarse, and mixed with ashes and sand. The Bedawin pound their wheat, and knead the coarse gritty flour without sifting, and bake it on the heated earthen ovens. The Bedawin swarm with vermin. Their garments, their persons, their tents and their mats are literally alive with the third plague of Egypt, _lice_! Ali soon found himself completely overrun with them, and was almost driven wild. The Sitt Harba urged him to try the Bedawin remedy for cleansing his head. On inquiring what it was, he declared he would rather have the disease than the remedy! After his return to his village in Lebanon, he spent several days in ablutions and purifications before venturing to bring me his report. The Sitt Harba gave him a collection of the nursery rhymes which she and the Bedawin women sing to their little brown babies, and some of them will be found in the "Children's Chapter" of this volume. The Sheikh Mohammed, who can neither read nor write, repeated to Ali the following Kosîdeh or Song, which he composed in Arabic poetry, after his victory over Feisal, of the Ruella tribe, in 1866. The Ruellas had previously driven Mohammed's tribe from one of the finest pasture regions in Howian, and Ed Dukhy regained it after a desperate struggle. Oh fair and beautiful plain, oh rich green Bedawin pasture. We had left you, too often stained, with the blood of violent battle; Ah, dark disastrous day, when brother abandoned his brother, Though riding the fleetest of mares, and safe from pursuit of the foeman, He never once turned to inquire, though we tasted the cup of destruction. Oh fair and beautiful plain, we yesterday fought and regained thee! I praise and honor His name, who only the victory giveth! O, Feisal, we've meted to you your deserts in royal measure; With our spears so burning and sharp, we cut off the necks of your Arabs, O, Shepherd of Obaid, you fled deserting your pastures, Biting your finger in pain and regret for your sad disasters-- Savage hyena, come forth, from your lair in the land of Jedaileh, Howl to your fellow-beasts, in the distant land of Butîna; Come and eat your fill of the dead in the Plain of Fada, O, fair and beautiful plain, you belong to the tribe of the victor; But Feisal is racked with pain, when he hears the battle story, Our right-handed spearmen have palsied his arm is its strength and power; A blow fell hard on his breast, from the hand of our Anazy warriors; Come now, ye who wish for peace, we are ready in honor to meet you! _Our_ wrongs are all avenged, and our arms are weary of battle. The Arabic original of these lines breathes the true spirit of poetry, and shows that the old poetic fire still burns in the desert. Feisal now lives in the region adjacent to Mohammed Dûkhy, and they leave a space of several miles between their camps to prevent trespass, and the danger of re-opening the old blood-feud. I would commend the Arabs of the Desert to the prayerful remembrance of the Women of America. How the gospel is to reach them, is one of the great problems of our day. Their women are sunken to the lowest depths of physical and moral degradation. The extent of their religion is in being able to swear Mohammedan oaths. "Their mouths are full of cursing and bitterness; their feet are swift to shed blood; destruction and misery are in their ways, and the _way of peace_ have they not known." Although their hand is against every man, and every man's hand against them, let them feel that there is one class of men who love them and care for them with a disinterested love, and who seek their everlasting welfare! CHAPTER XV. "WOMAN BETWEEN BARBARISM AND CIVILIZATION." This is the title of an Arabic article in the "Jenan" for Sept. 1, 1872, written by Frances Effendi Merrash, brother of the Sitt Mariana, whose paper we have translated on a preceding page. It is evident that the Effendi writes from the atmosphere of Aleppo. The more "polite" society of that city is largely made up of that mongrel population, half French and half Arab, which is styled "Levantine" and too often combines the vices of both, with the virtues of neither. It will be seen that the able author is combatting the worst form of French flippant civilization, which has already found its way into many of the towns and cities of the Orient. He says:-- "Inasmuch as woman constitutes a large portion of human kind, and an essential element in society, as well as the leading member of the race in respect to its perpetuation, it becomes necessary both to consider and speak of her character and position although there are not wanting those who are coarse enough and rude enough to declare woman a worthless part of the creation. "Woman possesses a nature remarkably impressible and susceptible to influence, owing to the delicacy of her organization and the peculiarities of her structure. Her proper culture therefore calls for the greatest possible skill and care to protect her from those corrupting influences to which she is by nature especially susceptible. We should therefore neither leave her locked in the fetters of the ancient barbarism and rudeness, nor leave her free to the uncontrollable liberty of this modern civilization, for both these extremes bring her into one common evil estate and both have one effect upon her. "Have you not observed how the customs of ancient rude barbarism corrupted the manners of woman and obliterated all those virtues and excellencies for which she is especially designed by nature? It was deemed most opprobrious for woman to learn to read and write, to say nothing of other arts. It was thought indispensable to bind upon her mouth the fetters of profound silence so that none ever heard her voice but her own coarse husband, and the walls of the enclosure in which she was kept imprisoned. She had no liberty of thought or action. Every woman's thoughts were limited by the thoughts of her husband, and her character was cast in the mould of his, whether that were good or bad. And in addition to this, she always suffered from whatever of rudeness there might be in her rough companion, who availed himself of his superior brute physical strength as a weapon to overcome her moral power. He scourged and cursed and despised her in every possible way, when she was innocent of crime or error. As a result of this course, her own self respect, and the feeling that she was abused and insulted by her companion or partner, led her oftentimes to cast off all shame and modesty, whenever a suitable opportunity presented itself. This grew out of the fact that she no longer regarded herself as the companion of her husband and the sharer of all his natural and moral rights, his joys and sorrows, but she rather imagined herself his captive and bond slave. She thus sank to the position of a slave-woman who is never allowed peace or rest, and cares nothing for the training of her children or the ordering of her house, since she looks upon herself as a stranger in a home not her own, and we all know how difficult it is for a slave to perform the duties of the free! "On the other hand, have you not observed how the influence of modern civilization is corrupting the nature of woman and making havoc with her morals? "There is nothing strange in this, for her delicate nature, when it had escaped from the chains and imprisonment of the mildest barbarism, into the open free arena of civilization, lost its reckoning, and wandered hither and thither in bewilderment according to its own unrestrained passions. Woman thus became like a feather, 'Borne on the tempest wherever it blows, and driven about where no one knows.' "Now since evil images and objects are far more numerous in this world than those which are good, it becomes evident that the influence of evil upon the mind of woman is stronger and more abiding than the influence of the good, owing to this intense delicacy of texture in her mental constitution. Let us suppose that one man and one woman were placed in a position where they should only see evil deeds, or only good deeds: the woman would leave that place either vastly worse than the man, or vastly better. Now the moral misconduct of woman is far more detrimental to the propagation of the race, than is the misconduct of man. It is therefore better for the woman not to go to the extremes of the modern civilization, whose evils are equal to, yes, and far surpass, its benefits. Have you not noticed that the leaders of modern civilization in our age, have imitated, if not surpassed, all the excesses of riot, and lust and rapine, ever practiced under the barbarism of the ages of antiquity? Do not the women of this age go lower in shamelessness than the women of ancient times? Here we see them veiling their faces with the flimsy gauze of artifice, and befouling the pure waters of life with the turbulent stream of their own vanity. They pollute the purity of real beauty by the foul arts of beautifying, and cry out in loud rude voices in every assembly and gathering. They strut about in vain-glorious conceit, and flaunt their gaudy apparel in indecent boldness. They claim what does not belong to them and meddle with what does not concern them. They do not blush to cloud the precious jewel of modesty with the selfish airs of passion. Nothing is said which they do not hear, nothing occurs which they do not see. They become bold, unblushing and unwomanly. "Such being the state of things, there can be no doubt that an excess of this kind of civilization for woman amounts to about the same thing as the excess of her rude barbarism in ancient times. The two extremes meet. The dividing line between them then, that is, the middle course, is the proper one for woman to take. To this middle course there must be some natural and legitimate guide. This guide is a sound education, and on this subject we propose at some future time to write, inasmuch as the education of woman is one of the most important of subjects. Woman is the one fountain from which is derived the life of man in its earliest periods. She is the source of all training, and the root of character. Have you not heard that she who rocks the cradle, moves the world?" It is evident that the author of this paper has not been so happy as to see the noblest type of a sanctified Christian civilization, such as can be seen in the Christian homes of America and England, or even in the truly Christian homes of Syria. Let us hope that the day is not far distant, when even in Aleppo, a pure Christianity shall have taken the place of that semi-barbaric system styled the papacy, which enthralls the intellects and hearts of so many of the _nominal_ Christians of the Orient, and when the enslaved inmates of the Moslem hareems shall be set free, not to indulge in the license of a Parisian libertinism, but with that liberty wherewith Christ makes His people free! THE VALUE SET ON WOMAN'S LIFE IN SYRIA. The free license allowed to men by the Koran in the beating of their wives, has led the entire population of the East to set a low estimate upon the life of woman. Until recently in Syria women were poisoned, thrown down wells, beaten to death, or cast into the sea, and the government made no inquisition into the matter. According to Mohammedan law, a prosecution for murder must always be commenced by the friends of the victim, and if they do not enter complaint, or furnish witnesses, the murderer is not even arrested. And if he be convicted of the crime, he is released on paying to the relatives of the victim the price of blood, which is fixed at 13,000 piastres, or $520! A man may well "count the cost" before committing murder. This constant compounding of punishment has degraded the popular views of the value of human life, so that formerly the murder of a woman was never punished. In March, 1856, a Druze girl near B'hamdûn married a man of her own choice, instead of marrying the man assigned to her by her family. She was waylaid by her own brother and the rejected suitor, murdered and thrown into a well. About a year after the massacres of 1860, while the European Commissioners were still in Syria, and Lebanon was beginning to attain something of its wonted quiet, several Turkish soldiers made an assault upon a young Maronite girl from the village of Ain Kesûr, who was carrying a jar of water to the workmen on the Deir el Komr road. Mr. Calhoun was requested by the Relief Committee in Beirût to devote the charity funds distributed in this part of Lebanon, to giving employment to the needy in road-building. This girl was employed to supply the men with water. The brutal soldiers attempted to gag her with a handkerchief, in order to accomplish their design, but she was too strong for them. The struggle was long and violent, but she finally effected her escape, leaving on the road the fragments of the broken jar, her shoes and shreds of calico which they had torn from her clothing. Just at that moment Giurgius el Haddad, Mr. Calhoun's cook, came up, and seeing the broken jar and the clothing, guessed what had happened, and after finding the girl, and hearing her story, started in pursuit of the soldiers to Ainab, whither they had gone, and where a Turkish officer was stationed. He stated the case to the officer, and received in reply a blow on his arm from a heavy cane. The case was reported to the Turkish Colonel in Abeih, who summoned all parties and ordered each of the soldiers to be beaten with forty lashes on the bare back. But word had reached Col. Frazier, the British Commissioner, and he came at once to Abeih in company with Omar Pasha, with order from Evad, Pasha, to examine the case _de novo_. The result was that two of the soldiers were condemned by military law to be shot, and were shot at sunset June 5th, in front of the old palace just below Mr. Calhoun's house. The event produced a profound impression, and Druzes and Moslems began to feel that a woman's life and honor were after all of some value. In April, 1862, when Daûd Pasha was governor of Mt. Lebanon, a Druze, named Hassan, murdered a Druze girl of his own village, supposing that Daûd Pasha would not interfere with the time-honored custom of killing girls! Much to his surprise, however, he was arrested, convicted and hung, and the poor women of all sects in the mountain began to feel that after all they had an equal right to life with the other sex. In most parts of Syria to-day, the murder of women and girls is an act so insignificant as hardly to deserve notice. Mt. Lebanon and vicinity constitute an exception perhaps, but woman's right to life is one of those rights which have not yet been fully guaranteed in the Turkish Empire. In October, 1862, the Arabic official newspaper in Beirût, contained a letter from Hums which illustrates this fact. A fanatical wretch from Hamath, one of the infamous Moslem saints, set up the claim that he had received the power to cast out devils by divine inspiration. He found credulous followers among the more ignorant, and went to Hums to practice his diabolical trade. A poor woman had lost her reason through excessive grief at the death of her son. The husband and others of her relatives went to consult the new prophet. He refused to go and see her, stating that he would not condescend to go to the devils, but the devils must come to him. The poor woman was accordingly brought to him, and left to await the opportune moment, when he could cast out the devils, which he declared to be raving within her. After a few days, her father called to inquire about her, and found her growing constantly worse. The Hamathite told him that he must bring a gallon of liquid pitch, to be used as a medicine, and the next day the devils would leave her. The pitch was brought, and after the father had gone, the lying prophet tied a cord around her feet, and drew her up to the ceiling, and while she was thus suspended, thrust a red hot iron rod into one of her eyes, and cauterized her body almost from head to foot! He then placed the pitch on the floor under her head, and set it on fire until the body was "burned to charcoal!" The next day the friends called, expecting to find her restored to her right mind, when the wretch pointed them to the blackened cinder. They exclaimed with horror and asked him the reason of this bloody crime? He replied that on applying the test of burning pitch, one of the devils had gone out of her, tearing out her right eye, and when he forbade the rest from destroying the other eye, they fell upon her and killed her! The body was buried, but the government took not the slightest notice of the fact. The official journal in Beirût simply warned the public against patronizing such a bloody impostor! CHAPTER XVI. OPINIONS OF PROTESTANT SYRIANS WITH REGARD TO THE WORK OF AMERICAN WOMEN IN SYRIA. The following letters have been addressed to me by prominent native Syrian gentlemen, whose wives have been trained in the American Mission Seminaries and families. They all write in English, and I give their own language. Mr. Butrus el Bistany, the husband of Raheel, writes me as follows:-- Beirût, Oct. 23, 1872. "It would be superfluous to speak of the efforts of American Missionary ladies in training the females of Syria, and the good done by them. "The sainted Sarah L. Smith, who was one of the first among them, established the first Female School in Beirût. "Mrs. Whiting, also, who had no children of her own, trained five girls in her family, all of whom are still living. "Mrs. De Forest had a very interesting female school in her family, and the girls educated in that school are of the best of those educated by American ladies in Syria. "The obstacles in those times were very great, and the people believed that education is injurious to females. But these ladies obtained a few girls to educate gratuitously, and thus made a good impression on the minds of the people, and wrought a change in public opinion, so that year by year the people began to appreciate female education. And as we are now building on the foundation laid by those good ladies and reaping the fruit of their labors, we should pray to be imbued with the same spirit, and try as much as we can to follow their example, and carry on the work with the same spirit, zeal and wisdom as they did." Mr. Naame Tabet, the husband of Miriam, who was educated by Dr. and Mrs. De Forest, writes as follows:-- Beirût, Oct. 21, 1872. "It affords me unfeigned gratification that you give me an opportunity of recording my impressions in regard to the advantages of female education in this country under the guidance of the light of the Gospel of our Lord and Saviour, such as is exemplified by the American Mission, whose labors in diffusing and disseminating the Scriptures are so conspicuously manifest. "That example chiefly has had the effect, in this neighborhood, to stir up gigantic efforts to fill the want of female education. The same feeling is extending itself throughout Syria, so that future prospects for the promotion of pure Christian knowledge and true civilization are brilliant and ought surely to encourage the benevolent in persevering in their action." The Rev. John Wortabet, M.D., Professor of Anatomy in the Syrian Protestant College, and husband of Salome, writes as follows:-- Beirût, Oct. 20, 1872. "Though I was very young when Mrs. Smith, Mrs. Whiting, and Mrs. De Forest began their labors in the cause of Female Education in Syria, I can distinctly recollect that they were the first to initiate that movement which has grown to so vast an extent at the present time. To them belongs the honor of having been the determined and brave pioneers in the important work of raising woman from her degraded position, brought on by ignorance and Mohammedan influence, to one of considerable respect, in a social, intellectual and moral point of view. I do not mean that they achieved then this great and worthy object, but they were first to begin the work, which is still going on, and destined apparently to grow much farther. And it is but just that their names and primary labors be embalmed in the memories of the past. "Aside from the intrinsic good which they accomplished, and the direct fruits of their labors, and you are as well acquainted with them as I am--they gave the first and best _teachers_ for the schools which have sprung up so abundantly since their time. Of the importance of giving well-trained female teachers for female schools, in the peculiar social system of the East, nothing need be said. "I believe, however, that the main value of these earlier labors was the _impulse_ which they gave to the course of Female Education in Syria. Prejudices and barriers, which had become hoary by the lapse of time, have been completely broken down, at least among the Christian Churches of the East." CHAPTER XVII. OTHER LABORS FOR WOMEN AND GIRLS IN THIS FIELD. The following statements have been chiefly made out from documents furnished to me by those in charge of the various Institutions. I give them in order according to the date of their establishment. THE IRISH AND AMERICAN UNITED PRESBYTERIAN MISSION IN DAMASCUS. I have not received official statistics with regard to the work of this Mission in behalf of women, but they have maintained schools for girls and personal labors for the women through a long series of years. Mrs. Crawford, who is thoroughly familiar with the Arabic language, has labored in a quiet and persevering manner among the women of Damascus and Tebrûd, and the fruits of these labors will be seen in years to come. Miss Dales, now Mrs. Dr. Lansing, of Cairo, conducted a school for Jewish girls in Damascus some fifteen years ago, which was well attended. Mrs. E. Watson, an English lady of great energy and zeal in the cause of female education, after years of labor in North and South America, Greece and Asia Minor, came to Syria in 1858, and commenced a girls' school in her own hired house. She afterwards removed to Shemlan, in Mount Lebanon, where she erected a building at her own expense for a girls' boarding school, and afterwards gave it to the Society for the Promotion of Female Education in the East. She has since, with untiring energy, erected another building for a Seminary for Druze and Christian girls, the former Institution continuing as it has been for many years under the efficient management of Miss Hicks, assisted by Miss Dobbie. She has also recently erected a neat and substantial church edifice in Shemlan. In Miss Hicks' absence, Mrs. Watson has addressed me the following letter: Shemlan, August 28, 1872. "Our first school for native girls was commenced in Beirût in 1858. The teachers have been Miss Hicks, Miss Hiscock, Mrs. Walker, Miss Dillon, Miss Jacombs, (now in Sidon,) Miss Stainton, (now in Sidon,) and Miss Dobbie. No native female teachers have been employed except pupils of the school under Miss Hicks' care. Masters Riskullah in Beirût, and Murad, Reshîd and Daûd, in Shemlan, have been connected with the school as teachers of the higher Arabic branches. "The whole number of boarders under our care up to the present time, is above one hundred. The only teachers in my second boarding school are, my adopted daughter Handûmeh, and Zarifeh Twiney, a pupil of the Prussian Deaconesses. Seventeen or eighteen of our pupils have been, or are now teachers, and ten are married. "The school directed by Miss Hicks was given over to the Ladies' Society in England, some six or seven years ago, and has been supported by them since. The new school in the upper house is under no society and is not regularly aided by any. There are from twenty-six to twenty-eight boarders under the care of my daughter, Miss Watson, I aiding as I can. Several girls have been supported for the last two years by friends in America and England. We have had ten Druze girls in our school in the upper house. Miss Hicks has had three or four, and a number in her day school. We had also a number in our day school at Aitath, four of whom are married to Druze Sheikhs." Mr. Elias Suleeby, aided by friends in Scotland, has for a considerable period conducted common schools in a part of Mount Lebanon and the Bukaa, and now the enterprise has been adopted by the Free Church of Scotland, who have sent the Rev. Mr. Rae to be their Superintendent. Their schools are chiefly for boys, though in all the village schools it is usual for a few of the smaller girls to attend the boys' school. In Suk el Ghurb, however, they have a boarding school containing some twenty-five girls. THE PRUSSIAN DEACONESSES INSTITUTE IN BEIRUT The Orphan House, Boarding School and Hospital with which the Prussian Deaconesses are connected, were established in 1860. The two former are supported by the Kaiserswerth Institution in Germany, and the latter by the Knights of St. John. In the Orphan House are one hundred and thirty orphan girls, all native Syrians, who are clothed, fed and instructed for four or five years, and often transformed from wild, untutored semi-barbarians to tidy, well behaved and useful young women. They have ordinarily about fifty applicants waiting for a vacancy in order to enter. The Boarding School is for the education of the children of European residents, Germans, French, Italians, Greeks, Maltese, English, Scotch, Irish, Hungarians, Dutch, Swiss, Danish, Americans and others. The medium of instruction is the French language. Since the Orphan School began, many of the girls have married, thirty have become teachers, and about twenty of them are living as servants in families. In August of the year 1861, the Deaconesses had received about 110 orphans. The children entering are received for three years, and the surviving parent or guardian is required to sign a bond, agreeing to leave the child for that period, or if the child is withdrawn before that time, to pay to the Deaconesses all that has been expended upon her. In the summer of 1861, several of the parents came and tried to remove their children, though they had no means of supporting them, but the contract stood in the way, and they had no money to pay. The Jesuits then came forward and furnished the parents with French gold in Napoleons, and withdrew in one day fifty orphan girls from the institution, sending them, not to an institution of their own, but turning them back upon their wretched parents and friends to be trained in poverty and ignorance. A few days later, thirty more of the girls were removed in the same way, leaving only thirty. The parents had a legal right to remove the children on the payment of the money, but what shall be said of the cruelty of the Jesuits who turned back these wretched children to the destitution and misery of a Syrian orphan? The Jesuits are the same everywhere, unscrupulous and intriguing, counting all means as right, which promote their own end. THE BRITISH SYRIAN SCHOOLS. These Schools, so numerous and widely extended, have grown up since the massacre year 1860. I remember well the first arrival of Mrs. Bowen Thompson in Beirût, and her persevering energy in forming her little school for the widows and orphans of Hasbeiya, Deir el Komr and Damascus. From that little beginning in 1860, the school increased the following year, until finally other branch schools were organized in Beirût and Lebanon, and then in Damascus and Tyre, until now, the following schedule, furnished to me by the officers of the Institution, will show to what proportions the enterprise has grown. The Memoir of Mrs. Thompson, entitled "The Daughters of Syria," gives so full a history of these schools, that I need only refer the reader to that volume for all the information desired. Since the lamented death of Mrs. Thompson, the direction of the schools has been entrusted to her sister, Mrs. Mentor Mott. The Central Training School in Beirût was under the care of Mrs. Shrimpton, who labored with great earnestness and wisdom in that important institution until the spring of 1873, when she resigned her position and became connected with the work of Female education under the American mission in Syria. She was aided by English and native teachers. The schools in Zahleh, Damascus, Hasbeiya and Tyre are under the care of English and Scotch ladies, who have certainly evinced the most admirable courage and resolution in entering, in several of these places, upon outpost duty, without European society, and isolated for months together from persons speaking their own language. I believe that such instances as these have demonstrated anew the fact that where woman is to be reached, woman can go, and Christian women from Christian lands, even if beyond the age generally fixed as the best adapted to the easy acquisition of a foreign language, may yet do a great work in maintaining centres of influence at the outposts, and superintending the labors of native teachers. These young native teachers trained in Shemlan, Sidon, Suk el Ghurb and Beirût, cannot go to distant places as teachers, and _ought not to go_, without a home and proper protection provided for them. Such protection _is given_ by a European or American woman, who has the independence and the resolution to go where no missionary family resides, and carry on the work of female education. Even at the risk of offending the modesty of the persons concerned, I cannot refrain from putting on record my admiration of the course of Miss Wilson in Zahleh, Miss Gibbon in Hasbeiya, and Miss Williams in Tyre, in making homes for themselves, and carrying on their work far from European society and intercourse. The British Syrian Schools are doing a good work in promoting Bible education. Many of the native teachers, male and female, have been trained in our Mission Seminaries, and not a few of them are members of our evangelical churches. It has always been my aim, from the time when Mrs. Bowen Thompson first landed in Syria to the present time, to do all in my power to "help those women which labored with me in the gospel." We are engaged in a common work, surrounded by thousands of needy perishing souls, Mohammedan, Pagan and Nominal Christian. The work is pressing, and the Lord's husbandmen ought to work together, forgetting and ignoring all diversities of nationality, denomination and social customs. There should be no such word as American, English, Scotch or German, attached to any enterprise that belongs to the common Master. The common foe is united in opposition. Let us be united in every practicable way. Let our name be _Christian_, our work one of united sympathy, prayer and coöperation, and let not Christ be divided in His members. I write these words in connection with the subject of the British Syrian Schools, because I can speak from experience of the value of such coöperation in the past. As Acting Pastor of the Native Evangelical Church in Beirût, to the communion of which I have received so many young teachers and pupils from the various Seminaries and schools, I feel the great importance of this hearty coöperation and unity of action among those who are at the head of the various Protestant Educational Institutions in Syria. The Emissaries of Rome are laboring with sleepless vigilance to win Syria to the Papacy. Sisters of Charity, Sisters of Nazareth, Jesuits, Lazarists, Capuchins, Dominicans, and Franciscans, monks, nuns and papal legates, are swarming throughout the land. Though notoriously jealous of each other's progress, they are always united in their common opposition to the Evangelical faith, and an open Bible. We have thus not only the old colossal fortresses of Syrian error to demolish, but the new structures of Jesuitical craft to overturn, before Syria comes to Christ. It has been stated on a preceding page that in 1835, the American wife of an English merchant, Mrs. Alexander Tod, gave a large part of the funds to build the first school-house for girls ever built in Syria. That substantial union has been happily reproduced in the cordial coöperation of the Anglo-American and German communities in Beirût, both in the Church, public charities and educational institutions, up to the present time. Let us all live in Christ, work for Christ, keep our eye fixed on Christ, and we shall be with Christ, and Christ with us! _BRITISH SYRIAN SCHOOLS_, 1872. BEIRUT. No. Established. Name. Scholars. Teachers. 1 1860 Training Institution, 92 16 2 1863 Musaitebeh, 85 3 3 1868 Blind School, men & boys, 16 2 4 1868 Blind girls' School, 11 1 5 1860 Boys' School, 85 5 6 1861 East Coombe, 120 4 7 1860 Elementary, 30 2 8 1872 Es-Saifeh, 100 4 9 1860 Infant School, 125 3 10 1860 Moslem, 50 4 11 1860 Night School, ---- 5 12 1863 Olive Branch, 85 4 DAMASCUS. 13 1867 St. Paul's, 170 6 14 1869 Blind School, 15 1 15 1870 Medan, 80 2 16 1867 Night School, 30 1 LEBANON. 17 1863 _Ashrafiyeh_, 53 3 18 1868 _Ain Zehalteh_, 50 2 19 1869 _Aramoon_, 40 2 20 1863 _Hasbeiya_, 160 3 21 1867 _Mokhtara_, ---- ---- 22 1868 _Zahleh_, 75 4 TYRE. 23 1869 Girls' School, 50 2 ---- ---- Totals, 1522 79 Bible Women, 7 MISS TAYLOR'S SCHOOL FOR MOSLEM GIRLS. This worthy Christian lady from Scotland is doing a quiet yet most effective work in Beirût, with which few are acquainted, yet it is carried on in faith from year to year, and the fruits will no doubt appear one day, in a vast reformation in the order, morality and general improvement of the Moslem families of Beirût. Ever since the days of Mrs. Sarah L. Smith, and Mrs. Dr. Dodge, Moslem girls have been more or less in attendance upon the schools of the Syria Mission, but the purely Moslem schools of Miss Taylor and of the British Syrian Schools are making a special effort to extend education into every Moslem household. This school was opened in February, 1868, for the poorest of the poor. It received the name of "The Original Ragged school for Moslem Girls." No one is considered as enrolled, who has not been at least three weeks in regular attendance. The number already received has reached very near five hundred, all Mohammedans, except five Jewish and fifteen Druze girls. Native teachers are also employed, and the pupils are taught reading, writing, geography, and arithmetic. The principal lesson-book is the Bible. The early history of this institution is replete with interest; but it has attracted little public notice hitherto. It has always been a prudential question whether it would not be wiser to proceed with its work in a quiet unobtrusive way, so as not to awake fanatical opposition. But steady and appreciative friends have stood by it from the beginning, and those who know the school best have commended it most earnestly. CHURCH OF SCOTLAND SCHOOL FOR JEWISH GIRLS IN BEIRUT. This school has been in operation since 1865. Although established originally for Jewish girls alone, of whom it frequently had fifty in regular attendance, it has also had under instruction, Greek and Moslem girls. Three European teachers and two native teachers have been connected with it, under the supervision of the Rev. James Robertson, Pastor of the Anglo-American congregation in Beirût. CHAPTER XVIII. THE AMOUNT OF BIBLICAL INSTRUCTION GIVEN IN MISSION SCHOOLS. There has been great difference of opinion with regard to the proper position of Education in the Foreign Missionary work. While some have given it the first rank as a missionary agency, others have kept it in the background as being a non-missionary work, and hence to be left to the natives themselves to conduct, after their evangelization by the simple and pure preaching of the gospel. The Syria Mission have been led, by the experience of long and laborious years of labor in this peculiar field, to regard education as one of the most important auxiliaries in bringing the Gospel in contact with the people. Society and sects are so organized and constituted, that while the people of a given village would not receive a missionary as simply a preacher of the Gospel, they will gladly accept a school from his hands, and welcome him on every visit to the school as a benefactor. They will not only receive the daily lessons and instructions of the school-teacher in religious things, but even ask the missionary to preach to them the Word of life. Schools in Syria are entering wedges for Gospel truth. Our schools are of two classes, the High schools or Seminaries for young men and young women, and the common schools for children of both sexes. In the former, Biblical instruction is the great thing, the chief design of the High schools being to train the young to a correct and thorough acquaintance with Divine truth. The course of Bible instruction conducted by Mr. Calhoun in Abeih Seminary, is, I doubt not, more thorough and constant, than in any College or High School in the United States. While the sciences are taught systematically, the Bible is made the principal text-book, and several hours each day are given to its study. In our common schools, likewise, Bible reading and instruction hold a prominent place. Owing to the paucity of books in the Arabic language proper to be used as reading books, a reading book was prepared by the Mission, consisting almost exclusively of extracts from the Scriptures. In addition to this book, the Psalms of David and the New Testament are used as regular reading books in all the schools. There are daily exercises in reading the Bible and reciting the Catechism. It will be observed from what I have stated, that the amount of spiritual knowledge acquired by the children, in the very process of learning to read, is not small. Being obliged to commit to memory texts, paragraphs, and whole chapters, from year to year, their minds become stored with the precious words of the Sacred Book. Very much depends upon the teacher. When we can obtain pious, praying teachers, the Scripture lessons can be given with much more profit and success, and it is our aim to employ only pious teachers where we can get them. And the example of the teacher receives a new auxiliary, as it were, in impressing these lessons on the mind, where the pupils can attend a preaching service on the Sabbath. Sometimes a pressing call comes from a village, where it seems important for strategic reasons, to respond at once. A pious teacher cannot be found, and we send a young man of well-known moral character. But only necessity would oblige us to do this, and a change for the better is always made as soon as practicable. Bible schools are a mighty means of usefulness. I think nothing strikes a new missionary with more grateful surprise on entering the Syrian Mission-field, than to witness the great prominence given to Biblical instruction, from the humblest village school of little Arab boys and girls, to the highest Seminaries. The examinations in the Scriptures passed by the young men in Abeih, and the girls in the Beirût and Sidon Seminaries, would do credit to the young people in any American community. Bible schools are not merely useful as an entering wedge to give the missionary a position and an influence among the people; they are intrinsically useful in introducing a vast amount of useful Bible knowledge into the minds of the children, and through them to their parents. In countries where the people as a mass are ignorant of reading, they are an absolute necessity, and in any community they are a blessing. Had all Mission Schools been conducted on the same thorough Biblical basis as those in Syria, there would have been less objection to schools as a part of the missionary work. THE SPHERE AND MODES OF WOMAN'S WORK IN FOREIGN LANDS. In this age, when Christian women in many lands are engaging in the Foreign Mission work with so much zeal, it is important to know who should enter personally upon this work, and what are the modes and departments of labor in which they can engage when on the ground. No woman should go to the Foreign field who has not sound health, thorough education, and a reasonable prospect of being able to learn a foreign language. The languages of different nations differ as to comparative ease of acquisition, but it is well for any one who has the _Arabic_ language to learn, to begin as early in life as practicable. It should be borne in mind that the work in foreign lands is a self-denying work, and I know of no persons who are called to undergo greater self-denial than unmarried women engaged in religious work abroad. They are doing a noble work, a necessary work, and a work of lasting usefulness. Deprived in many instances of the social enjoyments and protection of a _home_, they _make_ a home in their schools, and throw themselves into a peculiar sympathy with their pupils, and the families with which they are brought into contact. Where several are associated together, as they always should be, the institution in which they live becomes a model of the Christian order, sympathy and mutual help, which is characteristic of the home in Christian lands. Christian women, married and unmarried, can reach a class in every Arabic community from which men are sedulously excluded. They should enter upon the foreign work as a life-work, devote themselves first of all to the mastery of the language of the people, open their eyes to all that is pleasant and attractive among the natives, and close them to all that is unlovable and repulsive, resolved to love the people, and what pertains to them, for Christ's sake who died for them, and to identify themselves with the people in every practicable way. Persons who are incapable of loving or admiring anything that is not American or English had better remain in America or England; and on the other hand, there is no surer passport to the affections of any people, than the disposition to overlook their faults, and to treat them as our brethren and sisters for whom a common Saviour died. Let no missionary of either sex who goes to a foreign land, think that there is nothing to be learned from Syrians or Hindoos, Chinese or Japanese. The good is not all confined to any land or people. Among the departments of woman's work in foreign lands are the following:-- I. Teaching in established institutions, Female Seminaries, Orphan Houses and High Schools. II. Acting as Nurses in Hospitals, as is done by the Prussian Protestant Deaconesses of Kaiserswerth, who are scattered over the East and doing a work of peculiar value. III. Visiting from house to house, for the express purpose of holding religious conversation with the people _in their own language_. This can only be done in Syria by one versed in the Arabic, and able to speak _without an interpreter_. Ignorance of the language of the people, is a barrier which no skill of an interpreter can break down, and every woman who would labor with acceptance and success among the women of Syria, must be able to speak to them familiarly in their own mother tongue. Interpreters may be honest and conscientious, but not one person in a thousand can translate accurately from one language to another without previous preparation. And besides, interpreters are not always reliable. There is still living, in the city of Tripoli, an old man named Abdullah Yanni, who acted as interpreter for a Jewish Missionary some forty years ago. He tells many a story of the extraordinary shape which that unsuspecting missionary's discourses assumed in passing through his lips. One day they went through the principal street to preach to the Moslems. A great crowd assembled, and Abdullah trembled, for in those days of darkness Moslems oppressed and insulted Christians with perfect impunity. Said the missionary, "Tell the Moslems that unless they all repent and believe in Christ, they will perish forever." Abdullah translated, and the Moslems gave loud and earnest expression to their delight. They declared, "That is so, that is so, welcome to the Khowadja!" Abdullah had told them that "the Khowadja says, that he loves you very much, and the Engliz and the Moslems are 'sowa sowa,' _i.e._ together as one." Abdullah soon found it necessary to tell his confiding friend and employer, that it would not do to preach in that bold manner, for if he should translate it literally, the Moslems would kill both of them on the spot. The missionary replied, "Let them kill us then." Abdullah said, "it may do very well for you, but I am not prepared to die, and would prefer to wait." The very first requisite for usefulness in a foreign land is the language. It might be well, as previously intimated in this volume, that in each of the Female Seminaries, the number of the teachers should be large enough to allow the most experienced in the language to give themselves for a portion of each week to these friendly religious visits. The Arab race are eminently a sociable, visiting people, and a foreign lady is always welcome among the women of every grade of society, from the highest to the lowest. IV. Holding special Women's Meetings of the Female Church members from week to week in the homes of the different families. The neighboring women will come in, and the native women, who would never take part in a women's prayer-meeting, in the presence of a missionary, will gladly do it with the example and encouragement of one of their own sex. Such meetings have been conducted in Hums and Tripoli, in Beirût, Abeih, Deir el Komr and Sidon, and in Suk el Ghurb, B'hamdûn, Hasbeiya, and Deir Mimas for many years. Mrs. Smith, Mrs. Isaac Bird, Mrs. Thomson, Mrs. Van Dyck, Mrs. Whiting, Mrs. Goodell, Mrs. Dr. Dodge, Miss Williams, Miss Tilden, Mrs. De Forest, Mrs. Calhoun, Mrs. Wilson, Mrs. Ford, Mrs. Foot, Mrs. Eddy, and Mrs. W. Bird, Mrs. Lyons and Mrs. Cheney, Mrs. Bliss, Miss Temple, Miss Mason, Mrs. S. Jessup are among the American Christian women who have labored or are still laboring for the welfare of their sisters in Syria, and younger laborers more recently entered into the work, are preparing to prosecute the work with greater energy than ever. There are other names connected with Woman's Work in Syria as prosecuted by the American Mission, but the list is too long to be enumerated in full. Many of them have rested from their labors, and their works do follow them. THE BEIRUT FEMALE SEMINARY. The last Annual Report of the Board of Missions of the Presbyterian Church of the United States, speaks of these two Female Seminaries as follows: "The Beirût Seminary is conducted by Miss Everett, Miss Jackson and Miss Loring, containing forty boarding and sixty day scholars, where the object is to give an education suited to the wants of the higher classes of the people, to gain a control over the minds of those females who will be most influential in forming society and moulding opinion. This hold the Papal Sisters of Charity have striven earnestly to gain, and its vantage ground was not to be abandoned to them. The institution is rising in public esteem and confidence, as the number and the class of pupils in attendance testify. The Seminary is close to the Sanctuary, not less in sympathy than in position, and its whole influence is given to make its pupils followers of Christ." In addition to this brief notice, it should be said that there are in the Beirût Seminary thirty charity boarders, who are selected chiefly from Protestant, Greek and Druze families, to be trained for teachers of a high order in the various girls' schools in the land. A special Normal course of training is conducted every year, and it is believed that eventually young women trained in other schools will enter this Normal Department to receive especial preparation for the work of teaching. The charity boarders are supported by the contributions of Sabbath Schools and individuals in the United States, with especial reference to their being trained for future usefulness. After an experience of nearly ten years in conducting the greater part of the correspondence with the patrons of this school, and maintaining their interest in the pupils and teachers whom they were supporting by their contributions, I would venture to make a few suggestions to the Christian Mission Bands, Societies, Bible Classes, Sabbath Schools and individuals who are doing so much for the education of children in foreign lands. I. Let all contributions for Women's Work and the education of girls, be sent through the Women's Boards of Missions, or if that is not convenient, in the form of a banker's draft on London, payable to the Principal of the Seminary with whom you have correspondence. II. If possible, allow your donation to be used for the general purposes of the Seminary, without insisting that a special pupil or teacher be assigned to you. But if it be not possible to maintain the interest of your children and youth in a work so distant without some special object, then by all means,-- III. Do not demand too much from your over-taxed sisters in the foreign field in the way of letters and reports. The labors of a teacher are arduous everywhere. But when instruction is given in a foreign language, in a foreign climate, and to children of a foreign nation, these labors are greatly increased. Add then to this toil correspondence with the Board of Missions, the daily study of the language, the work of visiting among the people, and receiving their visits, and you can understand how the keeping up of correspondence with twenty or thirty Sabbath Schools and Societies is a burden which no woman should be called on to bear. IV. Do not expect sensational letters from your friends abroad. Do not take for granted that the child of ten years of age you are supporting, will develop into a distinguished teacher or Bible woman before the arrival of the next mail. Do not be discouraged if you have to wait and pray for years before you hear good tidings. Should any of the native children ever send you a letter, (and they have about as clear an idea of who you are and where you are, as they have of the satellites of Jupiter,) do not expect from their youthful productions the elegance of Addison or the eloquence of Burke. V. Pray earnestly for the conversion of the pupils in Mission Schools. This I regard as the great advantage of the system of having pupils supported by Christians in the home churches, and known to them by name. They are made the subjects of special prayer. This is the precious golden bond which brings the home field near to us, and the foreign field near to you. Our chief hope for these multitudes of children now receiving instruction, is, that they will be prayed for by Christians at home. THE SIDON FEMALE SEMINARY. The Annual Report above mentioned, speaks thus of the Sidon Seminary: "It is conducted by Miss Jacombs and Miss Stainton, and has numbered about twenty boarders and six day scholars. The boarders are exclusively from Protestant families, selected from the common schools in all parts of the field, and are in training for the Mission service, as teachers and Bible readers. Four of the graduates of last year are already so employed. One difficulty in the way of reaching with the truth the minds of the women in the numerous villages of the land, will be obviated in part, as the results of this work are farther developed. "There has been considerable seriousness and some hopeful conversions, in both these seminaries during the past year. "The work is worthy of the interest taken in it by the Women's Boards of Missions, and by societies and individuals in the church who have co-operated in it." The Sidon Seminary, as stated on a previous page, was begun in 1862, and has had four European and six native teachers. Of the latter, one was trained in Mrs. Bird's family, one in Shemlan Seminary, three in the Sidon school, and one by Mrs. Watson. Ten of its graduates have been employed as teachers, and eight are still so engaged. I annex a list of Girls' Schools now or formerly connected with the Syria Mission. No. of No. of When begun Location. Pupils. Teach'rs Beirût, Day School, 50 2 1834 " Seminary, 50 10 1848 Sidon, Seminary, 20 3 1862 " Day School, 6 1 1862 Abeih, " 60 1 1853 Deir el Komr, " 50 2 1855 To be resumed soon. Ghorify, " 40 1 1863 All Druzes. El Hadeth, " 40 1 1870 Shwifat, " 70 2 1871 Dibbiyeh, " 20 1 1868 B'Hamdûn, " 30 1 1853 Discontinued. Meshgara, " 30 1 1869 Boys and girls, Ain Anûb, " 20 1 1870 and 60 boys. Kefr Shima, " 40 1 1856 Boys and girls. Rasheiya el Fokhar, " 30 1 1869 Jedaideh, " 40 1 1870 El Khiyam, " 25 1 1868 Ibl, " 30 1 1868 Deir Mimas, " 15 1 1865 Kana, " 35 1 1869 Hums, " 40 1 1865 Safita, " 30 1 1869 Hamath, " 30 1 1872 ------------- ----------------- Totals 23 801 36 This gives a total of twenty-three girls' schools besides the twenty-four boys' schools under the care of the Mission, and three schools where there are both boys and girls. I have kept the name of B'hamdûn in the list, for its historical associations, but the thirty pupils credited to it, will be more than made good in the girl's school about to be resumed in Tripoli under the care of Miss Kip. The total number of girls is about 800, and the number of teachers 36. The total cost of these twenty-three schools, including the two Seminaries in Beirût and Sidon, is about eight thousand dollars per annum, including rents, salaries of five American and English ladies, and thirty-one native teachers. The average cost of the common schools in the Sidon field is sixty dollars per annum, and in the Lebanon field it varies from this sum to about twice that amount, owing to the fact that the Deir el Komr and other schools are virtually High Schools. The teacher in the Sidon field, and in Abeih, and Safita, are graduates of the Sidon Seminary. It is probable that a High School or Seminary for girls will be opened by Miss Kip in Tripoli during the coming year. The preceding schedule can give but a faint idea of the struggles and toil, the patient labors, disappointments and trials of faith through which the women of the American Mission have passed during the last forty years, in beginning and maintaining so many of these schools for girls in Syria. Did I speak of _trials_? The Missionary work has its trials, but I believe that its joys are far greater. The saddest scenes I have witnessed during a residence of seventeen years in Syria, have been when Missionaries have been obliged to _leave the work_ and return to their native land. There are trials growing out of the hardness of the human heart, our own want of faith, the seeming slow progress of the gospel, and the heart-crushing disappointments arising from broken hopes, when individuals and communities who have promised well, turn back to their old errors "like the dog to his vomit" again. But of joys it is much easier to speak, the joy of preaching Christ to the perishing,--of laboring where others will not labor,--of laying foundations for the future,--of feeling that you are doing what you can to fulfil the Saviour's last command,--of seeing the word of God translated into a new language,--a christian literature beginning to grow,--children and youth gathered into Schools and Seminaries of learning, and even sects which hate the Bible obliged to teach their children to read it,--of seeing christian families growing up, loving the Sabbath and the Bible, the sanctuary and the family altar.--Then there is the joy of seeing souls born into the kingdom of our dear Redeemer, and churches planted in a land where pure Christianity had ceased to exist,--and of witnessing unflinching steadfastness in the midst of persecution and danger, and the triumphs of faith in the solemn hour of death. These are a few of the joys which are strewn so thickly along the path of the Christian Missionary, that he has hardly time to think of sorrow, trial and discouragement. Those who have read Dr. Anderson's "History of Missions to the Oriental Churches," and Rev. Isaac Bird's "History of the Syria Mission," or "Bible Work in Bible Lands," will see that the work of the Syria Mission from 1820 to 1872 has been one of conflict with principalities and powers, and with spiritual wickedness in high and low places, but that at length the hoary fortresses are beginning to totter and fall, and there is a call for a general advance in every department of the work, and in every part of the land. Other agencies have come upon the ground since the great foundation work was laid, and the first great victories won, and in their success it becomes all of God's people to rejoice; but the veterans who fought the first battles, and overcame the great national prejudice of the Syrian people against female education, should ever be remembered with gratitude. It has been my aim in this little volume to recount the history of Woman's Work in the past. Who can foretell what the future of Christian work for Syrian Women will be? May it ever be a work founded on the Word of God, aiming at the elevation of woman through the doctrines and the practice of a pure Christianity, striving to plant in Syria, not the flippant culture of modern fashionable society, but the God-fearing, Sabbath-loving, and Bible-reading culture of our Anglo-Saxon ancestors! A few years ago, a Greek priest named Job, from one of the distant villages high up in the range of Lebanon, called on me in Beirût. I had spent several summers in his village, and he had sometimes borrowed our Arabic sermons to read in the Greek Church, and now, he said, he had come down to see what we were doing in Beirût. I took him through the Female Seminary and the Church, and then to the Library and the Printing Press. He examined the presses, the steam engine, the type-setting, and type-casting, the folding, sewing, and binding of books, and looked through the huge cases filled with Arabic books and Scriptures, saw all the editions of the Bible and the Testament, and then turned in silence to take his departure. I went with him to the outer gate. He took my hand, and said, "By your leave I am going. The Lord bless your work. Sir, I have a thought; we are all going to be swept away, priests and bishops, Greeks and Maronites, Moslems and Druzes, and there will be nothing left, nothing but the Word of God and those who follow it. That is my thought. Farewell." May that thought be speedily realized! May the coarseness, brutality and contempt for woman which characterize the Moslem hareem, give way to the refinement, intelligence, and mutual affection which belong to the Christian family! May the God of prophecy and promise, hasten the time when Nusairy barbarism, Druze hypocrisy, Moslem fanaticism, Jewish bigotry and nominal Christian superstition shall fade away under the glorious beams of the rising Sun of Righteousness! May the "glory of Lebanon" be given to the Lord, in the regeneration and sanctification of the families of Lebanon! Too long has it been true, in the degradation of woman, that the "flower of Lebanon languisheth." Soon may we say in the truly Oriental imagery of the Song of Songs,--"Come with me from Lebanon, look from the top of Amana, from the top of Shenir and Hermon, from the lions' dens, from the mountains of the leopards,"--and behold, in the culture of woman, in society regenerated, in home affection, in the Christian family, what is in a peculiar sense, "a fountain of gardens, a well of living waters, and streams from Lebanon!" "Is it not yet a very little while, and Lebanon shall be turned into a fruitful field?" When "the reproach of the daughters of Syria," shall be taken away, and when amid the zearas of the Nusairîyeh, the kholwehs of the Druzes, the mosques of the Moslems and the tents of the Bedawin, may be heard the voice of Christ, saying to the poor women of the Arab race, weary and fainting under the burdens of life: "Daughter be of good comfort, Thy faith hath made thee whole, Go in peace!" THE CHILDREN'S CHAPTER. PART I. _Abeih, Mount Lebanon_, Sept., 1872. My Dear Son Willie:-- It is now eight years since you left Syria, and you were then so young, that you must have forgotten all about the country and the people. I have often promised to tell you more about the Syrian boys and girls, what they eat and wear, and how they study and play and sleep, and the songs their mothers sing to them, and many other things. And now I will try and fulfil my promise. Here is a little boy at the door. His name is Asaad Mishrik, or "happy sunrise," and his name is well given, for he comes every morning at sunrise with a basket of fresh ripe figs, sweet and cold, and covered with the sparkling dew. This morning when he came, your brother Harry stood by the door looking at the figs with wistful eyes, and I gave him a large one, which disappeared very suddenly. Asaad is a bright-eyed boy, and helps his mother every day. When he comes in, he says, Subah koom bil khire, "Your morning in goodness." Then Assaf, the cook, answers him, "Yusaid Subahak," "May God make happy your morning." If I come out when he is here, he runs up to kiss my hand, as the Arab children are trained to be respectful to their superiors. When a little Arab boy comes into a room full of older people, he goes around and kisses the hand of each one and then places it on his forehead. Asaad wears a red tarboosh or cap on his head, a loose jacket, and trowsers which are like a blue bag gathered around the waist, with two small holes for his feet to go through. They are drawn up nearly to his knees, and his legs are bare, as he wears no stockings. He wears red shoes pointed and turned up at the toes. When he comes in at the door, he leaves his shoes outside, but keeps his cap on his head. The people never take off their caps or turbans when entering a house, or visiting a friend, but always leave their shoes at the door. The reason is, that their floors are covered with clean mats and rugs, and in the Moslem houses, the man kneels on his rug to pray, and presses his forehead to the floor, so that it would not be decent or respectful to walk in with dirty shoes and soil his sijjady on which he kneels to pray. They have no foot-mats or scrapers, and it is much cheaper and simpler to leave the shoes, dirt and all at the door. Sometimes we are much embarrassed in calling on the old style Syrians as they look with horror on our muddy feet, and we find it not quite so easy to remove our European shoes. But it must be done, and it is better to take a little extra trouble, and regard their feelings and customs, than to appear coarse and rude. It is very curious to go to the Syrian school-houses, and see the piles of shoes at the door. There are new bright red shoes, and old tattered shoes, and kob kobs, and black shoes, and sometimes yellow shoes. The kob kobs are wooden clogs made to raise the feet out of the mud and water, having a little strap over the toe to keep it on the foot. You will often see little boys and girls running down steps and paved streets on these dangerous kob kobs. Sometimes they slip and then down they go on their noses, and the kob kobs fly off and go rattling over the stones, and little Ali or Yusef, or whatever his name is, begins to shout, Ya Imme! Ya Imme! "Oh, my mother!" and cries just like little children in other countries. But the funniest part of it is to see the boys when they come out of school and try to find their shoes. There will be fifty boys, and of course a hundred shoes, all mixed together in one pile. When school is out, the boys make a rush for the door. Then comes the tug of war. A dozen boys are standing and shuffling on the pile of shoes, looking down, kicking away the other shoes, running their toes into their own, stumbling over the kob kobs, and then making a dash to get out of the crowd. Sometimes shins will be kicked, and hair pulled, and tarbooshes thrown off, and a great screaming and cursing follow, which will only cease when the Mûallim comes with his "Asa" or stick, and quells the riot. That pile of shoes will have to answer for a good many schoolboy fights and bruised noses and hard feelings in Syria. You would wonder how they can tell their own shoes. So do I. And the boys often wear off each other's shoes by mistake or on purpose, and then you will see Selim running with one shoe on, and one of Ibrahim's in his hand, shouting and cursing Ibrahim's father and grandfather, until he gets back his lost property. Sometimes when men leave their shoes outside the door of a house where they are calling, some one will steal them, and then they are in a sorry plight. Shoes are regarded as very unclean, and when you are talking in polite society, it will never do to speak of them, without asking pardon. You would say, "the other day some one stole my new shoes, ajellak Allah," _i.e._, May God exalt you above such a vile subject! You would use the same words if you were talking with a Moslem, and spoke of a dog, a hog, a donkey, a girl or a woman. They do not think much of girls in Syria. The most of the people are very sorry when a daughter is born. They think it is dreadful, and the poor mother will cry as if her heart would break. And the neighbors come in and tell her how sorry they are, and condole with her, just as if they had come to a funeral. In Kesrawan, a district of Mount Lebanon near Beirût, the Arab women have a proverb, "The threshold weeps forty days when a girl is born." There is a great change going on now in Syria in the feelings of the people in regard to girls, but in the interior towns and villages where the light of the Gospel has not shone as yet, and there are no schools, they have the ancient ideas about them up to this very hour. I knew an old Syrian grandmother in Tripoli who would not kiss her granddaughter for six months after she was born, because she was born a girl! But I know another family in that city of Tripoli that do not treat girls in that style. The father is Mr. Antonius Yanni, a good Christian man, and a member of the Mission Church. He is American Vice Consul, and on the top of his house is a tall flag-staff, on which floats the stars and stripes, on Fourth of July, and the Sultan's birthday, Queen Victoria's birthday, and other great feast days. One day when the Tripoli women heard that "Sitt Karîmeh, Yanni's wife, had another "_bint_," (girl) they came in crowds to comfort her in her great affliction! When Yanni heard of it, he could not restrain himself. He loved his older daughter Theodora very dearly, and was thankful to God for another sweet baby girl, so he told the women that he would have none of this heathenish mourning in his house. He then shouted to his janizary or Cawass, a white bearded old Moslem named Amr, "Amr, haul up the Bandaira el Americanîyeh, (American flag) to show the world how glad I am that I have another daughter." "On my head, on my head, sir," said Amr, and away he went and hauled up the stars and stripes. Now the Pasha's palace is not far away, and soon the Turkish guards saw the flag, and hastened to the Pasha with the news that the American Consul had some great feast day, as his flag was raised. The Pasha, supposing it to be some important national feast day of the American Government which he was so stupid as not to know about, sent his Chief Secretary at once to Mr. Yanni to ask what feast it might be? Yanni received him politely and ordered a narghileh and coffee and sherbet, and after saying "good-morning," and "may you live forever," and "God prolong your days!" over and over and over again, and wishing that Doulet America might ever flourish, the Secretary asked which of the great American festivals he was celebrating that day. Yanni laughed and said, "Effendum, you know how many of the ignorant in Syria are so foolish as to mourn and lament when God sends them a daughter, but I believe that all God's gifts are good, and that daughters are to be valued as much as sons, and to rebuke this foolish notion among the people, I put up my flag as a token of joy and gratitude." "Sebhan Allah! you have done right, sir," ... was the Secretary's reply, and away he went to the Pasha. What the Pasha said, I do not know, but there was probably more cursing than usual that day in the grand palace of Tripoli, for the Mohammedans think the birth of a daughter a special judgment from God. When a boy is born, there is great rejoicing. Presents are sent to him, and the people call to congratulate the father, and the whole house is gay and joyous. After a few days a dainty dish called "Mughly" is made and sent around as a present to all of the relatives. It is made of pounded rice, and flavored with rich spices and sugar and put into little bowls, and almonds and other nuts sprinkled over the top. One of these little bowls is sent to each of the friends. But when a girl is born, there is no rejoicing, no giving of presents, and no making of the delicious "mughly." Here come two little girls bringing earthen pots of milk. They are poor girls, daughters of two of our neighbors who are fellaheen or farmers. One has no shoes, and neither have stockings. They wear plain blue gowns, made of coarse cotton cloth, dyed with indigo, and rusty looking tarbooshes on their heads, and a little piece of dirty white muslin thrown over their heads as a veil to cover their faces with, when men come in sight. One is named Lebeeby and the other Lokunda, which means _Hotel_. They behave very well when they come here, as they have the fear of the big Khowadja before their eyes, but when they are at home running about, they often use dreadful language. Little boys and girls in Syria have some awful oaths which they constantly use. I suppose the poor things do not know the meaning of half the bad words they use. One of the most common is "Yilan Abook," "curse your father!" It is used everywhere and on every side by bad people, and the children use it constantly in their play. When the little girls come into our Schools and Seminaries, it is a long time before they will give up "abook"-ing. One of our friends in America is educating a nice little girl in the Beirût Seminary, and we asked the teacher about her a few days ago. The answer was, "She still lies and swears dreadfully, but she has greatly improved during the past two years, and we are encouraged about her." Sometimes a boy will say to another Yilan abook, "Curse your father," and another will answer, Wa jiddak, "and your grandfather," and then they will call back and forth like cats and dogs. I saw a Moslem boy near my house standing by the corner to shield himself from the stones another boy was throwing, and shouting wa jid, jid, jid, jid, jidak, "and your great-great-great-great-grandfather," and away went the other boy, shouting as he ran, "and your great-great-great-great gr-e-at," and I heard no more. And then there are a great many very naughty and vile words which the children use, which I cannot write, and yet we hear them every day. It is very hard to keep our children from learning them, as they talk Arabic better than we do, and often learn expressions which they do not know the meaning of. One of the most common habits is using the name of God in vain. The name of God is Allah, and "O God," _Yullah_. Then there is _Wullah_ and _Bismillah_, "In the name of God," _Hamdlillah_, "Praise to God," _Inshullah_, "If God will." The most awful oaths are Wullah and Billah. The people use _Yullah_ at all times and on all occasions. The donkey-drivers and muleteers say _Yullah_ when they drive their animals. Some years ago a good man from America, who fears God and would not take his name in vain was travelling in the Holy Land, and came on to Beirût. When he reached there, some one asked him if he had learned any Arabic during his journey. He said yes, he had learned _Bakhshish_ for "a present," and _Yullah_ for "go ahead." His friend asked him if he had used the latter word much on the way. He said certainly, he had used it all the way. His friend answered, Professor, you have been swearing all the way through the Holy Land. Of course he did not know it and meant no wrong. But it shows that such words are used so commonly in Syria that strangers do not think them bad language, and it also shows that travellers ought to be careful in using the words they learn of muleteers and sailors in Arab land. In some parts of the country the little boys and girls swear so dreadfully that you can hardly bear to be with them. Especially among the Nusairîyeh, they think that nothing will be believed unless they add an oath. Dr. Post once rebuked an old Sheikh for using the word "Wullah" so often, and argued so earnestly about it that the man promised never to use it again. The old man a moment after repeated it. The doctor said, "will you now pledge me that you will not say 'Wullah' again?" He replied, "Wullah, I will." Sometimes a donkey-driver will get out of patience with his long-eared beast. The donkey will lie down with his load in a deep mud-hole, or among the sharp rocks. For a time the man will kick and strike him and throw stones at him, and finally when nothing else succeeds he will stand back, with his eyes glaring and his fist raised in the air, and scream out, "May Allah curse the beard of your grandfather!" I believe that the donkey always gets up after that,--that is, if the muleteer first takes off his load and then helps him, by pulling stoutly at his tail. I told you that one of the girls who bring us milk, is named "_Lokunda_," or _Hotel_. She is a small specimen of a hotel, but provides us purer and sweeter cow's milk than many a six-storied hotel on Broadway would do. You will say that is a queer name for a girl, but if you stop and think about many of our English names you would think them queer too. Here in Syria, we have the house of Wolf, the house of "Stuffed Cabbage," Khowadji Leopard, the lady "Wolves," and one of our fellow villagers in Abeih where we spend the summer is Eman ed Deen "faith-of-religion," although he has neither faith nor religion. Among the boys' names are Selim, Ibrahim, Moosa, Yakob, Ishoc, Mustafa, Hanna, Yusef, Ali, Saieed, Assaf, Giurgius, Faoor, and Abbas. I once met a boy at the Cedars of Lebanon, who was named Jidry, or "Small-Pox," because that disease was raging in the village when he was born. It is very common to name babies from what is happening in the world when they are born. A friend of mine in Tripoli had a daughter born when an American ship was in the harbor, so he called her America. When another daughter was born there was a Russian ship in port, so he called her Russia. There is a young woman in Sûk el Ghurb named Fetneh or Civil War, and her sister is Hada, or Peace. An old lady lately died in Beirût named Feinûs or Lantern. In the Beirût school are and have been girls named Pearl, Diamond, Morning Dawn, Dew, Rose, Only one, and Mary Flea. That girl America's full name was America Wolves, a curious name for a Syrian lamb! Sometimes children are named, and if after a few years they are sick, the parents change their names and give them new ones, thinking that the first name did not agree with them. A Druze told me that he named his son in infancy _Asaad_ (or happier) but he was sickly, so they changed his name to _Ahmed_ (Praised) and after that he grew better! He has now become a Christian, and has resumed his first name Asaad. I once visited a man in the village of Brummana who had six daughters, whom he named _Sun_, _Morning_, _Zephyr breeze_, _Jewelry_, _Agate_, and _Emerald_. I know girls named Star, Beauty, Sugar, One Eyed, and Christian Barbarian. Some of the names are beautiful, as Leila, Zarifeh, Lûlû, Selma, Lucîya, Miriam and Fereedy. All of the men are called Aboo-somebody; _i.e._ the father of somebody or something. Old Sheikh Hassein, whose house I am living in, is called Aboo Abbas, _i.e._ the father of Abbas, because his eldest son's name is Abbas. A young lad in the village, who is just about entering the Freshman class in the Beirût College, has been for years called Aboo Habeeb, or the father of Habeeb, when he has no children at all. Elias, the deacon of the church in Beirût was called Aboo Nasif for more than fifty years, and finally in his old age he married and had a son, whom he named Nasif, so that he got his name right after all. They often give young men such names, and if they have no children they call them by the name of the son they might have had. But they will not call a man Aboo Lûlû or Aboo Leila. If a man has a dozen daughters he will never be called from them. They are "nothing but girls." A queer old man in Ghurzûz once tried to name himself from his daughter Seleemeh, but whenever any one called him Aboo Seleemeh, all the fellaheen would laugh as if they would explode, and the boys would shout at him "there goes old Aboo Seleemeh," as if it were a grand joke. The Moslems and Druzes generally give their children the old unmixed Arabic names, but the Maronites, the Greeks, and the Protestants often use European names. A young lady named Miss Mason was once a teacher in the Sidon Seminary, and spent the summer in the mountain village of Deir Mimas. One of the women of the village liked her name, and named her daughter "Miss Mason," and if you should go there you would hear the little urchins of Deir Mimas shouting Miss Mason! to a little blue-gowned and tarbooshed Arab girl. What noise is that we hear down in the village, under the great jowz (walnut) trees by the fountain? It rolls and gurgles and growls and bellows enough to frighten a whole village full of children. But the little Arab boys and girls are playing around, and the women are filling their jars at the fountain just as if nothing had happened. But it is a frightful noise for all that. It is the bellowing of the camels as their heavy loads are being put on. They are kneeling on the ground, with their long necks swaying and stretching around like boa constrictors. These camels are very useful animals, but I always like to see them at a distance, especially in the month of February, for at that time they get to be as "mad as a March hare." They are what the Arabs call "taish," and often bite men severely. In Hums one bit the whole top of a man's head off, and in Tripoli another bit a man's hand off. I once saw a camel "taish" in Beirût, and he was driving the whole town before him. Wherever he came, with his tongue hanging down and a foaming froth pouring from his mouth as he growled and bellowed through the streets, the people would leave their shops and stools and run in dismay. It was a frightful sight. I was riding down town, and on seeing the crowd, and the camel coming towards me, I put spurs to my horse and rode home. When camels are tied together in a long caravan with a little mouse-colored donkey leading the van, ridden by a long-legged Bedawy, who sits half-asleep smoking his pipe, you would think them the tamest and most innocent creatures in the world, but when they fall into a panic, they are beyond all control. A few years ago a drove of camels was passing through the city of Damascus. The Arabs drive camels like sheep, hundreds and sometimes thousands in a flock, and they look awkward enough. When this drove entered the city, something frightened them, and they began to run. Just imagine a camel running! What a sight it must have been! Hundreds of them went through the narrow streets, knocking over men and women and donkeys, upsetting the shopkeepers, and spilling out their wares on the ground, and many persons were badly bruised. At length a carpenter saw them coming and put a timber across the street, which dammed up the infuriated tide of camels, and they dashed against one another until they were all wedged together, and thus their owners secured them. In August, 1862, a famous Bedawin Chief, named Mohammed ed Dukhy, in Houran, east of the Jordan, rebelled against the Turkish Government. The Druzes joined him, and the Turks sent a small army against them. Mohammed had in his camp several thousand of the finest Arabian camels, and they were placed in a row behind his thousands of Arab and Druze horsemen. Behind the camels were the women, children, sheep, cattle and goats. When the Turkish army first opened fire with musketry, the camels made little disturbance, as they were used to hearing small arms, but when the Turkish Colonel gave orders to fire with cannon, "the ships of the desert" began to tremble. The artillery thundered, and the poor camels could stand it no longer. They were driven quite crazy with fright, and fled over the country in every direction in more than a Bull Run panic. Some went down towards the Sea of Galilee, others towards the swamps of Merom, and hundreds towards Banias, the ancient Cæsarea Philippi, and onwards to the West as far as Deir Mimas. Nothing could stop them. Their tongues were projecting, their eyes glaring, and on they went. The fellaheen along the roads caught them as they could, and sold them to their neighbors. Fine camels worth eighty dollars, were sold for four or five dollars a head, and in some villages the fat animals were butchered and sold for beef. Some of them came to Deir Mimas, where two of the missionaries lived. The Protestants said to the missionaries, "here are noble camels selling for five and ten dollars, shall we buy? Others are buying." "By no means," they told them. "They are stolen or strayed property, and you will repent it if you touch them." Others bought and feasted on camel steaks, and camel soup, and camel kibby, but the Protestants would not touch them. In a day or two, the cavalry of the Turks came scouring the country for the camels, as they were the spoils of war. Then the poor fellaheen were sorry enough that they had bought and eaten the camels, for the Turks made them pay back double the price of the beasts, and the Protestants found that "honesty was the best policy." The camel is very sure footed, but cannot travel on muddy and slippery roads. The Arabs say "the camel never falls, but if he falls, he never gets up again." They carry long timbers over Lebanon, on the steep and rocky roads, the timber being balanced on the pack saddle, one end extending out on front, and the other behind. Sometimes the timber begins to swing about, and down the camel goes over the precipice and is dashed to pieces. The Arabs say that a man once asked a camel, "What made your _neck_ so crooked?" The camel answered, "My neck? Why did you ask about my neck? Is there anything else straight about me, that led you to notice my neck?" This has a meaning, which is, that when a man's habits are all bad, there is no use in talking about _one_ of them. Perhaps you will ask, did you ever eat camel's flesh? Certainly. We do not get it in Beirût, as camels are too expensive along the sea-coast to be used as food, but in the interior towns, like Hums and Hamath, which border on the desert or rather the great plains occupied by the ten thousands of the Bedawin, camel's meat is a common article in the market. They butcher fat camels, and young camel colts that have broken their legs, and sometimes their meat is as delicious as beefsteak. But when they kill an old lean worn-out camel, that has been besmeared with pitch and tar for many years, and has been journeying under heavy loads from Aleppo to Damascus until he is what the Arabs call a "basket of bones," and then kill him to save his life, or rather his beef, the meat is not very delicate. The Arab name for a camel is "Jemel" which means _beauty_! They call him so perhaps because there is no beauty in him. You will read in books, that the camel is the "ship of the desert." He is very much like a ship, as he carries a heavy cargo over the ocean-like plains and "buraries" or wilds of the Syrian and Arabian deserts. He is also like a ship in making people sea-sick who ride on his back, and because he has a strong odor of tar and pitch like the hold of a ship, which sometimes you can perceive at a long distance. PART II. Perhaps you would like to take a ride with me some day, and visit some of the missionary stations in Syria. What will you ride? The horses are gentle, but you would feel safer on a donkey. Mules are sometimes good for riding, but I prefer to let them alone. I never rode a mule but once. I was at Hasbeiya, and wished to visit the bitumen wells. My horse was not in a condition to be ridden, so I took Monsûr's mule. It had only a jillal or pack saddle, and Monsûr made stirrups of rope for me. My companions had gone on in advance, and when I started, the mule was eager to overtake them. All went well until we approached the little stream which afterwards becomes the River Jordan. The ground was descending, and the road covered with loose stones. The rest of our party were crossing the stream and the mule thought he would trot and come up with them. I tried to hold him in with the rope halter, but he shook his head and dashed on. About the middle of the descent he stumbled and fell flat upon his nose. I went over his head upon my hands, but my feet were fast in the rope stirrups. Seeing that he was trying to get up, I tried to work myself back into the saddle, but I had only reached his head, when he sprang up. I was now in a curious and not very safe situation. The mule was trotting on and I was sitting on his head holding on to his ears, with my feet fast in the rope stirrups. A little Arab boy was passing with a tray of bread upon his head and I shouted to him for help. He was so amused to see a Khowadja with a hat, riding at that rate on a mule's head, that he began to roar with laughter and down went his tray on the ground and the Arab bread went rolling among the stones. It was a great mercy that I did not fall under the brute's feet, but I held on until he got the other side of the Jordan, when a man ran out from the mill and stopped him. Monsûr now led him by the halter and I reached the bitumen wells in safety. You can mount your donkey and Harry will ride another, and I will ride my horse, and we will try a Syrian journey. As we cannot spare the time to go from Beirût to Tripoli by land, I have sent Ibrahim to take the animals along the shore, and we will go up by the French steamer, a fine large vessel called the "Ganges." We go down to the Kumruk or Custom House, and there a little Arab boat takes us out to the steamer. In rough weather it is very dangerous going out to the steamers, and sometimes little boats are capsized, but to-night there is no danger. You are now on the deck of the steamer. What a charming view of Beirût and Mount Lebanon. Far out on the point of the cape are the new buildings of the Syrian College, and next is the Prussian Hospital and then the Protestant Prussian Deaconesses Institution with 130 orphans and 80 paying pupils. There is the house of Dr. Thomson and Dr. Van Dyck and Dr. Post, and the Turkish Barracks, and Mrs. Mott's school, and our beautiful Church, with its clock tower, and you can hear the clock strike six. Then next to the Church is the Female Seminary with its 100 pupils, and the Steam Printing Press, where are printed so many books and Scriptures every year in the Arabic language. Those tall cypress trees are in the Mission Cemetery where Pliny Fisk, and Eli Smith, and Mr. Whiting, and a good many little children are buried. Near by are the houses of Dr. Bliss and Dr. Lewis and our house, and you can see mosques and minarets and domes and red-tiled roofs, and beautiful arched corridors and green trees in every direction. Do you see the beautiful purple tints on the Lebanon Mountains as the sun goes down? Is it not worth a long journey to see that lofty peak gilded and tinted with purple and pink and yellow as the sun sinks into the sea? What a noise these boatmen make! I doubt whether you have ever heard such a screaming before. Now you can imagine yourself going to sleep in the state-room of this great steamer, and away we go. The anchor comes up clank, clank, as the great chain cable is wound up by the donkey engine, and now we move off silently and smoothly. In about five hours we have made the fifty miles, and down goes the anchor again in Tripoli harbor. At sunrise the Tripoli boatmen come around the steamer. We are two miles off from the shore and a rough north wind is blowing. Let us hurry up and get ashore before the wind increases to a gale, as these North winds are very fierce on the Syrian coast. Here comes Mustafa, an old boatman, and begs us to take his felûca. We look over the side of the steamer and see that his boat is large and clean and agree to take it for twelve piastres or fifty cents for all of us and our baggage. Then the other boatmen rush up and scream and curse and try to get us to take their boats, but we say nothing and push through them and climb down the steps to the boat. The white caps are rolling and the boat dances finely. Mustafa puts up a large three-cornered sail, Ali sits at the rudder, and with a stroke or two of the oars we turn around into the wind and away we dash towards the shore. The Meena (port) is before us, that white row of houses on the point; and back among the gardens is the city of Tripoli. In less than half an hour we reach the shore, but the surf is so high that we cannot go near the pier, so they make for the sand beach, and before we reach it, the boat strikes on a little bar and we stop. Out jump the boatmen, and porters come running half naked from the shore and each shouts to us to ride ashore on his shoulders. They can carry you and Harry with ease, but I am always careful how I sit on the shoulders of these rough fellows. There is Ibrahim on the shore with our animals, and two mules for the baggage. We shall take beds and bedsteads and cooking apparatus and provisions and a tent. Ibrahim has bought bread and potatoes and rice and semin (Arab butter) and smead (farina) and candles, and a little sugar and salt, and other necessaries. We will accept Aunt Annie's invitation to breakfast, and then everything will be ready for a start. What is the matter with those boys in that dark room? Are they on rockers? They keep swinging back and forth and screaming at the top of their voices all at once, and an old blind man sits on one side holding a long stick. They all sit on the floor and hold books or tin cards in their hands. This is a Moslem school, and the boys are learning to read and write. They all study aloud, and the old blind Sheikh knows their voices so well that when one stops studying, he perceives it, and reaches his long stick over that way until the boy begins again. When a boy comes up to him to recite, he has to shout louder than the rest, so that the Sheikh can distinguish his voice. There, two boys are fighting. The Sheikh cannot and will not have fighting in his school, and he calls them up to him. They begin to scream and kick and call for their mothers, but it is of no use. Sheikh Mohammed will have order. Lie down there you Mahmoud! Mahmoud lies down, and the Sheikh takes a stick like a bow with a cord to it, and winds the cord around his ankles. After twisting the cord as tight as possible, he takes his rod and beats Mahmoud on the soles of his feet, until the poor boy is almost black in the face with screaming and pain. Then he serves Saleh in the same way. This is the _bastinado_ of which you have heard and read. When the Missionaries started common schools in Syria, the teachers used the bastinado without their knowledge, though we never allow anything of the kind. But the boys behave so badly and use such bad language to each other, that the teacher's patience is often quite exhausted. I heard of one school where the teacher invited a visitor to hear the boys recite, and then offered to whip the school all around from the biggest boy to the smallest, in order to show how well he governed the school! They do not use the alphabet in the Moslem schools. The boys begin with the Koran and learn the _words by sight_, without knowing the letters of which they are composed. Here come two young men to meet us. Fine lads they are too. One is named Giurgius, and the other Leopold. When they were small boys, they once amused me very much. Mr. Yanni, who drew up his flag on the birth of Barbara, sent Giurgius his son, and Leopold his nephew to the school of an old man named Hanna Tooma. This old man always slept in the afternoon, and the boys did not study very well when he was asleep. I was once at Yanni's house when the boys came home from school. They were in high glee. One of them said to his father, our teacher slept all the afternoon, and we appointed a committee of boys to fan him and keep the flies off while the rest went down into the court to play, and when he moved we all hushed up until he was sound asleep again. But when he _did_ wake up, he took the big "Asa" and struck out right and left, and gave every boy in the school a flogging. The father asked, but why did he flog them all? Because he said he knew some of us had done wrong and he was determined to hit the right one, so he flogged us all! See the piles of fruit in the streets! Grapes and figs, watermelons and pomegranates, peaches, pears, lemons and bananas. At other seasons of the year you have oranges, _sweet lemons_, plums, and apricots. There is fresh fruit on the trees here every week in the year. Now we are passing a lemonade stand, where iced lemonade is sold for a cent a glass, cooled with snow from the summit of Mount Lebanon 9000 feet high. Grapes are about a cent a pound and figs the same, and in March you can buy five oranges or ten sweet lemons for a cent. Huge watermelons are about eight or ten cents a piece. We buy so many pounds of milk and oil and potatoes and charcoal. The prickly pear, or subire, is a delicious fruit, although covered with sharp barbed spines and thorns. It is full of hard large woody seeds, but the people are very fond of the fruit. Sheikh Nasif el Yazijy was a famous Arab poet and scholar, and a young man once brought him a poem to be corrected. He told him to call in a few days and get it. He came again and the Sheikh said to him. "Your poem is like the Missionary's prickly pear!" "The Missionary's prickly pear?" said the young poet. "What do you mean?" "Why," said the Sheikh, "Dr. ---- a missionary, when he first came to Syria, had a dish of prickly pears set before him to eat. Not liking to eat the seeds, he began to pick them out, and when he had picked out all the seeds, there was nothing left! So your poem. You asked me to remove the errors, and I found that when I had taken out all the errors, there was nothing left." It is about time for us to start. We will ride through the orange gardens and see the rich fruit bending the trees almost down to the ground. Steer your way carefully through the crowd of mules, pack horses, camels and asses loaded with boxes of fruit hastening down to the Meena for the steamer which goes North to-night. Here is Yanni, with his happy smiling face coming out to meet us. We will dismount and greet him. He will kiss us on both cheeks and insist on our calling at his house. The children are glad to see you, and the Sitt Karîmeh asks, how are "the preserved of God?" that is, the _children_. Then the little tots come up to kiss my hand, and Im Antonius, the old grandmother, comes and greets us most kindly. It was not always so. She was once very hostile to the Missionaries. She thought that her son had done a dreadful deed when he became a Protestant. Although she once loved him, she hated him and hated us. She used to fast, and make vows, and pray to the Virgin and the saints, and beat her breast in agony over her son. She had a brother and another son, who were like her, and they all persecuted Yanni. But he bore it patiently without an unkind word in return for all their abuse. At length the brother Ishoc was taken ill. Im Antonius brought the pictures and put them over his head and called the priests. He said, "Mother, take away these idols. Send away these priests. Tell my brother Antonius to come here, I want to ask his forgiveness." Yanni came. Ishoc said to him, "Brother, your kindness and patience have broken me down. You are right and I am wrong. I am going to die. Will you forgive me?" "Yes, and may God forgive and bless you too." "Then bring your Bible and read to me. Read about some _great_ sinner who was saved." Yanni read about the dying thief on the cross. "Read it again! Ah, that is my case! I am the chief of sinners." Every day he kept Yanni reading and praying with him. He loved to talk about Jesus and at length died trusting in the Saviour! The uncle Michaiel, was also taken ill, and on his death-bed would have neither priest nor pictures, and declared to all the people that he trusted only in the Saviour whom Yanni had loved and served so well. After that Im Antonius was softened and now she loves to hear Yanni read the Bible and pray. The servant is coming with sherbet and sweetmeats and Arabic coffee in little cups as large as an egg-shell. Did you notice how the marble floors shine! They are scrubbed and polished, and kept clean by the industrious women whom you see so gorgeously dressed now. These good ladies belong to the Akabir, or aristocracy of Tripoli, but they work most faithfully in their housekeeping duties. But alas, they can neither read nor write! And there is hardly a woman in this whole city of 16,000 people that can read or write! I once attended a company of invited guests at one of the wealthy houses in Tripoli, and there were thirty Tripolitan ladies in the large room, dressed in the most elegant style. I think you never saw such magnificence. They were dressed in silks and satins and velvets, embroidered with gold thread and pearls, and their arms and necks were loaded with gold bracelets and necklaces set with precious stones, and on their heads were wreaths of gold and silver work sparkling with diamonds, and fragrant with fresh orange blossoms and jessamine. Many of them were beautiful. But not one of them could read. The little boys and girls too are dressed in the same rich style among the wealthier classes, and they are now beginning to learn. Many of the little girls who were taught in Sadi's school here thirteen years ago, are now heads of families, and know how to read the gospel. Ibrahim comes in to say that we must hurry off if we would reach Halba to sleep to-night. So we bid Yanni's family good-bye. We tell them "Be Khaterkum." "By your pleasure," and they say "Ma es Salameh," "with peace."--Then they say "God smooth your way," and we answer, "Peace to your lives." Saieed the muleteer now says "Dih, Ooah," to his mules, and away we ride over the stony pavements and under the dark arches of the city, towards the East. We cross the bridge over the River Kadisha, go through the wheat and barley market, and out of the gate Tibbaneh, among the Moslems, Maronites, Bedawin, Nusairîyeh, Gypsies, and Greeks, who are buying and selling among the Hamath and Hums caravans. Do you see those boys playing by the stone wall? They are catching scorpions. They put a little wax on a stick and thrust it into the holes in the wall, and the scorpions run their claws into the wax when they are easily drawn out, and the boys like to play with them. The sting of the scorpion is not deadly, but it is very painful, something like being stung by half a dozen hornets. Here come a company of Greek priests, with the Greek bishop of Akkar. The priests are all Syrians but the bishop is from Greece, and knows but little Arabic. The priests are very ignorant, for they are generally chosen from among the lowest of the people. When the former Greek Bishop died in Tripoli, in 1858, his dead body was dressed in cloth of gold, with a golden crown on his head, and then the corpse was set up in a chair in the midst of the Greek Church, with the face and hands uncovered so that all the people could see him. The fingers were all black and bloated, but the men, women and children crowded up to kiss them. When the body was taken from the city to Deir Keftin, three miles distant the Greek mountaineers came down in a rabble to get the blessing from the corpse. And how do you think they got the blessing? They attacked the bearers and knocked off pieces of the coffin, and then carried off the pall and tore it in pieces, fighting for it like hungry wolves. A number of people were wounded. After the burial they dug up the earth for some distance around the tomb, and carried it off to be used as medicine. A little girl brought a piece of the bishop's handkerchief to my house, hearing that some one was ill, saying that if we would burn it and drink the ashes in water, we would be instantly cured. The Syrians have a good many stories about their priests, which they laugh about, and yet they obey them, no matter how ignorant they are. Abû Selim in the Meena used to tell me this story: Once there was a priest who did not know how to count. This was a great trial to him, as the Greeks have so many fasts and feasts that it is necessary to count all the time or get into trouble. They have a long fast called _Soum el kebîr_, and it is sometimes nearly sixty days long. One year the fast commenced, and the priest had blundered so often that he went to the bishop and asked him to teach him some way to count the days to the Easter feast. The bishop told him it would be forty days, and gave him forty kernels of "hummus," or peas, telling him to put them into his pocket and throw one out every day, and when they were all gone, to proclaim the feast! This was a happy plan for the poor priest, and he went on faithfully throwing away one pea every day, until one day he went to a neighboring village. In crossing the stream he fell from his donkey into the mud, and his black robe was grievously soiled. The good woman of the house where he slept, told him to take off his robe and she would clean it in the night. So after he was asleep she arose and washed it clean, but found to her sorrow that she had destroyed the peas in the priest's pocket. Poor priest, said she, he has lost all his peas which he had for lunch on the road! But I will make it up to him. So she went to her earthen jar and took a big double handful of hummus and put them into the priest's pocket, and said no more. He went on his way and threw out a pea every morning for weeks and weeks. At length, some of his fellaheen heard that the feast had begun in another village, and told the Priest. Impossible, said he. My pocket is half full yet. Others came and said, will you keep us fasting all the year? He only replied, look into my pocket. Are you wiser than the Bishop? At length some one went and told the Bishop that the priest was keeping his people fasting for twenty days after the time. And then the story leaked out, and the poor woman told how she had filled up the pocket, and the bishop saw that there was no use in trying to teach the man to count. See the reapers in the field, and the women gleaning after them, just as Ruth did so many thousand years ago! On this side is a "lodge in a garden of cucumbers." Now we come down upon the sea-shore again, and on our right is the great plain of Akkar, level as a floor, and covered with fields of Indian corn and cotton. Flocks and herds and Arab camps of black tents are scattered over it. Here is a shepherd-boy playing on his "zimmara" or pipe, made of two reeds tied together and perforated. He plays on it hour after hour and day after day, as he leads his sheep and goats or cattle along the plain or over the mountains. You do not like it much, any more than he would like a melodeon or a piano. When King David was a shepherd-boy he played on such a pipe as this as he wandered over the mountains of Judea. Now we turn away from the sea and go eastward to Halba. Before long we cross the river Arka on a narrow stone bridge, and pass a high hill called "Tel Arka." Here the Arkites lived, who are mentioned in Genesis x:17. That was four thousand two hundred years ago. What a chain of villages skirt this plain! The people build their villages on the hills for protection and health, but go down to plough and sow and feed their flocks to the rich level plain. Now we cross a little stream of water, and look up the ravine, and there is Ishoc's house perched on the side of the hill opposite Halba. Ishoc and his wife Im Hanna, come out to meet us, and he helps us pitch the tent by the great fig tree near his house. We unroll the tent, splice the tent pole, open the bag of tent pins, get the mallet, and although the wind is blowing hard, we will drive the pegs so deep that there will be no danger of its blowing over. Abû Hanna, or Ishoc, is a noble Christian man, one of the best men in Syria. He has suffered very much for Christ's sake. The Greeks in the village on the hill have tried to poison him. They hired Nusairy Mughlajees to shoot him. They cut down his trees at night, and pulled up his plantations of vegetables. They came at night and tore up the roof of his house, and shot through at him but did not hit him. But the Mohammedan Begs over there always help him, because he is an honest man, and aids them in their business and accounts. When the Greeks began to persecute him, they told him to fire a gun whenever they came about his house, and they would come over and fight for him. They even offered to go up and burn the Greek village and put an end to these persecutions. But Ishoc would not let them. He said, "Mohammed Beg, you know I am a Christian, not like these Greeks who lie and steal and kill, but I follow the words of our Lord Jesus Christ, who said, 'Love your enemies,' and I do not wish to injure one of them." The Begs were astonished at this, and went away, urging him if there were any more trouble at night to fire his gun and they would come over from Halba at once. I love this good man Ishoc. His pure life, his patience and gentleness have preached to these wild people in Akkar, more than all the sermons of the missionaries. Would you like to see Im Hanna make bread for our supper? That hole in the ground, lined with plaster, is the oven, and the flames are pouring out. They heat it with thorns and thistles. She sits by the oven with a flat stone at her side, patting the lumps of dough into thin cakes like wafers as large as the brim of your straw hat. Now the fire is burning out and the coals are left at the bottom of the oven, as if they were in the bottom of a barrel. She takes one thin wafer on her hand and sticks it on the smooth side of the oven, and as it bakes it curls up, but before it drops off into the coals, she pulls it out quickly and puts another in its place. How sweet and fresh the bread is! It is made of Indian corn. She calls it "khubs dura." Abû Hanna says that we must eat supper with them to-night. They are plain fellaheen, and have neither tables, chairs, knives nor forks. They have a few wooden spoons, and a few plates. But hungry travellers and warm-hearted friendship will make the plainest food sweet and pleasant. Supper is ready now, and we will go around to Abû Hanna's house for he has come to tell us that "all things are ready." The house is one low room, about sixteen by twenty feet. The ceiling you see is of logs smoked black and shining as if they had been varnished. Above the logs are flat stones and thorns, on which earth is piled a foot deep. In the winter this earth is rolled down with a heavy stone roller to keep out the rain. In many of the houses the family, cattle, sheep, calves and horses sleep in the same room. The family sleep in the elevated part of the room along the edge of which is a trough into which they put the barley for the animals. This is the "medhwad" or manger, such as the infant Jesus was laid in. We will now accept Im Hanna's kind invitation to supper. The plates are all on a small tray on a mat in the middle of the floor, and there are four piles of bread around the edge. There is one cup of water for us all to drink from, and each one has a wooden spoon. But Abû Hanna, you will see, prefers to eat without a spoon. After the blessing is asked in Arabic, Abû Hanna says, "tefudduloo," which means help yourselves. Here is kibby, and camel stew, and Esau's pottage, and olives, and rice, and figs cooked in dibbs, and chicken boiled to pieces, and white fresh cheese, and curdled milk, and fried eggs. Kibby is the Arab plum pudding and mince pie and roast beef all in one. It is made by pounding meat in a mortar with wheat, until both are mixed into a soft pulp and then dressed with nuts and onions and butter, and baked or roasted in cakes over the fire. Dr. Thomson thinks that this dish is alluded to in Prov. 27:22, "Though thou shouldest bray a fool in a mortar among wheat with a pestle, yet will not his foolishness depart from him." That is, put the fool into Im Hanna's stone mortar with wheat and pound him into kibby, and he would still remain a fool! It takes something besides pounding to get the folly out of foolish men. You see there are no separate plates for us. We all help ourselves from the various dishes as we prefer. Abû Hanna wants you to try the "mejeddara," made of "oddis." It is like thick pea soup, but with a peculiar flavor. This is what Jacob made the pottage of, when he tempted Esau and bought his birthright. I hope you will like it, but I do not. After seventeen years of trying, I am not able to enjoy it, but Harry will eat all he can get, and the little Arab children revel in it. You make poor work with that huge wooden spoon. You had better try Abû Hanna's way of eating. Many better men than any of us have eaten in that way, and I suppose our Saviour and his disciples ate as Abû Hanna eats. He tears off a small piece of the thin wafer-like bread, doubles it into a kind of three cornered spoon, dips it into the rice, or picks up a piece of kibby with it, and then eats it down, spoon and all! Im Hanna says I am afraid those little boys do not like our food, so she makes a spoon and dips up a nice morsel of the chicken, and comes to you and says "minshan khatri," for my sake, eat this, and you open your mouth and she puts it in. That is the way our Saviour dipped the "sop" and put it into the mouth of Judas Iscariot to show the disciples which one it was. Giving the sop was a common act, and I have no doubt Jesus had often given it to John and Peter and the other disciples, as a kindly act, when they were eating together. Im Hanna is fixing the lamp. It is a little earthen saucer having a lip on one side, with the wick hanging over. The wick just began to smoke and she poured in more olive oil, and it burns brightly again. Do you remember what the prophet Isaiah (42:3) said, "a bruised reed shall he not break, and smoking flax shall he not quench." This is quoted in Matt. 12 of our Lord Jesus. The word flax means _wick_. It is "fetileh" in Arabic, and this is just what Im Hanna has been doing. She saw the wick smoking and flickering, and instead of blowing it out and quenching it, she brought the oil flask, and gently poured in the clear olive oil and you saw how quickly the flame revived. So our Lord would have us learn from Him. When the flame of our faith and love is almost dead and nothing remains but the smoking flickering wick, He does not quench it, and deal harshly with us, but he comes in all gentleness and love and pours in the oil of His grace, and then our faith revives and we live again. PART III. Here come some little Bedawin gypsy children. One is laughing at my hat. He never saw one before and he calls me "Abû Suttle," the "father of a Pail," and wonders why I carry a pail on my head. The people love to use the word Abû, [father] or Im, [mother]. They call a musquito Abû Fas, the father of an axe. The centipede is "Im Arba wa Arb-ain; "The mother of forty-four legs." The Arabic poet Hariri calls a _table_ the "father of assembling;" _bread_, the "father of pleasantness;" a _pie_, "the mother of joyfulness," _salt_, "the father of help," _soap_ the "father of softness;" Death is called by the Arab poets, "Father of the Living," because all the living are subject to him. After breakfast we will start for Safîta. You see that snow-white dome on the hill-top! and another on the next hill under that huge oak tree, and then another and another. These are called Nebi or Ziarat or Wely. Each one contains one or more tombs of Nusairy saints or sheikhs, and the poor women visit them and burn lamps and make vows to the saints who they think live in them. They know nothing of Christ, and when they feel sad and troubled and want comfort they enter the little room under the white dome, and there they call, "O Jafar et Tîyyar hear me! O Sheikh Hassan hear me!" This is just as the old Canaanite women used to go up and worship on every high hill, and under every green tree, thousands of years ago, and these poor Nusairîyeh are thought to be the descendants of the old Canaanites. Here come men on horseback to visit that "ziyara." Up they go to the little room with the white dome, and all dismount. The old sheikh who has charge, comes out to meet them. They are pilgrims and have to make vows and bring offerings. One had a sick son and he once vowed that if his son got well he would bring a sheep and a bushel of wheat as an offering to this shrine. So there is the sheep on one of the horses, and that mule is bringing the wheat. If the old sheikh has many such visitors he will grow rich. Some of them do. And yet the people laugh at these holy places, and tell some strange stories about them. One of the stories is as follows:-- Once upon a time there was a great Sheikh Ali, a holy man, who kept a holy tomb of an ancient prophet. The tomb was on a hill under a big oak tree, and the white dome could be seen for miles around. Lamps were kept burning day and night in the tomb, and if any one extinguished them, they were miraculously lighted again. Men with sore eyes came to visit it and were cured. The earth around the tomb was carried off to be used as medicine. Women came and tied old rags on the limbs of the tree, as vows to the wonderful prophet. Nobody knew the name of the prophet, but the tomb was called "Kobr en Nebi," or "tomb of the prophet." A green cloth was spread over the tomb under the dome, and incense was sold by the sheikh to those who wished to heal their sick, or drive out evil spirits from their houses. Pilgrims came from afar to visit the holy place, and its fame extended over all the land. Sheikh Ali was becoming a rich man, and all the pilgrims kissed his hand and begged his blessing. Now Sheikh Ali had a faithful servant named Mohammed, who had served him long and well. But Mohammed was weary of living in one place, and asked permission to go and seek his fortune in distant parts. So Sheikh Ali gave him his blessing and presented him with a donkey, which he had for many years, that he might ride when tired of walking. Then Mohammed set out on his journey. He went through cities and towns and villages, and at last came out on the mountains east of the Jordan in a desert place. No village or house was in sight and night came on. Tired, hungry and discouraged poor Mohammed lay down by his donkey on a great pile of stones and fell asleep. In the morning he awoke, and alas his donkey was dead. He was in despair, but his kindly nature would not let the poor brute lie there to be devoured by jackals and vultures, so he piled a mound of stones over its body and sat down to weep. While he was weeping, a wealthy Hajji or pilgrim came along, on his return from Mecca. He was surprised to see a man alone in this wilderness, and asked him why he was weeping? Mohammed replied, O Hajji, I have found the tomb of a holy prophet, and I have vowed to be its keeper, but I am in great need. The Hajji thanked him for the news, and dismounted to visit the holy place, and gave Mohammed a rich present. After he had gone Mohammed hastened to the nearest village and bought provisions and then returned to his holy prophet's tomb. The Hajji spread the news, and pilgrims thronged to the spot with rich presents and offerings. As money came in Mohammed brought masons and built a costly tomb with a tall white dome that could be seen across the Jordan. He lived in a little room by the tomb, and soon the miraculous lights began to appear in the tomb at night, which Mohammed had kindled when no one was near. He increased in fame and wealth, and the Prophet's tomb became one of the great shrines of the land. At length Sheikh Ali heard of the fame of the new holy place in the desert, and as his own visitors began to fall off, decided to go himself and gain the merit of a visit to the tomb of that famous prophet. When he arrived there with his rich presents of green cloth, incense and money, he bowed in silence to pray towards Mecca, when suddenly he recognized in the holy keeper of the tomb, his old servant Mohammed. "Salam alaykoom" said Sheikh Ali. "Alaykoom es Salam," replied Mohammed. When he asked him how he came here, and how he found this tomb, Mohammed replied, this "tomb is a great "sirr" or mystery, and I am forbidden to utter the secret." "But you _must_ tell _me_," said Sheikh Ali, "for I am a father to you." Mohammed refused and Ali insisted, until at length Mohammed said, "my honored Sheikh, you remember having given me a donkey. It was a faithful donkey, and when it died I buried it. This is the tomb of that donkey!" "Mashallah! Mashallah!" said Sheikh Ali. The will of Allah be done! Then they ate and drank together, and renewed the memory of their former life, and then Sheikh Mohammed said to Sheikh Ali, "My master, as I have told you the 'sirr' of my prophet's tomb, I wish to know the secret of yours." "Impossible," said Ali, "for that is one of the ancient mysteries, too sacred to be mentioned by mortal lips." "But you _must_ tell me, even as I have told you." At length the old Sheikh Ali stroked his snowy beard, adjusted his white turban, and whispered to Mohammed, "and my holy place is the _tomb of that donkey's father_!" "Mashallah," said Mohammed, "may Allah bless the beard of the holy donkeys!" The people tell this story, which shows, that they ridicule and despise their holy places, and yet are too superstitious to give them up. The great thing with the sheiks who keep them is _the piastres_ they make from the visitors. As we go up the hill to Safita, you see the tall, beautiful Burj, or Crusader's tower, built as were many of the castles and towers whose ruins you see on the hills about here, by the French and English eight hundred years ago, to keep down the wild and rebellious people. The Protestant Church is at the east. These are two watch towers. One was built for warriors who fought with sword and spear, and the other for the simple warfare of the gospel. You may depend upon it, we shall have a welcome here. It is nearly sunset, and the people are coming in from their fields and pastures and vineyards. Daûd and Nicola, and Michaiel, Soleyman, Ibrahim, and Yusef, Miriam, Raheel and Nejmy and crowds of others with a throng of little ragged boys and girls, come running to greet us. "Praise God we have seen you in peace!" "Ehelan wa Sehelan," "Welcome and Welcome!" "Be preferred!" "Honor us with your presence!" "How is your state?" "Inshullah you are all well!" "How are those you left behind?" "How are the preserved of God?" "I hope you are not wearied with the long ride, this hot day?" "From whence have you come, in peace?" "What happy day is this to Safita!" and we answer as fast as we can, and dismount and pitch the tent in front of the church door, in the little plot of ground next to the houses of some of the brethren. The church is built of cream colored limestone, the same color as the great Burj, and contrasts strongly with the houses of the people. Did you ever see such houses? They are hardly high enough to stand up in, and are built of roundish boulders of black trap-rock, without lime, and look as if the least jar would tumble them all down. Each house has but one room, and here the cattle, goats and donkeys all sleep in the same room. The people are poorer than any fellaheen (peasants) you ever saw. There is not a chair or table in the village, unless the Beshoor family have them. They are the only wealthy people here, and in years past they have oppressed the Protestants in the most cruel manner. Beshoor had a lawsuit with the people about the land of the village. It belonged to them, and he wanted it. So he brought Government horsemen and drove them off their lands and took the crops himself. They thought they would try a new way to get justice. The Government officials were all bribed, so there was no hope there. So they decided to turn Protestants and get aid in that way. They did not know what the Protestant religion was, but had some idea that it would help them. Down they went to Tripoli to the missionaries with a list of three hundred persons who wanted to become Angliz or Protestants. The people sometimes call us Angliz, or English, others call us "Boostrant" or "Brostant," but the common name is "Injiliyeen" or people of the Enjeel, or Evangel, that is, the Evangelicals. Dr. Post and your Uncle Samuel came up to Safita to look into the matter. They found the people grossly ignorant and living like cattle, calling themselves Protestants and knowing nothing of the gospel. So they sent a teacher and began to teach them. When the people found that the missionaries did not come to distribute money, some of them went back to the Greeks. But others said no; this new religion is more than we expected. The more we hear, the more we like it. We shall live and die Protestants. Then Beit Beshoor became alarmed. They said, if this people get a school, have a teacher, and read the Bible, we cannot oppress them. They must be kept down in ignorance. So they began in earnest. The Protestants were arrested and dragged off to Duraikish to prison. Women and children were beaten. Brutal horsemen were quartered on their houses. That means, that a rough fellow, armed with pistols and a sword came to the house of Abû Asaad, and stayed two weeks. He made them cook chickens, and bring eggs and bread and everything he wanted every day, and bring barley for his horse. The poor man had no barley and had to buy, and the Greeks would make him pay double price for it. When he could get no more he was beaten and his wife insulted, and so it was in almost every Protestant house. They began to love the Gospel, and the men who knew how to read, would meet to read and pray together. One evening, all the Protestants met together in one of the houses. Their sufferings were very great. Their winter stores had been plundered, their olives gathered by Beit Beshoor, and they talked and prayed over their trouble. It was a dark, cold, rainy night, and the wind blew a gale. While they were talking together, a man came rushing in crying, run for your lives! the horsemen are here! Before they could get out, a squad of wild looking wretches were at the door. The men fled, carrying the larger children and the women carrying the babies, and off they went into the wilderness in the storm and darkness. Some women were seized and tied by ropes around their waists, to the horsemen, and marched off for miles to prison. The men who were caught were put in chains. Some time later they got back home again. But they would not give up the Gospel. Beshoor sent men who told them they could have peace if they would only go back to the Greek Church. But he offered peace quite too late. They had now learned to love the Gospel, and it was worth more to them than all the world beside. One night they were assembled in a little low black house, when some men came to the door and threw in burning bundles of straw and then shut the door, so that they were almost stifled with the smoke. They sent a messenger to Beirût. The case was laid before the Pasha, and he telegraphed to have the Protestants let alone. But Beshoor cared for nothing. A Nusairy was hired to shoot Abû Asaad, the leading Protestant. His house was visited in the daytime, and the man saw where Abû Asaad's bed was placed. In the night he came stealthily upon the roof, dug a hole through, and fired three bullets at the spot. But see how God protects his people! That evening Abû Asaad said to his wife; the floor is getting damp in the corner, let us remove the bed and mat to the other side. They did so, and when the man fired, the bullets went into the ground just where Abû Asaad had slept the night before! He ran out and saw the assassins and recognized one of them as the servant of Beshoor's son. The next day he complained to the Government and they refused to hear him because he did not bring witnesses! But the poor people would not give up. Every day they went to their fields, carrying their Testaments in their girdles and at noontime would read and find comfort. Their children were half naked and half starved. When word reached Beirût, the native Protestant women met together and collected several hundred piastres (a piastre is four cents) for the women and girls of Safita. They made up a bale of clothing, and sent with it a very touching and kind letter, telling their poor persecuted sisters to bear their trials in patience, and put all their trust in the Lord Jesus. That aid, together with the contributions made by the missionaries and others in Beirût, gave them some relief, and the kind words of sympathy strengthened their hearts. The school was kept up amid all these troubles. One of the boys was taught in Abeih Seminary, and two of the girls were sent to the Beirût Female Seminary. You would have been amused to see those girls when they first reached Beirût. They walked barefoot from Safita down to Tripoli, about forty miles, and then Uncle S. took them on to Beirût. He bought shoes for them, and hired two little donkeys for them to ride, but they preferred to walk a part of the way, and would carry their shoes in their hands and run along the sandy beach in the surf, far ahead of the animals. I rode out to meet them, and they were a sorry sight to see. Uncle S. rode a forlorn-looking horse, and two ragged men from Safita walked by his side, followed by two ragged fat-faced girls riding on little donkeys. The girls were almost bewildered at the city sights and scenes. Soon we met a carriage, and they were so frightened that they turned pale, and their donkeys were almost paralyzed with fear. One of the little girls, when asked if she knew what that was, said it was a mill walking. The first few days in school they were so homesick for Safita that they ran away several times. They could not bear to be washed and combed and sent to the Turkish bath, but wanted to come back here among the goats and calves and donkeys. One night they went to their room and cried aloud. Rufka, the teacher, asked them what they wanted? They said, pointing to the white beds, "We don't like these white things to sleep on. We don't want to stay here. There are no calves and donkeys, and the room is so light and cold!" The people here in Safita think that the cattle help to keep the room warm. In the daytime they complained of being tired of sitting on the seats to study, and wished to _stand up and rest_. One was 11 and the other 12 years old, and that was in 1865. One of them, Raheel, fell sick after a time, and was much troubled about her sins. Her teacher Sara, who slept near her, overheard her praying and saying, "Oh Lord Jesus, do give me a new heart! I am a poor sinner. Do you suppose that because I am from Safita, you cannot give me a new heart? O Lord, I _know_ you can. Do have mercy on me!" Who are those clean and well dressed persons coming out of the church? Our dear brother Yusef Ahtiyeh, the native preacher, and his wife Hadla, and Miriam, the teacher of the girls' school. Yusef is one of the most refined and lovely young men in Syria. What a clear eye he has, and what a pleasant face! He too has borne much for his Master. In 1865, when he left the Greek Church, he was living with his brother in Beirût. His brother turned him out of the house at night, with neither bed nor clothing. He came to my house and staid with me some time. He said it was hard to be driven out by his brother and mother, but he could bear anything for Christ's sake. Said he, "I can bear cursing and beating and the loss of property. But my mother is weeping and wailing over me. She thinks I am a heretic and am lost forever. Oh, it is hard to bear, the 'persecution of tears!'" But the Lord gave him grace to bear it, and he is now the happy spiritual guide of this large Protestant community, and the Nusairy Sheikhs look up to him with respect, while that persecuting brother of his is poverty-stricken and sick, and can hardly get bread for his children. Miriam, the teacher, is a heroine. Her parents were Greeks, but sent her to school to learn to read. She learned in a short time to read the New Testament, and to love it, and to keep the Sabbath day holy. The keeping of the Sabbath was something new in Safita. The Nusairîyeh have no holy day at all, and the Greeks have so many that they keep none of them. They work and buy and sell and travel on the Sabbath as on other days, and think far more of certain saint's days than of the Sabbath. When Miriam was only seven years old, her father said to her one Sabbath morning, "go with me to the hursh (forest) to get a donkey load of wood." She replied, "my father, I cannot go, it is not right, for it is God's day." The father went without her, and while cutting wood, his donkey strayed away, and he had to search through the mountains for hours, so that he did not reach home until twelve o'clock at night, and then without any wood. He said he should not go for wood on Sunday any more. But a few Sundays after, it was the olive season, and Miriam's mother told her to go out with the women and girls to gather olives. They had been at work during the week, and the mother thought Miriam ought to go on Sunday with the rest. But Miriam said, "don't you remember father's losing the donkey, and what he said about it? I cannot go." "Then," said her mother, "if you will not work, you shall not eat." "Very well, ya imme, I will not eat. If I keep the Lord's day, He will keep me." Away went the mother to the olive orchard, and Miriam went to the preaching and the Sunday School. At evening, when the family all came home, Miriam read in her New Testament and went to bed without her supper. The next morning she said, "Mother, now I am ready to gather olives. Didn't I tell you the Lord would keep me?" After this Miriam's father became a Protestant, and allowed the missionaries to send her to the Seminary in Sidon, where she was the best girl in the school. When she went home in the vacation in 1869, new persecutions were stirred up against the Protestants. The Greek Bishop, with a crowd of priests and a body of armed horsemen, came to the village, to compel all the Protestants to turn back to the old religion. The armed men went to the Protestant houses and seized men and women and dragged them to the great Burj, in which is the Greek church. Miriam's father and mother were greatly terrified and went back with them to the Greeks. They then called for Miriam. "Never," said she to the Bishop, "I will never worship pictures and pray to saints again. You may cut me in pieces, but I will not stir one step with them." The old Bishop turned back, and left her to herself. Near by was a man named Abû Isbir, who was so frightened that he said, "yes, I will go back, don't strike me!" But his wife, Im Isbir, was not willing to give up. She rebuked her husband and took hold of his arm, and actually dragged him back to his house, to save him the shame of having denied the Gospel. He stood firm, and afterwards united with the Church. Here comes Im Isbir. Poor woman, she is a widow now. Her husband died and left her with these little children, and last night her valuable cow died, and she is in great distress. Yusef, the preacher, says she is the most needy person in Safita. You would think so from the ragged appearance of the children. They are like the children in Eastern Turkey, whom Mr. Williams of Mardin used to describe, whose garments were so ragged and tattered that there was hardly cloth enough to _make borders for the holes_! They dig up roots in the fields for food, and now and then the neighbors give them a little of their coarse corn bread. The Greeks tell her to turn back to them and they will help her, but she says, "when one has found the light, can she turn back into the darkness again?" Yusef wishes us to walk in and sit down, as the people are anxious to see us. He lives in the church from necessity. He cannot get a house in the village, excepting these dark cavern-like rooms with damp floors, and so the missionaries told him to occupy one half of the church room. A curtain divides it into two rooms and on Sunday the curtain is drawn, his things are piled up on one side, and the women and girls sit in that part, while the men and boys sit on the other side. All sit on mats on the floor. Is that cradle hanging from the ring in the arch between the two rooms, kept there on Sunday? Yes, and when I preached here last June, Yusef's baby was swinging there during the whole service. One of the women kept it swinging gently, by pulling a cord, which hung down from it. It did not disturb the meeting at all. No one noticed it. They have calves and cows, donkeys and goats in their own houses at night, and sleep sweetly enough, so that the swinging of a hanging cradle in the inside of the church is not thought to be at all improper. Do you see that shelf on the wall? It reminds me of a little girl named Miriam who once came to your Aunt Annie in Deir Mimas to ask about the Sidon school, whither she was going in a few weeks. She told Miriam that she would have to be thoroughly washed and combed every day, and would sleep on a _bedstead_. Then Miriam asked permission to see a bedstead, as she did not know what it could be. The next night, about midnight, Miriam's mother heard something drop heavily on the floor, and then a child crying. She went across the room, and there was Miriam sitting on the mat. "What is the matter, Miriam?" she asked. Miriam said, "mother, the Sit told me I was to sleep on a bedstead in Sidon school, and I thought I would practice beforehand, so I tried to sleep on the shelf, and tumbled off in my sleep!" Abû Asaad says the Nusairy Sheikh who was arrested some months ago has been poisoned. Poisoning used to be very common in Syria. If we should call at the house of a Nusairy, and he brought coffee for us to drink, he would take a sip himself out of the cup before giving it to us, to show that it was not poisoned. Once Uncle S. and Aunt A. were invited out to dine in Hums at the house of the deacon of the church. His mother is an ignorant woman, and had often threatened to kill him. When they had eaten, they suddenly were taken ill, and suffered much from the effects of it. It was found that the mother had put poison into the food, intending to kill her son, the missionaries, and the other invited guests, but through the mercy of God none of them were seriously injured. Michaiel says that they have only half a crop of corn this year, as the _locusts_ devoured the other half in the spring. You remember I sent you some locusts' wings once, in a letter. When they appear in the land, the Pashas and Mudirs and Kaimakams give orders to the people to go out and gather the eggs of the locusts as soon as they begin to settle down to bury themselves in the earth. The body of the female locust is like the spawn of a fish, filled with one mass of eggs. Each man is obliged to bring so many ounces of these eggs to the Pasha and have them weighed and then burned. A tailor of Beirût brought a bag of them, and as it was late, put them in his shop for the night and went home. He was unwell for a few days and when he went to his shop again, opened the door, and thousands of little black hopping creatures, like imps, came like a cloud into his face. They had hatched out in his absence. This is a fearful land for lying; in these mountains around us, you cannot depend on a word you hear. The people say that in the beginning of the world, Satan came down to the earth with seven bags of lies, which he intended to distribute in the seven kingdoms of the earth. The first night after he reached the earth he slept in Syria, and opened one of the bags, letting the lies loose in the land. But while he was asleep, some one came and opened all the other bags! so that Syria got more than her share! An old man in Beirût once said, "Sir, you must be careful what you believe, and whom you trust in this country. If there are twenty-four inches of hypocrisy in the world, twenty-three are in Syria." This man was a native of great experience. I think he was rather severe on his countrymen. Yet the people have had a hard training. The Nusairîyeh all lie. They do not even pretend to tell the truth. The Druze religion teaches the people that it is right to lie to all except Druzes. The Moslems are better than either of these two classes, but they lie without a blush, and you must be very careful how you believe them. Among the Maronite and Greek sects, their priests tell the people that they can forgive sins. When a man lies or steals or does anything else that is wicked, he pays a few piastres to the priest, who gives him what they call absolution or forgiveness. So the people can do what they please without fear, as the priest is ready to forgive them for money. These sects call themselves Christian, but there is very little of Christianity among them. A Greek in Tripoli once told me that there was not a man in the Greek church in Tripoli who would not lie, excepting _one_ of the priests. Leaving Safita, we will go back on a different road, crossing directly to the sea-shore, and then along the coast to Tripoli. Here is a little abject village, and the people look as abject as the village. Their neighbors laugh at them for their stupidity, and tell the following story: They have no wells in the village, and the little fountain is not sufficient for their cattle, so they water them from the Ramet or pool, which is filled by the rains and lasts nearly all summer. One year the water in the Ramet began to fail, and there was a quarrel between the two quarters of the village, as to which part should have the first right to the water. Finally they decided to divide the pool into two parts, by making a fence of poles across the middle of it. This worked very well. One part watered their cattle on one side and the other part on the other side. But one night there was a great riot in the village. Some of the men from the north side saw a south-sider dipping up water from the north side and pouring it over the fence into the other part of the pool. Of course this made no difference, as the fence was nothing but open lattice work, but the people were too stupid to see that, so they fought and bruised one another for a long time. In another village, _Aaleih_, near Beirût, the people were formerly so stupid that the Arabs say that once when the clouds came up the mountains and settled like a bank of fog under the cliff on which their village is built, they thought it was the sea, and went to fish in the clouds! So you see the Syrians are as fond of humorous stories as other people. PART IV. But here we are coming upon a gypsy camp. The Arabs call them Nowar, and you will find that the Arab women of the villages are careful to keep an eye on their little children when the gypsies are around. They often steal children in the towns and cities, when they can find them straying away from home at dusk, and then sell them as servants in Moslem families. Last year we were all greatly interested in a story of this kind, which I know you will be glad to hear. After the terrible massacre in Damascus in 1860, thousands of the Greek and Greek Catholic families migrated to Beirût, and among them was a man named Khalil Ferah, who escaped the fire and sword with his wife and his little daughter Zahidy. I remember well how we were startled one evening in 1862, by hearing a crier going through the streets, "child lost! girl lost!" The next day he came around again, "child lost!" There was great excitement about it. The poor father and mother went almost frantic. Little Zahidy, who was then about six years old, was coming home from school with other girls in the afternoon, and they said a man came along with a sack on his back, and told Zahidy that her mother had sent him to buy her some sugar plums and then take her home, and she went away with him. It is supposed that he decoyed her away to some by-road and then put her into the great sack, and carried her off to the Arabs or the gypsies. The poor father left no means untried to find her. He wrote to Damascus, Alexandria, and Aleppo, describing the child and begged his friends everywhere to watch for her, and send him word if they found her. There was one mark on the child, which, he said, would be certain to distinguish her. When she was a baby, and nursing at her mother's breast, her mother upset a little cup of scalding hot coffee upon the child's breast, which burned it to a blister, leaving a scar which could not be removed. This sign the father described, and his friends aided him in trying to find the little girl. They went to the encampments of the gypsies and looked at all the children, but all in vain. The father journeyed by land and by sea. Hearing of a little girl in Aleppo who could not give an account of herself, he went there, but it was not his child. Then he went to Damascus and Alexandria, and at length hearing that a French Countess in Marseilles had a little Syrian orphan girl whose parents were not known, he sent to Marseilles and examined the girl, but she was _not his child_. Months and years passed on, but the father never ceased to speak and think of that little lost girl. The mother too was almost distracted. At length light came. Nine years had passed away, and the Beirût people had almost forgotten the story of the lost Damascene girl. Your uncle S. and your Aunt A. were sitting in their house one day, in Tripoli, when Tannoos, the boy, brought word that a man and woman from Beirût wished to see them. They came in and introduced themselves. They were Khalil, the father of the little lost girl, and his sister, who had heard that Zahidy was in Tripoli, and had come to search for her. The mother was not able to leave home. It seems that a native physician in Tripoli, named Sheikh Aiub el Hashim, was an old friend of the father and had known the family and all the circumstances of the little girl's disappearance, and for years he had been looking for her. At length he was called one day to attend a sick servant girl in the family of a Moslem named Syed Abdullah. The poor girl was ill from having been beaten in a cruel manner by the Moslem. Her face and arms were tattooed in the Bedawin style, and she told him that she was a Bedawin girl, and had been living here for some years, and her name was Khodra. While examining the bruises on her body, he observed a peculiar scar on her breast. He was startled. He looked again. It was precisely the scar that his friend had so often described to him. From her age, her features, her complexion and all, he felt sure that she was the lost child. He said nothing, but went home and wrote all about it to the father in Beirût. He hastened to Tripoli bringing his sister, as he being a man, could not be admitted to a Moslem hareem. Then the question arose, how should the sister see the girl! They came and talked with your uncle, and went to Yanni and the other Vice Consuls, and at length they found out that the women of that Moslem family were skillful in making silk and gold embroidery which they sold. So his sister determined to go and order some embroidered work, and see the girl. She talked with the Moslem women, and with their Bedawy servant girl, and made errands for the women to bring her specimens of their work, improving the opportunity to talk with the servant. She saw the scar, and satisfied herself from the striking resemblance of the girl to her mother, that she was the long-lost Zahidy. The father now took measures to secure his daughter. The American, Prussian, English and French Vice Consuls sent a united demand to the Turkish Pasha, that the girl be brought to court to meet her father, and that the case be tried in the Mejlis, or City Council. The Moslems were now greatly excited. They knew that there were not less than twenty girls in their families who had been stolen in this way, and if one could be reclaimed, perhaps the rest might, so they resolved to resist. They brought Bedawin Arabs to be present at the trial, and hired them to swear falsely. When the girl was brought in, the father was quite overcome. He could see the features of his dear child, but she was so disfigured with the Bedawin tattooing and the brutal treatment of the Moslems, that his heart sank within him. Yet he examined her, and took his oath that this was his daughter, and demanded that she be given up to him. The Bedawin men and women were now brought in. One swore that he was the father of the girl, and a woman swore that she was her mother. Then several swore that they were her uncles, but it was proved that they were in no way related to the one who said he was her father. Other witnesses were called, but they contradicted one another. Then they asked the girl. Poor thing, she had been so long neglected and abused, that she _had forgotten her father_, and the Moslem women had threatened to kill her if she said she was his daughter, so she declared she was born among the Bedawin, and was a Moslem in religion. Money had been given to certain of the Mejlis, and they finally decided that the girl should go to the Moslem house of Derwish Effendi to await the final decision. The poor father now went to the Consuls. They made out a statement of the case and sent it to the Consuls General in Beirût, who sent a joint dispatch to the Waly of all Syria, who lives in Damascus, demanding that as the case could not be fairly tried in Tripoli, the girl be brought to Beirût to be examined by a Special Commission. The Waly telegraphed at once to Tripoli, to have the girl sent on by the first steamer to Beirût. The Moslem women now told the girl that orders had come to have her killed, and that she was to be taken on a steamer as if to go to Beirût, but that really they were going to throw her into the sea, and that if she reached Beirût alive they would cut her up and burn her! So the poor child went on the steamer in perfect terror, and she reached Beirût in a state of exhaustion. When she was rested, a Commission was formed consisting of the Moslem Kadi of Beirût who was acting Governor, the political Agent, Delenda Effendi, the Greek Catholic Bishop Agabius, the Maronite Priest Yusef, and the agent of the Greek Bishop, together with all the members of the Executive Council. Her father, mother and aunt were now brought in and sat near her. She refused to recognize them, and was in constant fear of being injured. The Kadi then turned to her and said, "do not fear, my child. You are among friends. Do not be afraid of people who have threatened you. No one shall harm you." The Moslem Kadi, the Greek Catholic priests, and others having thus spoken kindly to her, the father and mother stated the history of how the little girl was lost nine years ago, and that she had a scar on her breast. The scar was examined, and all began to feel that she was really their own daughter. The girl began to feel more calm, and the Kadi told her that her own mother wanted to ask her a few questions. Her mother now went up to her and said, "My child, don't you remember me?" She said "no I do not." "Don't you remember that _your name was once Zahidy_, and I used to call you, and you lived in a house with a little yard, and flowers before the door, and that you went with the little girls to school, and came home at night, and that one day a man came and offered you sugar plums and led you away and carried you off to the Arabs? Don't you know _me_, my _own daughter_?" The poor girl trembled; her lips quivered, and she said, "Yes, I _did_ have another name. I _was_ Zahidy. I did go with little girls. Oh, ya imme! My mother! you _are_ my mother," and she sprang into her arms and wept, and the mother wept and laughed, and the Moslem Kadi and the Mufti, and the priests and the Bishops and the Effendis and the great crowd of spectators wiped their eyes, and bowed their heads, and there was a great silence. After a little the Kadi said, "it is enough. This girl _is_ the daughter of Kahlil Ferah. Sir, take your child, and Allah be with you!" The father wiped away the tears and said, "Your Excellency, you see this poor girl all tattooed and disfigured. You see how ignorant and feeble she is. If she were not my child, there is nothing about her to make me wish to take her. But she is my own darling child, and with all her faults and infirmities, I love her." The whole Council then arose and congratulated the father and mother, and a great crowd accompanied them home. Throngs of people came to see her and congratulate the family, and after a little the girl was sent to a boarding school. I can hardly think over this story even now without tears, for I think how glad I should have been to get back again a child of mine if it had been lost. And I have another thought too about that little lost girl. If that father loved his daughter so as to search and seek for her, and expend money, and travel by land and sea for years, in trying to find her, and when at length he found her, so forlorn and wretched and degraded, yet loved her still because she was _his daughter_, do you not think that Jesus loves us even more? We were lost and wretched and forlorn. A worse being than Bedawin gypsies has put his mark on our hearts and our natures. We have wandered far, far away. We have served the world, and forgotten our dear Heavenly Father. We have even refused to receive Him when he has come near us. Yet Jesus came to seek and to save us. And when he found us so degraded and sinful and disfigured, He loved us still, because we are His own children. Don't you think that the little lost Damascene girl was thankful when she reached her home, and was loved and kindly treated by father and mother and relatives and friends? And ought we not to be very thankful when Jesus brings us home, and calls us "dear children" and opens the gate of heaven to us? This story of the lost Damascene child calls to my mind a little song which the Maronite women in Lebanon sing to their babies as a lullaby. The story is that a Prince's daughter was stolen by the Bedawin Arabs, and carried to their camp. She grew up and was married to a Bedawin Sheikh and had a little son. One day a party of muleteers came to the camp selling grapes, and she recognized them as from her own village. She did not dare speak to them, so she began to sing a lullaby to her baby, and motioned to the grape-sellers to come near, and when the Bedawin were not listening, she would sing them her story in the same tone as the lullaby. THE LULLABY. Sleep, baby sleep! a sleep so sweet and mild, Sleep, my Arab boy, my little Bedawin child! _Aside to the } Once I was a happy girl, grape-sellers_ } The Prince Abdullah's daughter. Playing with the village maids, Bringing wood and water. Suddenly the Bedawin Carried me away; Clothed me in the Aba robe And here they make me stay. Sleep, baby sleep! a sleep so sweet and mild, Sleep, my Arab boy, my little Bedawin child! _Aside_ Ye sellers of grapes hear what I say. I had dressed in satin rich and gay. They took my costly robes away, And dressed me in Aba coarse and grey. I had lived on viands costly and rare, And now raw camel's flesh is my fare. Sleep, baby sleep! a sleep so sweet and mild, Sleep, my Arab boy, my little Bedawin child! _Aside_ Oh seller of grapes, I beg you hear, Go tell my mother and father dear, That you have seen me here to-day. Just by the Church my parents live, The Bedawin stole me on Thursday eve. Let the people come and their sister save, Let them come with warriors bold and brave, Lest I die of grief and go to my grave. The grape-sellers then go home, and the warriors come and rescue her, and take her home. We will stop here a moment and make a pencil sketch of this Arab camp, but we must be very careful not to let them see us writing. They have a great fear of the art of writing, a superstitious idea that a person who writes or sketches in their camp, is writing some charm or incantation to bring mischief upon them. I once heard of a missionary who went to an Arab village to spend the night. The people were all Maronites, and grossly ignorant. He pitched his tent and sat down to rest. Presently a crowd of rough young men came in and began to insult him. They demanded bakhshish, and handled his bedding and cooking utensils in a very brutal manner, and asked him if he had any weapons. He bethought himself of one weapon and began to use it. He took out a pencil and paper, and began to make a sketch of the ringleader. He looked him steadily in the eye, and then wrote rapidly with his pencil. The man began to tremble and slowly retreated and finally shouted to his companions, and off they all went. Shortly after, they sent a man to beg Mr. L. not to cut off their heads! Their priests teach them that the Protestants have the power of working magic, and that they draw a man's portrait and take it with them, and if the man does anything to displease them, they cut off the head of the picture and the man's head drops off! Mr. L. sent them word that they had better be very careful how they behaved. They did not molest him again. Here we are near Tripoli, at the Convent of the _Sacred Fish_. What a beautiful spot! This large high building with its snow-white dome, and the great sycamore tree standing by this circular pool of crystal water, make a beautiful scene. What a crowd of Moslem boys! They have come all the way from Tripoli, about two miles, to feed the Sacred Fish. They are a gay looking company, with their red, green, blue, yellow, white and purple clothes, and their bright red caps and shoes, and some of them with white turbans. They come out on feast days and holidays to play on this green lawn and feed the fish. The old sheikh who keeps this holy place, has great faith in these fish. He says they are all good Moslems, and are inhabited by the souls of Moslem saints, and there is one black fish, the Sheikh of the saints, who does not often show himself to spectators. There are hundreds if not thousands of fish, resembling the dace or chubs of America. He says that during the Crimean war, many of the older ones went off under the sea to Sevastopol and fought the Russian infidels, and some of them came back wounded. The people think that if any one eats these fish he will die immediately. That I _know_ to be false, for I have tried it. When the American Consul was here in 1856, his Moslem Kawasses caught several of the fish, and brought them to Mr. Lyons' house. We had them cooked and ate them, but found them coarse and unpalatable. That was sixteen years ago and we have not felt the evil effects yet. This poor woman has a sick child, and has come to get the Sheikh to read the Koran over it and cure it. The most of the Syrian doctors are ignorant quacks, and the people have so many superstitions that they prefer going to saints' tombs rather than call a good physician. There is a Medical College in Beirût now, and before long Syria will have some skilful doctors. I knew an old Egyptian doctor in Duma named Haj Ibrahim, who was a conceited fellow. He used to bleed for every kind of disease. An old man eighty years of age was dying of consumption, and the Haj opened a vein and let him bleed to death. When the man died, he said if he had only taken a little more blood, the old man would have recovered. I was surprised by his coming to me one day and asking for some American newspapers. I supposed he wished them to wrap medicines in and gave him several New York Tribunes. A few days after he invited us to eat figs and grapes in his vineyard and we stopped at his house. He said he was very thankful for the papers. They had been very useful. I wondered what he meant, and asked him. He showed me a jar in the corner in which he had dissolved the papers into a pulp in oil and water, and had given the pulp as medicine to the people! He said it was a powerful medicine. He supposed that the English printed letters would have some magic influence on diseases. One of the Moslem lads carries a short iron spear as a sign that he is going to be a derwish. Dr. De Forest once found himself surrounded in a Moslem village by a troop of little Moslems, each of them with an iron-headed spear in his hand. A Moorish Sheikh, or Chief, had been for some two years teaching the Moslems of the place the customs of their holy devotees, and in consequence all the boys had become derwishes, or Moslem monks. He was a shrewd old Sheikh. He knew that the true way to perpetuate his religion was to _teach the children_. He had taught them the Moslem prayers and prostrations, and to keep certain moral precepts. How glad we should be if these boys would come and sit down by us while we talk to them of Jesus! There they come. See how their eyes sparkle, as I speak to them. They have never heard about the gospel before. But I must speak in a low tone, as the old Sheikh is coming and he looks down upon us as infidel dogs! Perhaps some of them will think of these words some day, and put their trust in our Divine Saviour. Many of the people seem to think that the missionary's house is like the Cave of Adullam, where David lived, (1 Sam. xxii:2) when "every one that was in distress, and every one that was in debt and every one that was discontented, gathered themselves unto him." It makes it very hard to deal with the people, to have so many of them come to us with improper motives. They come and say they love the gospel and want instruction, and have endured persecution, when suddenly you find that they want money, or to be protected from punishment, or to get office, or to get married to some improper person, or something else that is wrong. Once a sheikh from Dunnîyeh in Lebanon came to Tripoli, and declared himself a Protestant. He was very zealous, and wanted us to feel that he was too good a man to be turned away, as he was wealthy and of a high family. He was armed with a small arsenal of weapons. He had a servant to carry his gun and pipe, and came day after day to read books, and talk on religion. He said that all he needed was the protection of the American Consul, and then he would make his whole village Protestants. We told him we could have nothing to do with politics. If he wanted to become a Christian, he must take up his cross and follow Christ. He said that was just what he wanted to do, only he wished to benefit the cause by bringing others to follow Him. He seemed very earnest, but there was something dark and mysterious in his ways, and we were afraid of him. Now the Arabs have a proverb, "No tree is cut down but by _one of its own limbs_," _i.e._ the axe handle, and we thought a native only could understand a native, so we took the famous convert around to see Yanni. He went into Yanni's office, and Mr. L. and myself sat out in the garden under the orange trees. After a few minutes Yanni called out, "Come in, be preferred, your excellencies! I have found it all out. I understand the case." We went in and climbed up upon the platform, next the desk in the office. The Maronite candidate for the church sat smiling, as if he thought he would now be received at once. Yanni went on, "I understand the case exactly. This man is a son of a Sheikh in Dunnîyeh. He is in a deadly quarrel with his father and brothers about the property, and says that if we will give him the protection of the American Consulate, he will go home, kill his father and brothers, seize all the property, and then come down and join the church, and live in Tripoli!" We were astounded, but the brutal fellow turned to us and said, "yes, and I will then make all the village Protestants, and if I fail, then cut my head off!" We told him that if he did anything of that kind, we would try to get him hung, and the American Consulate would have nothing to do with him. "Very well," said he, "I have made you a _fair offer_, and if you don't accept it, I have nothing more to say." We rebuked him sharply, and gave him a sermon which he did not relish, for he said he was in haste, and bade us a most polite good morning. He was what I should call an Adullamite. A Greek priest in the village of Barbara once took me aside, to a retired place behind his house, and told me that he had a profound secret to tell me. He wished to become a Protestant and make the whole village Protestant, but on one condition, that I would get him a hat, a coat, and pantaloons, put a flag-staff on his house, and have him appointed American Consul. I told him the matter of the hat, coat and pantaloons he could attend to at but slight expense, but I had no right to make Consuls and erect flagstaffs. Then he said he could not become Protestant. In 1866, a man named Yusef Keram rebelled against the Government of Lebanon and was captured and exiled. The day he was brought into Beirût, a tall rough looking mountaineer called at my house. He was armed with a musket and sword, besides pistols and dirks. After taking a seat, he said, "I wish to become Angliz and American." "What for," said I. "Only that I would be honored with the honorable religion." "Do you know anything about it?" "Of course not. How should I know?" "Don't you know better than to follow a religion you know nothing about?" "But I can learn." "How do you know but what we worship the devil?" "No matter. Whatever you worship, I will worship." I then asked him what he came for. He said he was in the rebel army, was captured, escaped and fought again, and now feared he should be shot, so he wanted to become Angliz and American. I told him he need have no fear, as the Pasha had granted pardon to all. "Is that so?" "Yes, it is." On hearing this he said he had business to look after, and bade me good evening. But you will be tired of hearing about the Adullamites. If those who came to David were like the discontented and debtors who come to us, he must have been tired too. So many suspicious characters come to us, that we frequently ask men, when they come professing great zeal for the gospel, whether they have killed anybody, or stolen, or quarrelled with any one? And it is not always easy to find out the truth. If fifty men turn Protestants in a village, perhaps five or ten will stand firm, and the rest go back, and frequently all go back. But the rain is coming down and we will hasten to the Meena to Uncle S.'s house, where we can rest after this wearisome and hasty journey from Safita. For your sake I am glad that we took comfortable bedding and bedsteads with us. It costs a few piastres more to hire a baggage animal, but it is cheaper in the end. At one time I was going on a hard journey, and I thought I would be economical, so I took only my horse and a few articles in my khurj or saddle bags, with a little boy to show me the road and take care of my horse. When I reached the village, I stopped at the house of a man said to be a Protestant. He lived in the most abject style, and I soon found by his bad language towards his family and his neighbors that he needed all the preaching I could give him that evening. There was only one room in the house, and that was small. By nine o'clock the mother and the children had lain down on a mat to sleep, and the neighbors who came in were beginning to doze. I was very weary with a long ride on a hot August day, and asked mine host where I should lie down to sleep. He led me to a little elevated platform on the back side of the room, where a bed was spread for me. The dim oil lamp showed me that the bed and covering were neither of them clean, but I was too weary to spend much time in examining them, and after spreading my linen handkerchief over the pillow, I tried to sleep. But this could not be done. Creeping things, great and small, were crawling over me from head to foot. There was a hole in the wall near my head, and the bright moonlight showed what was going on. Fleas, bugs, ants, (attracted by the bread in my khurj,) and more horrible still, swarms of lice covered the bed, and my clothing. I could stand it no longer. Gathering up my things, and walking carefully across the floor to keep from stepping on the sleeping family, I reached the door. But it was fastened with an Arab lock and a huge wooden key, and could only be opened by a violent shaking and rattling. This, with the creaking of the hinges, woke up my host, who sprung up to see what was the matter. I told him I had decided to journey on by moonlight. It was then one o'clock in the morning, and on I rode, so weary, that when I reached Jebaa at ten o'clock, I was obliged to go to bed. I did not recover from the onset of the vermin for weeks. I have known missionaries to travel without beds, tents or bedsteads, and to spend weary days and sleepless nights, so as to be quite unfitted for their great work of preaching to the people. If you ever grow up to become a missionary, I hope you will live as simply as you can, but be careful of your health and try to live as long as you can, for the sake of the people you are working for, and the Lord who sends you forth. It is not good economy for a missionary to become a martyr to studying Arabic, or to poor food, or to exhausting modes of travelling. One can kill himself in a short time, if he wishes, on missionary ground, but he could have done that at home without the great expense of coming here to do it, and besides, that is not what a missionary goes out for. He ought to live as long as he can. He should have a dry house, in a healthy location, good food, and proper conveniences for safe travelling. How pleasant it is to hear that sweet toned bell! Let us climb up to the roof and read the inscription on it. "From little Sabbath School Children in America to the Mission Church in Tripoli, Syria." It was sent in 1862 by the children in Fourth Avenue Church, New York, and in Newark, Syracuse, Owego, Montrose and other places. The Moslems abhor bells. They say bells draw together evil spirits. We are not able yet to have a bell in Hums, on account of the Moslem opposition. They do not use bells, but have men called Muezzins stationed on the little balconies around the top of the tall minarets, to call out five times a day to the people to come to prayer. They select men and boys with high clear voices, and at times their voices sound very sweetly in the still evening. They say, "There is no God but God." That is true. Then they add, "and Mohammed is the Apostle of God," and that is not true. As the great historian Gibbon said; these words contain an "eternal truth and an eternal lie." The Moslems are obliged to pray five times every day, wherever they may be. At home, in their shops, in the street, or on a journey, whenever the appointed time arrives, they fall on their knees, and go through with the whole routine of prayers and bodily prostrations. One day several Moslems called on us in Tripoli, at the eighth hour of the day (about 2 o'clock P.M.), and after they had been sitting some time engaged in conversation, one of them arose and said to his companions, "I must pray.". They all asked, "Why? It is not the hour of prayer." "Because," said he, "when I went to the mosque at noon to pray, I had an ink-spot on my finger nail, and did not perceive it until after I came out, and hence my prayer was of no account. I have just now scraped it off, and must repeat my noon prayer." So saying, he spread his cloak upon the floor, and then kneeling upon it with his face towards Mecca, commenced his prayers, while his companions amused themselves by talking about his ceremonial strictness. One of them said to me, "He thinks he is holy, but if you could see the _inside_ of him, you would find it black as pitch!" He kept his head turned to hear what was being said, and after he had finished, disputed a remark one of them had made while he was praying. Such people worship God with their lips, while their hearts are far from him. Moslems have a great horror of swine. They think us barbarians to eat ham or pork. In February, 1866, the Moslems of Beirût were keeping the Fast of Ramadan. For a whole month of each year they can eat and drink nothing between sunrise and sunset, and they become very cross and irritable. In Hums, some Moslems saw a dog eating a bone in Ramadan, and killed him because he would not keep the fast. They fast all day, and feast all night. Ramadan is really a great nocturnal feast, but it is hard for the working people to wait until night before beginning the feast. During that fast of 1866, a Maronite fellah came into Beirût driving a herd of swine to the market. Now of all sights in the world, the sight of swine is to an orthodox Moslem the most intolerable, and especially in the holy month of Ramadan. Even in ordinary times, when swine enter the city, the Moslems gather up their robes, turn their backs and shout, "hub hub," "hub hub," and if the hogs do not hasten along, the "hub hub," is very apt to become a hubbub. On the 28th of that holy month, a large herd entered Beirût on the Damascus road. The Moslems saw them, and forthwith a crowd of Moslem young men and boys hastened to the fray. A few days before, the Maronite Yusef Keram had entered the city amid the rejoicings of the Maronites. These swine, whom the Moslems called "Christian Khanzir," should meet a different reception. Their wrath overcame their prejudice. The Maronite swine-drivers were dispersed and the whole herd were driven on the run up the Assur with shouts of derision, and pelted with stones and clubs. "You khanzir, you Maronite, you Keram, out with you!" and the air rang with shouts mingled with squeals and grunts. I saw the crowd coming. It gathered strength as it approached Bab Yakoob, where the white turbaned faithful rose from their shops and stables to join in the persecution of the stampeding porkers. "May Allah cut off their days! Curses on their grandfather's beard! Curses on the father of their owner! Hub hub! Allah deliver us from their contamination!" were the cries of the crowd as they rushed along. The little boys were laughing and having a good time, and the men were breathing out wrath and tobacco smoke. Alas, for the poor swine! What became of them I could not tell, but the last I saw, was the infuriated crowd driving them into the Khan of Muhayeddin near by, where one knows not what may have happened to them. I hope they did not steal the pork and eat it "on the sly," as the Bedawin did at Mt. Sinai, who threw away the hams the travellers were carrying for provisions, and declared that their camels should not be defiled with the unclean beast! The travellers were _very_ indignant at such a loss, but thought it was too bad to injure the feelings of the devout Moslems, and said no more. What was their horror and wrath to hear the next night that the Bedawin were seen cooking and eating their hams at midnight, when they thought no one would see them! Do the Syrian people all smoke? Almost all of them. They speak of it as "drinking a pipe, drinking a cigar," and you would think that they look upon tobacco as being as necessary to them as water. Old and young men, women and even children smoke, smoke while they work or rest, while at home or journeying, and measure distances by their pipes. I was travelling, and asked a man how far it was to the next village. He said about two pipes of tobacco distant! I found it to be nearly an hour, or three miles. The Orientals spend so much time in smoking, that some one has said "the Moslems came into power with the Koran in one hand, and the sword in the other, but will go out with the Koran in one hand and the pipe in the other!" Here we are on the sandy beach. What myriads of sea shells, and what beautiful colors they have. And here are sponges without number, but they are worthless. There on the sea are the little sloops of the sponge fishers. They are there through the whole summer and the fishers dive down into the sea where the water is from 100 to 200 feet deep, and walk around on the bottom holding their breath, and when they can bear it no longer pull the cord which is tied around the waist, and then their companions draw them up. They do not live long, as it is very hard and unnatural labor. Sometimes they are killed by sharks or other sea monsters. One of them told me that he was once on the bottom, and just about to pick up a beautiful white sponge, when he saw a great monster with huge claws and arms and enormous eyes coming towards him, and he barely escaped being devoured. At another time, the men in the boat felt a sudden jerk on the rope and pulled in, when they found only the man's head, arms and chest on it, the rest of his body having been devoured by some great fish or sea animal. The sponges grow on rocks, pebbles or shells, and some of them are of great value. It is difficult to get the best ones here, as the company who hire the divers export all the good ones to Europe. PART V. Word has come that there is cholera in Odessa, so that all the Russian steamers going to Beirût will be in quarantine. It will not be pleasant to spend a week in the Beirût quarantine, so we will keep our baggage animals and go down by land. It is two long days of nine hours each, and you will be weary enough. Bidding good-bye to our dear friends here and wishing them God's blessing in their difficult work among such people, away we go! Yanni and Uncle S. and some of the teachers will accompany us a little way, according to the Eastern custom, and then we dismount and kiss them all on both cheeks, and pursue our monotonous way along the coast, sometimes riding over rocky capes and promontories and then on the sand and pebbles close to the roaring surf. See how many monasteries there are on the sides of Lebanon! Between Tripoli and Beirût there are about a hundred. The men who live in them are called monks, who make a vow never to marry, and spend their lives eating and drinking the fruits of other men's labors. They own almost all the valuable land in this range of mountains for fifty miles, and the fellaheen live as "tenants at will" on their estates. When a man is lazy or unfortunate, if he is not married, his first thought is to become a monk. They are the most corrupt and worthless vagabonds in the land, and the day must come before long, when the monasteries and convents will be abolished and their property be given back to the people to whom it justly belongs. We are now riding along by the telegraph wires. It seems strange to see Morse's telegraph on this old Phenician coast, and it will seem stranger still when we reach Beirût, to receive a daily morning paper printed in Arabic, with telegrams from all parts of the world! In July, a woman came to the telegraph office in Beirût, asking, "Where is the telegraph?" The Clerk, Yusef Effendi, asked her, "Whom do you want, the Director, the Operator, or the Kawass?" She said, "I want Telegraph himself, for my husband has sent me word that he is in prison in Zahleh and wants me to come with haste, and I heard that Telegraph takes people quicker than any one else. Please tell me the fare, and send me as soon as possible!" The Effendi looked at her, and took her measure, and then said, "You are too tall to go by telegraph, so you will have to go on a mule." The poor ignorant woman went away greatly disappointed. Another old woman, whose son was drafted into the Turkish army, wished to send him a pair of new shoes, so she hung them on the telegraph wire. A way-worn foot traveller coming along soon after took down the new shoes and put them on, and hung his old ones in their place. The next day the old lady returned and finding the old shoes, said, "Mashallah, Mohammed has received his new shoes and sent back his old ones to be repaired." The telegraph has taught all the world useful lessons, and the Syrians have learned one lesson from it which is of great value. When they write letters they use long titles, and flowery salutations, so that a whole page will be taken up with these empty formalities, leaving only a few lines at the end, or in a postscript, for the important business. But when they send a telegram and have to pay for every word, they leave out the flowery salutations and send only what is necessary. The following is a very common way of beginning an Arabic letter: "To the presence of the affectionate and the most distinguished, the honorable and most ingenuous Khowadja, the honored, may his continuance be prolonged!" "After presenting the precious pearls of affection, the aromatic blossoms of love, and the increase of excessive longing, after the intimate presence of the light of your rising in prosperity, we would say that in a most blessed and propitious hour your precious letter honored us," etc. That would cost too much to be sent by telegraph. Precious pearls and aromatic blossoms would become expensive luxuries at two cents a word. So they have to be reserved for letters, if any one has time to write them. Here we come to the famous Dog River. You will read in books about this river and its old inscriptions. If you have not forgotten your Latin, you can read a lesson in Latin which was written here nearly two thousand years ago. There you can see the words. Imp. Caes. M. Aurelius Antoninus Pius Felix Augustus Par. Max. Brit. Max. Germ. Maximus Pontifex Maximus Montibus Imminentibus etc. etc. This Emperor Marcus Aurelius, must have cut this road through the rocks about the year 173 A.D. But there is another inscription higher up, with arrow-headed characters and several other tablets. They are Assyrian and Egyptian. One of the Assyrian tablets was cut by Sennacherib 2500 years ago, and one of the Egyptian by Sesostris, king of Egypt, 3100 years ago. Don't you feel very young and small in looking at such ancient monuments? All of those men brought their armies here, and found the path so bad along the high precipice overhanging the sea, that they cut a road for their horses and chariots in the solid limestone rock. Just think of standing where Sennacherib and Alexander the Great passed along with their armies! What a steep and narrow road! We will dismount and walk over this dangerous pass. It is not pleasant to meet camels and loaded mules on such a dizzy precipice, with the high cliff above, and the roaring waves of the sea far below! It is well we dismounted. Our horses are afraid of those camels carrying long timbers balanced on their backs. Let us turn aside and wait until they pass. Seeing these camels reminds me of what I saw here in 1857. I was coming down the coast from Tripoli and reached the top of this pass, in the narrowest part, just as a caravan of camels were coming from the opposite direction. I turned back a little, and stood close under the edge of the cliff to let the camels go by. They were loaded with huge canvas sacks of tibn, or cut straw, which hung down on both sides, making it impossible to pass them without stooping very low. Just then I heard a voice behind me, and looking around, saw a shepherd coming up the pass with his flock of sheep. He was walking ahead, and they all followed on. I called to him to go back, as the camels were coming over the pass. He said, "Ma ahlaik," or "don't trouble yourself," and on he came. When he met the camels, they were in the narrowest part, where a low stone wall runs along the edge of the precipice. He stooped down and stepped upon the narrow wall, calling all the time to his sheep, who followed close upon his heels, walking in single file. He said "tahl, tahl," "come, come," and then made a shrill whirring call, which could be heard above the roaring of the waves on the rocks below. It was wonderful to see how closely they followed the shepherd. They did not seem to notice the camels on the one side, or the abyss on the other side. Had they left the narrow track, they would either have been trodden down by the heavily laden camels, or have fallen off into the dark waters below. But they were intent on following their shepherd. They heard his voice, and that was enough. The cameleers were shouting and screaming to their camels to keep them from slipping on these smooth rocks, but the sheep paid no attention to them. They knew the shepherd's voice. They had followed him before, through rivers and thickets, among rocks and sands, and he had always led them safely. The waves were dashing and roaring on the rocks below, but they did not fear, for the shepherd was going on before. Had one of those sheep turned aside, he would have lost his footing and been destroyed and thrown the whole flock into confusion. You know why I have told you this story. You know that Jesus is the Good Shepherd. He said, "My sheep hear my voice, and I know them and they follow me." Wherever Jesus leads it is safe for us to go. How many boys and girls there are who think they know a better path than the one Jesus calls them to follow. There are "stranger" voices calling on every side, and many a child leaves the path of the Good Shepherd, and turns aside to hear what they would say. If they were truly lambs of Jesus' fold, they would love Him, and follow Him in calm and storm, and never heed the voice of strangers. I was once travelling from Dûma to Akûra, high up on the range of Lebanon. It was a hot summer's day, and at noon I stopped to rest by a fountain. The waste water of the fountain ran into a square stone birkeh or pool, and around the pool were several shepherds resting with their flocks of sheep and goats. The shepherds came and talked with me, and sat smoking for nearly an hour, when suddenly one of them arose and walked away calling to his flock to follow him. The flocks were all mixed together, but when he called, his sheep and goats began to raise their heads and start along together behind him. He kept walking along and calling, until all his flock had gone. The rest of the sheep and goats remained quietly as though nothing had happened. Then another "Rai," or shepherd, started up in another direction, calling out in a shrill voice, and _his sheep_ followed him. They knew their shepherd's voice. Our muleteers were talking all the time, but the sheep paid no attention to them. They knew one voice, and would follow no other. We will now hasten on to Beirût. You will wish to see the Female Seminary, and the Sabbath School and the Steam Printing Press, and many of the Beirût Schools, before we start to Abeih again. Here is the Female Seminary. There are a hundred girls here, studying Arabic reading and writing geography, arithmetic, grammar, botany, physiology and astronomy, and a few study English, French and music. But the great study is the _Bible_. I am afraid that very few schools in America have as much instruction in the Bible, as the girls in this Seminary and the Sidon Seminary receive. You would be surprised to hear the girls recite correctly the names of all the patriarchs; kings and prophets of the Old Testament, with the year when they lived, and the date of all the important events of the Old and New Testament History, and the Life of Christ, and the travels of the Apostle Paul, and the prophecies about Christ in the Old Testament, and then recite the whole Westminster Assembly's Catechism in Arabic! I have given out _one hundred and twenty_ Bibles and Hymn Books as rewards to children in the schools in Beirût, who have learned the Shorter Catechism perfectly in Arabic. Five years ago there was a girl in the school who was once very rude and self-willed, and very hard to control. She had a poor bed-ridden brother who had been a cripple for years, and was a great care to the family. They used to carry him out in the garden in fine weather and lay him on a seat under the trees, and sometimes his sister would come home from the school and read to him from the Bible, to which he listened with great delight. Not long after this he died, and his sister was sent for to come home to the funeral. On reaching home she found a large crowd of women assembled from all that quarter of the city, shrieking and wailing over his death, according to the Oriental custom. When A. the little girl came in, one of the women from an aristocratic Greek family was talking in a loud voice and saying that it was wrong for any person to go from the house of mourning to another house before first going home, because one going from a house of mourning would carry an _evil influence_ with her. A. listened and then spoke out boldly before the seventy women, "How long will you hold on to these foolish superstitions? Beirût is a place of light and civilization. Where can you find any such teaching as this in the gospel? It is time for us to give up such superstitions." The old woman asked, "Where did that girl learn these things? Truly she is right. These things _are_ superstitions, but they will not die until _we old women die_." It required a great deal of courage in A. to speak out so boldly, when her own brother had died, but all felt that she spoke the truth, and no one rebuked her. Near by the house of A. is another beautiful house surrounded by gardens, and ornamented in the most expensive manner. A little girl from this family was attending the school in 1867. Her name was Fereedy. She was a boarder and the best behaved girl in the school. One day during vacation, her mother came to Rufka and said, "What have you done to my little daughter Fereedy? She came home last Saturday with her sister, and at once took the whole care of the little children, so that I had no trouble with them. And when night came she put her little sisters to bed and prayed with them all, and then in the morning she prayed with them again. I never saw such a child. She is like a little angel." The mother is of the Greek sect, and the little girl was only twelve years old. And here is a story about another of the superstitions of the fellaheen, and what a little girl taught the people about them. This little girl named L. went with her father to spend the summer in a mountain village, where the people had a strange superstition about an oak tree. One day she went out to walk and came to the great oak tree which stood alone on the mountain side. You know that the Canaanites used to have idols under the green trees in ancient times. When L. reached the tree, she found the ground covered with dead branches which had fallen from the tree. Now, wood is very scarce and costly in Syria, and the people are very poor, so that she wondered to see the wood left to rot on the ground, and asked the people why they did not use it for fuel. They said they dared not, as the tree belonged to Moses the Prophet, and he protected the tree, and if any one took the wood, they would _fall dead_. She said, "Moses is in heaven, and does not live in oak trees, and if he did, he is a good man, and would not hurt me for burning up old dry sticks." So she asked them if she might have the wood? They said, "yes, if you _dare_ to take it, for we are afraid to touch it." So she went to the tree and gathered up as much as she could carry, and took it home. The people screamed when they saw her, and told her to drop it or it would kill her, but on she went, and afterwards went back and brought the rest. She then talked with the ignorant women, and her father told them about the folly of their superstitions, and read to them in the Bible about Moses, and they listened with great attention. I have often thought I should like to go to that village, and see whether the people now leave the dead branches under Moses' oak, or use them for fuel during the heavy snow storms of winter. PART VI. Here we are, home again at Abeih. Here are Asaad and Khalil, and several others. I asked Khalil one day to write out for me a list of all the games the boys play in Abeih, and he brought me a list of _twenty-eight_ different ones, and said there were many more. I. The first is called Khatim or the Ring. A boy puts a ring on the back of his hand, tosses it and catches it on the back of his fingers. If it falls on the middle finger, he shakes it to the forefinger, and then he is Sultan, and appoints a Vizier, whom he commands to beat the other boys. Then the boys all sing, Ding, dong, turn the wheel, Wind the purple thread: Spin the white and spin the red, Wind it on the reel: Silk and linen as well as you can, Weave a robe for the Great Sultan. II. Killeh. Like the game of shooting marbles. III. Owal Howa. The same as leap frog. IV. Biz Zowaia. Cat in the corner. V. Taia ya Taia. All the boys stand in a row, and one in front facing them, who calls out Taia ya Taia. They all then run after him and hit him. He then hops on one foot as if lame, and catches one of them, who takes his place. VI. El Manya. Hig tig. VII. Bil Kobbeh. A circle of boys stand with their heads bowed. Another circle stand outside, and on a given signal try to mount on the backs of the inner circle of boys. If they succeed they remain standing in this way; if not, the boy who failed must take the inside place. VIII. Ghummaida. Blind-man's-buff. IX. Tabeh. Base ball and drop ball. X. Kurd Murboot or Tied Monkey. A rope is tied to a peg in the ground, and one boy holds it fast. The others tie knots in their handkerchiefs and beat him. If he catches them without letting go his hold on the rope, they take his place. XI. Shooha or Hawk. Make a swing on the limb of a tree. A boy leans on the swing and runs around among the boys, until he catches one to take his place. XII. Joora. Shooting marbles into a joora or hole in the ground. XIII. Khubby Mukhzinak. "Pebble pebble." One boy goes around and hides a pebble in the hand of one of the circle and asks "pebble, pebble, who's got the pebble." This is like "Button, button." Then there are other games like chequers and "Morris," chess, and games which are used in gambling, which you will not care to hear about. Sometimes when playing, they sing a song which I have translated: I found a black crow, With a cake in his maw, I asked him to feed me, He cried caw, caw. A chicken I found With a loaf of bread-- I asked him to feed me. He cried, enough said. And an eagle black With a beam on his back Said from Egypt I come And he cried clack, clack. So you see the Arab boys are as fond of plays and songs as American boys. They have scores of songs about gazelles, and pearls, and Sultans, and Bedawin, and Ghouls, and the "Ghuz," and the Evil Eye, and Arab mares and Pashas. A few days ago a Druze, named Sheikh Ali, called upon me and recited to me a strange song, which reminded me of the story of "Who killed Cock Robin," and "The House that Jack built." In some of the Arab villages where fleas abound, the people go at times to the tennûr or oven, (which is like a great earthen jar sunken in the ground,) to shake off the fleas into the fire. The story which I have translated goes thus: A brilliant bug and a noble flea once went to the oven to shake off the ignoble fleas from their garments into the fire. But alas, alas, the noble flea lost his footing, fell into the fire and was consumed. Then the brilliant bug began to weep and mourn, saying, Alas! Ah me! The Noble Flea! While he was thus weeping, And his sad watch keeping, A glossy raven overhead, Flew swiftly down and gently said, Oh my friend, oh brilliant bug, Why are you weeping on the rug? The bug replied, O glossy raven, With your head all shorn and shaven, I am now weeping, And sad watch keeping, Over, Ah me! The Noble Flea. The raven he, Wept over the flea, And flew to a green palm tree-- And in grief, _dropped a feather_, Like snow in winter weather. The palm tree said my glossy raven, Why do you look so craven, Why did you drop a feather, Like snow in winter weather? The raven said, The flea is dead! I saw the brilliant bug weeping And his sad watch keeping, Alas, Alas, Ah me! Over the Noble Flea. Then the green Palm tree, Wept over the noble flea. Said he, The flea is dead! And _all his branches shed_! The Shaggy Wolf he strayed, To rest in the Palm tree's shade He saw the branches broken, Of deepest grief the token, And said, Oh Palm tree green, What sorrow have you seen? What noble one is dead, That you your branches shed? He said, O Wolf so shaggy, Living in rocks so craggy, I saw the glossy raven, Looking forlorn and craven, Dropping down a feather, Like snow in winter weather. He saw the brilliant bug weeping And his sad watch keeping, Alas, Alas, Ah me! Over the Noble Flea! Then the Wolf in despair _Shed his shaggy hair_. Then the River clear and shining, Saw the wolf in sorrow pining, Asked him why in sad despair, He had shed his shaggy hair? Said the Wolf, Oh River shining, I in sorrow deep am pining, For the Palm tree I have seen, Shedding all his branches green, And he saw the glossy raven, Looking so forlorn and craven, As he dropped a downy feather, Like the snow in winter weather. He saw the brilliant bug weeping, And his sad watch keeping, Alas, Alas, Ah me, Over the Noble Flea! Sadly then the shining River, _Dried its waters up forever_. Then the Shepherd with his sheep Asked the River once so deep, What great grief, oh shining river, Dried your waters up forever? Said the River once so shining, I in sorrow deep am pining, Since I saw the wolf's despair, When he shed his shaggy hair, For the Palm tree he had seen, Shedding all his branches green, And he saw the glossy raven, Looking so forlorn and craven, As he dropped a downy feather, Like the snow in winter weather, He saw the brilliant bug weeping, And his sad watch keeping. Alas, Alas, Ah me! Over the Noble Flea! Then the Shepherd in sorrow deep, _Tore the horns from all his sheep_, Sadly bound them on his head, Since he heard the flea was dead. Then the Shepherd's mother dear, Asked him why in desert drear, He had torn in sorrow deep, All the horns from all his sheep, Sadly bound them on his head, Just as though a friend was dead? Said he, 'tis because the River, Dried his waters up forever, Since he saw the Wolf's despair, When he shed his shaggy hair. For the Palm tree he had seen, Shedding all his branches green, For he saw the glossy raven, Looking so forlorn and craven, As he dropped a downy feather, Like the snow in winter weather. He saw the brilliant bug weeping, And his sad watch keeping, Alas, Alas, Ah me! Over the Noble Flea! Mother sad began to cry, Thrust her needle in her eye; Could no longer see her thread, Since she heard the flea was dead. Then the Father grave and bland, Hearing this, _cut off his hand_; And the daughter, when she hears, In despair, _cuts off her ears_; And through the town deep grief is spread, Because they heard the flea was dead. THE NURSERY RHYMES OF THE ARABS. Who is that singing in such a sweet plaintive voice in the room beneath our porch? It is the Sit Leila, wife of Sheikh Abbas, saying a lullaby to her little baby boy, Sheikh Fereed. We will sit on the porch in this bright moonlight, and listen while she sings: Whoever loves you not, My little baby boy; May she be driven from her house, And never know a joy! May the "Ghuz" eat up her husband, And the mouse her oil destroy! This is not very sweet language for a gentle lady to use to a little infant boy, but the Druze and Moslem women use this kind of imprecation in many of their nursery songs. Katrina says that many of the Greek and Maronite women sing them too. This young woman Laia, who sits here, has repeated for me not less than a hundred and twenty of these nursery rhymes, songs for weddings, funeral wails, etc. Some of the imprecations are dreadful. They seem to think that the best way to show their love to their babies, is to hate those who do not love them. Im Faris says she has heard this one in Hasbeiya, her birthplace: O sleep to God, my child, my eyes, Your heart no ill shall know; Who loves you not as much as I, May God her house o'erthrow! May the mosque and the minaret, dome and all, On her wicked head in anger fall! May the Arabs rob her threshing floor, And not one kernel remain in her store. The servant girl Nideh, who attends the Sit Leila, thinks that her turn has come, and she is singing, We've the white and the red in our baby's cheeks, In pounds and tons to spare; But the black and the rust, And the mould and the must, For our neighbor's children are! I hope she does not refer to _us_ for we are her nearest neighbors. But in reality I do not suppose that they actually mean what they sing in these Ishmaelitic songs. Perhaps they do when they are angry, but they probably sing them ordinarily without thinking of their meaning at all. Sometimes snakes come down from the ceilings of these earth-roofed houses, and terrify the people. At other times government horsemen come and drag them off to prison, as they did in Safita. These things are referred to in this next song which Nideh is singing: If she love you not, my boy, May the Lord her life destroy! Seven mules tread her down, Drag her body through the town! Snakes that from the ceiling hang, Sting her dead with poison fang! Soldiers from Damascus city, Drag her off and shew no pity! Nor release her for a day, Though a thousand pounds she pay! That is about enough of imprecations, and it will be pleasanter to listen to Katrina, for she will sing us some of the sweetest of the Syrian Nursery Songs. Sleep, my moon, my baby sleep! The Pleiades bright their watches keep. The Libra shines so fair and clear, The stars are shining, hush my dear! There is not much music in the tunes they sing to these words. The airs generally are plaintive and monotonous, and have a sad and weary sound. Here is another: My boy, my moon, I bid you good morrow! Who wishes you peace shall know no sorrow! Whom you salute, his earth is like heaven, His care relieved, his sin forgiven! She says that last line is extravagant, and I think as much. The next one is a Moslem lullaby. O Lord of the heavens, Knowing and Wise, Preserve my Ali, the light of my eyes! Lord of high heaven, Compassionate! Keep my dear boy in every state! This one is used by the women of all the sects, but in all of the songs the name is changed to suit the name of the baby to whom the mother is singing, Ali, your eyes are sleeping, But God's eyes never sleep: Their hours of lonely weeping None can forever keep. How sweet is the night of health, When Ali sleeps in peace! Oh may such nights continue, Nor ever, ever cease! Among all the scores of nursery songs, I have heard only a very few addressed to _girls_, but some of these are beautiful. Hear Katrina sing this one: Lûlû dear the house is bright, With your forehead's sunny light; Men your father honor now When they see your lovely brow. If father comes home sad and weary, Sight of you will make him cheery. The "fuller's soap" mentioned in Malachi 3:2, is the plant called in Arabic "Ashnan or Shenan," and the Arabs sometimes use it in the place of soap. The following is another song addressed to a baby girl: Come Cameleer, as quick as you can, And make us soap from the green "Shenan," To bathe our Lûlû dear; We'll wash her and dress her, And then we'll caress her, She'll sleep in her little sereer. (cradle) This song is sung by the Druze women to their baby girls: Your eye is jet black, and dark are its lashes, Between the arched brows, like a crescent it flashes; When painted with "kohl" 'tis brighter by far, Than the full-orbed moon or the morning star. The following is supposed to be addressed by a Druze woman to her neighbor who has a daughter of marriageable age, when she is obliged to veil her face: Hide your daughter, veil her face, Neighbor, do not tarry: For my Hanna is of age, Says he wants to marry. When I asked about his choice, Said he was not needy: But that if he ever wed, He thought he'd like Fereedy. The next one is also Druze and purely Oriental: Two healths, one health, Four healths more: Four sacks of sesamé seed, Scattered on the floor; Pick and count them one by one. Reckon up their number; For every seed wish Hassan's health. Sweetly may he slumber! The Druze women delight in nothing so much as to have their sons ride fine horses: My Yusef, my cup of sherbet sweet, My broadcloth red hung over the street, When you ride the blood mare with sword and pistol, Your saddle is gold and your stirrups crystal. Katrina says that this little song is the morning salutation to baby boys: Good morning now to you, Little boy! Your face is like the dew, Little boy! There never was a child, so merry and so mild, So good morning once again, Little boy! This song is sung by the Druze women to their babes: O Sparrow of Paradise, Hush him to sleep? Your feathers are "henna." Watch him and keep! Bring sleep soft and sweet Upon your white wings! For Hassan the pet And his mother who sings! The apples of Damascus are noted throughout Syria, though we should regard them as very poor fruit: What's he like? If any ask us, Flowers and apples of Damascus; Apples fragrant on the tray, Roses sweet with scent of May. Laia says that the next one is sung by the Druze women to their baby boys: I love you, I prize you, and for you I wish, A hundred oak trees in the valley; A hundred blood mares all tied in the court, And ready for foray or sally. Mount your horse, fly away, with your scarf flowing free, The chiefs of the tribe will assemble; Damascus, Aleppo, and Ghutah beside, At the sound of your coming will tremble. Nejmeh says that the Bedawin women who come to Safita, her native place, often sing the following song: Come little Bedawy, sit on my lap, Pretty pearls shine in your little white cap, Rings are in your ears, Rings are in your nose, Rings upon your fingers, And "henna" on your toes. They use the "henna" to dye their hands, feet and finger nails, when a wedding or festive occasion occurs in the family. Katrina recalls another little song which she used to sing to Harry: Welcome now, my baby dear, Whence did you come? Your voice is sweet, What little feet! Make yourself at home! Nideh, the Druze girl down stairs is ready with another song. She is rocking little Sheikh Fereed in his cradle, and says: In your cradle sleep my boy, Rest from all your labor; May El Hakim, heaven's God, Ever be your neighbor! It makes me feel sad to hear a poor woman praying to a man. This El Hakim was a man, and a bad man too, who lived many hundred years ago, and now the Druzes regard him as their God. But what difference is there between worshipping Hakim as the Druzes do, and worshipping Mary and Joseph as the Greeks and Maronites do. Laia says the Maronites down in the lower part of this village sing the following song: Hillû, Hillû, Hallelujah! Come my wild gazelles! He who into trouble falls On the Virgin Mother calls; To Damascus she's departing, All the mountain monks are starting. Come my priest and come my deacon, Bring the censer and the beacon, We will celebrate the Mass, In the Church of Mar Elias; Mar Elias, my neighbor dear, You must be deaf if you did not hear. Sit Leila sings: I love you my boy, and this is the proof, I wish that you had all the wealth of the "Shoof," Hundreds of costly silken bales, Hundreds of ships with lofty sails. Hundreds of towns to obey your word, And thousands of thousands to call you lord! Katrina is ready to sing again: I will sing to you, God will bring to you, All you need, my dear: He's here and there, He is everywhere, And to you He's ever near. People say that every baby that is born into the world is thought by its mother to be better than any other ever born. The Arab women think so too, and this is the way they sing it: One like you was never born, One like you was never brought; All the Arabs might grow old, Fighting ne'er so brave and bold, Yet with all their battles fought One like you they never caught. Im Faris asks if we would not like to hear some of the rhymes the Arab women sing when playing with their children. Here are some of them. The first one you will think is like what you have already seen in "Mother Goose." Blacksmith, blacksmith, shoe the mare, Shoe the colt with greatest care; Hold the shoe and drive the nail, Else your labor all will fail; Shoe a donkey for Seleem, And a colt for Ibraheem. Sugar cane grows luxuriantly in Syria, and it was first taken from Tripoli, Syria, to Spain, and thence to the West Indies and America. But all they do with it now in Syria, is to suck it. It is cut up in pieces and sold to the people, old and young, who peel it and suck it. So the Arab women sing to their children: Pluck it and suck it, the green sugar cane, Whatever is sweet is costly and vain; He'll cut you a joint as long as a span, And charge two piastres. Now buy if you can! Wered says she will sing us two or three which they use in teaching the little Arab babies to "pat" their hands: Patty cake, baby! Make him dance! May his age increase and his years advance! May his life like the rock, long years endure, Overgrown with lilies, so sweet and pure! And now the Sit Leila is singing again one of the Druze lullabys: Tish for two, Tish for two! A linen shirt with a border blue! With cloth that the little pedler sells, For the father of eyes like the little gazelles! Your mother will weave and spin and twine, To clothe you so nicely O little Hassein! Do you hear the jackals crying as they come up out of the valley? Their cry is like the voice of the cat and dog mingled together, and Im Faris knows some of the ditties which they sing to their children about the jackals and their fondness for chickens: You cunning rogues beware! You jackals with the long hair! You ate up the chickens of old Katrin, And ran away singing like wild Bedawin. It is not pleasant to have so many fleas annoying us all the time, but we must not be more anxious to keep the fleas out than to get the people in, and as the fellaheen come to see us, they will be likely to _flea_ us too. Safita is famous for fleas, so no wonder that Nejmeh knows the following song of the boys about fleas: I caught and killed a hopping flea, His sister's children came to me: One with drum my ears did pierce, One was fluting loud and fierce, Then they danced me, made me sing, Like a monkey in a ring. Come O Deeby, come I pray, Bring the Doctor right away! Peace on your heart feel no alarm, You have not had the slightest harm. Laia is never at a loss for something new, and I am amazed at her memory. She will give us some rhyming riddles in Arabic, and we will put them into English as best we may. The first is about the _Ant_: 'Tis black as night, But it is not night: Like a bird it has wings, But it never sings: It digs through the house, But it is not a mouse: It eats barley and grass, But it is not an ass. Riddle about a _gun_: A featherless bird flew over the sea, A bird without feathers, how can that be? A beautiful bird which I admire, With wooden feet and a head of fire! Riddle on _salt_: O Arab tribes, so bold and gay, What little grain have you to-day? It never on the trees is seen, Nor on the flowers and wheat so green. Its source is pure, 'tis pleasant to eat, From water it comes that is not sweet, Though from water it comes, and there's water in it, You put it in water, it dies in a minute. The door has opened down stairs, and some of Sit Leila's friends have come to see her. The moment they saw the little baby Fereed, they all began to call out, "Ism Allah alayhee," "The name of Allah upon him." They use this expression to keep off the Evil Eye. This superstition is universal throughout Western Asia, Northern Africa, and exists also in Italy and Spain. Dr. Meshaka of Damascus says that those who believe in the Evil Eye, "think that certain people have the power of killing others by a glance of the eye. Others inflict injury by the eye. Others pick grapes by merely looking at them. This power may rest in _one_ eye, and one man who thought he had this power, _veiled one eye_, out of compassion for others! The Moslem Sheikhs and others profess to cure the evil eye, and prevent its evil effects by writing mystic talismanic words on papers, which are to be worn. Others write the words on an egg, and then strike the forehead of the evil eyed with the egg." Whenever a new house is built, the workmen hang up an egg shell or a piece of alum, or an old root, or a donkey's skull, in the front door, to keep off the evil eye. Moslem women leave their children ragged and dirty to keep people from admiring them, and thus smiting them with the evil eye. They think that blue eyes are especially dangerous. They think that the name of God or Allah is a charm against evil, and when they repeat it, they have no idea of reverence for that Holy Name. Here is a terrible imprecation against a woman who smites with the Evil Eye: May her hand be thrust in her mouth, And her eyes be burned in the fire! The blessings of Mighty God, Preserve you from her ire! Nideh sings Upon you the name of Allah, Around you Allah's eye! May the Evil Eye be blinded, And never harm my boy! It is ten o'clock at night, and Katrina, Laia, Wered, and Handûmeh say it is time to go. Handumeh insists that we come to her wedding to-morrow. Amîn will go with them to drive away the dogs, and see that no wolves, hyenas, or leopards attack them by the way. PART VII. The boys of Abeih are early risers. What a merry laugh they have! What new song is that they are singing now? There has been a shower in the night and Yusef and Khalil are singing about the rain. We say in English "_it_ rains" but the Arabs tell us what "it" refers to. They say "The world rains," "The world snows," "The world is coming down," "The world thunders and lightens." So you will be able to tell your teacher, when he asks you to parse "it rains," that "_it_" is a pronoun referring to "world." Hear them sing: Rain, O world, all day and night, We will wash our clothing white. Rain, O world, your waters shed, On my dear grandmother's head. The sun shines out now, and Khalil says the "world has got well" again, so he sings: Shines the sun with brightest beam On the roof of Im Seleem; Now the bear will dance a reel, On the roof of Im Khaleel. The roofs of the houses are low and flat, and on the hill-sides you can walk from the street above upon the roof of the houses below. I once lived in a house in Duma in which the cattle, donkeys, and sheep used to walk on our roof every evening as they came in from pasture. It was not very pleasant to be awakened at midnight by a cow-fight on the roof, and have the stones and dirt rattling down into our faces, but we could get no other house, and had to make the best of it. You can understand then Khalil's song: The sun is rising all so bright Upon the Pasha's daughter: See her toss the tassels blue, As her mother taught her. Turn the oxen on the roof Of the village priest; He will kill them one and all, And give the poor a feast. The boys seem to be in high glee. They all know Handûmeh and her betrothed Shaheen Ma'ttar, so they are swinging and singing in honor of her wedding. But the time has come for the wedding, and we will go over to Ain Kesûr, about a mile away, and join in the bridal procession. As we come near the house we hear the women inside singing. They have been dressing the bride, and after she is dressed they lead her around and try to make her dance. Perhaps they will let us see how she is dressed. Her head is covered with a head-dress of pink gauze, embroidered with gold thread and purple chenille, and ornamented with pearl beads and artificial flowers, and over all a long white gauze veil trimmed with lace. Her ear-rings are gold filigree work with pendant pearls, and around her neck is a string of pure amber beads and a gold necklace. She wears a jacket of black velvet, and a gilt belt embroidered with blue, and fastened with a silver gilt filigree buckle in the form of a bow knot with pendants. On her finger is a gold ring set with sapphire, and others with turquoises and amethysts. Her dress is of brown satin, and on her arms are solid gold bracelets which cost 1400 piastres or fifty-six dollars. You know Handûmeh is not a rich girl, and her betrothed is a hard working muleteer, and he has had to work very hard to get the money to buy all these things, for it is the custom for the bridegroom to pay for the bride's outfit. The people always lay out their money in jewelry because it is easily carried, and easily buried in time of civil wars and troubles in the land. Shaheen's brothers and relatives have come to take her to Abeih, but he is nowhere to be seen. It would not be proper for him to come to her house. For weeks she has not been over to Abeih, except to invite us to her wedding, and when Anna asked her on what day she was to be married, she professed not to know anything about it. They think it is not modest for a bride to care anything about the wedding, and she will try to appear unwilling to go when they are ready to start. The women are singing now: Dance, our bride so fair, Dance and never care; Your bracelets sing, your anklets ring, Your shining beauty would dazzle a king! To Damascus your father a journey has made, And your bridegroom's name is Abû Zeid. And now the young men outside are dancing and fencing, and they all join in singing: Dance, my dancer, early and late, Would I had like you seven or eight; Two uncles like you, blithe and gay, To stand at my back in the judgment day! And now the young men, relatives of the bridegroom, address the brother of the bride, as her father is not living, and they all sing: O brother of the bride, on a charger you should ride; A Councillor of State you should be; Whene'er you lift your voice, The judgment halls rejoice, And the earth quakes with fear From Acre to Ghuzeer. And now the warlike Druzes, who are old friends of Shaheen and his father, wish to show their good will by singing a wedding song, which they have borrowed from the old wild inhabitants of this land of Canaan: O brother of the bride, your mare has gnawed her bridle, Run for the blacksmith, do not be idle. She has run to the grave where are buried your foes, And pawed out their hearts with her iron shoes! But the time has come for the procession to move, and we go along slowly enough. The bride rides a mare, led by one of Shaheen's brothers, and as we pass the fountain, the people pour water under the mare's feet as a libation, and Handûmeh throws down a few little copper coins to the children. The women in the company set up the zilagheet, a high piercing trill of the voice, and all goes merry as a marriage bell. When we reach the house of Shaheen, he keeps out of sight, not even offering to help his bride dismount from her horse. That would never do. He will stay among the men, and she in a separate room among the women, until the hour of the ceremony arrives. But the women are singing again, and this time the song is really beautiful in Arabic, but I fear I have made lame work of it in the translation: Allah, belaly, belaly, Allah, belaly, belaly, May God spare the life of your sire, Our lovely gazelle of the valley! May Allah his riches increase He has brought you so costly a dowry; The moonlight has gone from his house, The rose from his gardens so flow'ry. Run away, rude men, turn aside, Give place to our beautiful bride: From her sweet perfumes I am sighing, From the odor of musk I am dying. Come and join us fair maid, they have brought you your dress, Leave your peacocks and doves, give our bride a caress; Red silk! crimson silk! the weaver cries as he goes: But our bride's cheeks are redder blushing bright as the rose. Dark silk! black silk! hear him now as he sings: But our bride's hair is black, like the raven's dark wings; With the light of our eyes with our Handûmeh sweet No maid of the Druzes can ever compete. She is worth all the wealth of the Lebanon domain, All the vineyards and olives, the silk worms and grain. And no maids of the Christians can with her compare Tho' shining with pearls and with jewels so rare. The house is now crowded full, the men being all in one room with Shaheen, and the women in the other room, and the court with the bride Handûmeh. One of Shaheen's brothers comes around with a kumkum, and sprinkles orange flower water in all our faces, and Khalil asks us if we wish the ceremony to take place now? We tell him that he must ask the bride and groom. So Abû Shaheen comes into the court with the old priest Eklemandus, as Shaheen's family belong to the Greek Catholic sect. Handûmeh is really a Protestant, and Shaheen has nothing to do with the priests, but the "old folks" had their way about it. A white curtain hangs across the court, and the bride stands on one side, with her bridesmaid, and all the women and girls, and on the other side is the priest with Shaheen, and all of the men and boys. Then candles were distributed, and lighted, and the old priest adjusted his robes and began to read the marriage service. An assistant stood by his side looking over his shoulder, and responding Amen in a loud and long drawn voice. At length the priest called out to him, "A little shorter there on those Amens. We don't want long Amens at a wedding!" This set the whole crowd laughing, and on he went reading passages of Scripture, prayers and advice to the bride and bridegroom in the most hasty and trifling manner, intoning it through his nose, so that no one could understand what he was saying. While he was reading from the gospel about the marriage at Cana of Galilee, a small boy, holding a lighted candle, came very near burning off the old man's beard, and he called out to him, "Put out your candle! You have tormented my life out of me with that candle." This raised another laugh, and on he read. Then he took two rings, and drawing aside the curtain, placed one on the bride's head, and the other on the bridegroom's head, pronouncing them man and wife, and then gave them each a sip of wine and the ceremony was concluded, all the men kissing Shaheen, and the women Handûmeh. Refreshments were then served to the guests from the village, and a dinner to those from other villages. In the evening there assembled a great company in Shaheen's house, and the hour was given up to story telling. Saleh, whose brother married Shaheen's sister, will begin with the _Story of the Goats and the Ghoul_. Once there was a Nanny Goat, strong and powerful, with long and strong horns, and once upon a time she brought forth twin kids, fair and beautiful. One was named _Sunaisil_, and the other Rabab. Now the Nanny Goat went out every morning to the pasture, leaving her twin kids in the cave. She shut the door carefully, and they locked it on the inside through fear of the Ghoul, for her neighbor in the next house was a Ghoul who swallowed little children alive. Then at evening when she came home, she would stand outside the door, and sing to her twin kids this little song: Hearken now Sunaisil, Come Rabab my dear: Open to your mother, Never, never fear. She has sweet milk in her udder. Tufts of grass upon her horn; She'll give you both your supper, And breakfast in the morn. The little twin kids would know her voice, open the door in gladness, and eat a hearty supper, and after hearing a nice story from the Anzîyeh, (for so their mother was called), drop off to sweet sleep. Now all things went on well for some time, until one day the Ghoul neighbor being very hungry for a supper of twin kids, came to the door of the cave and tried to push it open. But it was too strong for her, so she went away in perplexity. At length she thought she would sing to them the very song, which the Nanny Goat sang to them every evening on her return, so she sang it: Hearken now Sunaisil, Come Rabab, my dear, etc., etc. and when they heard this song, they opened the door with gladness to eat their supper, when suddenly the Ghoul sprang upon them with her huge mouth open, and swallowed them both down at once. She then shut the door and fastened it as it was before, and went on her way. At evening the Nanny Goat came home with milk and grass for her twin kids' supper, and knocked at the door and sang: Hearken now Sunaisil, Come Rabab my dear, etc., etc., as usual, but no one opened the door. Then she knocked and sang again, and at length she gave up all hope of their opening the door, and butted against the door with her horns and broke it open. She then entered the cave but there were no twin kids there. All was still. Then she knew that the Ghoul had eaten them. So she hastened to the house of the Ghoul, and went upon the top of the house, and began to stamp and pound upon the roof. The Ghoul, hearing the stamping upon the roof, called out, whosoever stamps on my roof, may Allah stamp on his roof! The Nanny Goat replied, I am on your roof; I, whose children you have eaten. Come out now, and we will fight it out by butting our heads together. Very well, said the Ghoul, only wait a little until I can make me a pair of horns like you. So the goat waited, and away went the Ghoul to make her horns. She made two horns of dough and dried them in the sun until they were hard, and then came to "butt" with the goat. At the first shock, when the goat butted her with her horns, the horns of dough broke all to pieces; then the goat butted her again in her bowels and broke her in twain, and out jumped Sunaisil and Rabab, frisking and leaping and calling out "ya imme," oh, my mother, Oh, my mother! The Ghoul being dead they had no more fear, and lived long and happy lives with their mother the Anazîyeh. * * * * * Did you notice how the little boys listened to Saleh's story of the Goats and the Ghoul? This story is told by the mothers to their little children, all over Syria, in the tents of the Bedawîn and in the houses of the citizens. One of the women, named Noor, (_i.e._ Light), a sister of the bridegroom, says she will tell the children the story of the Hamam, the Butta, the Wez, and the Hamar, that is, of the Dove, the Duck, the Goose, and the Donkey, if all will sit still on the floor. So all the little boys and girls curl their feet under them and fold their arms, and Noor begins: Once the Dove, the Duck, the Goose, and the Donkey joined company and agreed to live together. Then they took counsel about their means of living, and said, how long shall we continue in such distress for our necessary food? Come let us plough a piece of ground, and plant each one such seeds as are suited to his taste. So they ploughed a piece of ground and sowed the seed. The Goose planted rice, the Duck planted wheat, the Dove planted pulse, and the Donkey planted barley, and they stationed the Donkey on guard to watch the growing crop. Now when the seeds began to grow and flourish, and the Donkey looked upon it green and bright and waving in the wind, he arose and ate it all, and then went and threw himself into a ditch near by. Then came the Dove, the Goose, and the Duck to survey the growing crop, and lo and behold, it was all eaten up, and the ground was red and barren. Then said they, where is the Donkey whom we set on guard over our crop? They searched near and far, and at length they found him standing in the ditch, and they asked him where are the crops we so carefully planted and set you to watch? Then said the Donkey, the Bedawîn came with their flocks of sheep and pastured them on our crops, and when I tried to resist, they threw me into this ditch. Then they replied, it is false, you have eaten it yourself. He said, I did not. They said, yes, you did, for you are sleek and fat, and the contest waxed hot between them, until at length they all agreed to make each one swear an oath "by the life of the Lake," which was near at hand, and whoever swore the oath, and sprang into the Lake without falling, should be declared innocent. So the Dove went down first and said: Ham, Ham, Ham, I am the Dove Hamam, Ham, Ham, Ham, My food is the plain Kotan, (pulse), Ham, Ham, Ham, If I ate the growing crop, May I suddenly throw it up! May Allah tumble me into the Lake, And none any news of me ever take! Then the Dove leaped into the Lake, and flew to the limb of a tree on the shore, and was proved innocent. Then the Duck went down and said: But But, But, I am the Butta Duck, But, But, But, My food is wheat and muck; But, But, But, If I ate the growing crop, May I suddenly throw it up! May Allah tumble me into the Lake, And none any news of me ever take! So the Duck leaped into the Lake, and then flew to the limb of a tree on the shore and was proved innocent. Then the Goose went down and said: Wez, Wez, Wez, I am the Goose and the Wez, Wez, Wez, Wez, I eat Egyptian riz, (rice), Wez, Wez, Wez, If I ate the growing crop, May I suddenly throw it up! May Allah tumble me into the Lake, And none any news of me ever take! So the Goose leaped into the Lake and then flew to the limb of a tree on the shore and was proved innocent. Then the Donkey went down and said: Hak, Hak, Hak, I am the Donkey Jack, Hak, Hak, Hak, I barley eat by the sack: Hak, Hak, Hak, If I ate the growing crop, May I suddenly throw it up! May Allah tumble me into the Lake, And none any news of me ever take! Then the Donkey leaped boldly into the Lake, and down he fell, and his feet stuck fast in the mud and mire. Then his three companions, seeing him proved guilty of the crime, flew away and left him to his fate. Then the Donkey began to "bray" for mercy, and called at the top of his voice: Whoever will help me out of this plight, May eat my tail at a single bite! The Bear heard the braying, And without long delaying, He answered by saying: Long eared Donkey will you pay, Every word of what you say? If I save you by my might, Will you stand still while I bite? The lying Ass lay still, And answered, "Yes, I will." The Bear then gave a fearful roar, And dragged the Donkey to the shore, And said, I saved you from your plight, Now stand still, Donkey, while I bite! He said: Wait Bruin till I rest, And "smell the air" from East to West, And then I'll run with all my might, And turn my tail for you to bite! Then Bruin took him at his word Away he went swift as a bird, And called out, now Bruin, I will rest, I'll smell the air from East to West, I'm running now with all my might, I've "turned my tail" for you to bite! The Bear resolved in grief and pain, He'd never help an Ass again. Abû Habeeb, who is just about to enter the college, has a story which all the Arabs know, and love to hear. It is called: The Lion and Ibn Adam, that is, the Lion and Man, the son of Adam. Once there was a Lion who had a son, and he always charged him, saying, my son, beware of Ibn Adam. But at length the old Lion died, and the young lion resolved that he would search through the world and see that wonderful animal called Ibn Adam, of whom his father had so often warned him. So out he went from his cave, and walked to and fro in the wilderness. At length he saw a huge animal coming towards him, with long crooked legs and neck, and running at the top of his speed. It was a Camel. But when the Lion saw his enormous size and rapid pace, he said, surely, this must be Ibn Adam himself. So he ran towards him and roared a fearful roar. Stop where you are! The Camel stopped, trembling with fear of the Lion. Said the Lion, are you Ibn Adam? No, said the Camel, I am a Camel fleeing from Ibn Adam. Said the Lion, and what did Ibn Adam do to you that you should flee from him? The Camel said, he loaded me with heavy burdens, and beat me cruelly, and when I found a fit chance, I fled from him to this wilderness. Said the Lion, is Ibn Adam stronger than you are? Yes indeed, many times stronger. Then the Lion was filled with terror, lest he too should fall into the hands of Ibn Adam, and he left the Camel to go his way in peace. After a little while, an Ox passed by, and the Lion said, _this_ must be Ibn Adam. But he found that he too was fleeing from the yoke and the goad of Ibn Adam. Then he met a Horse running fleet as the wind, and he said, this swift animal must be the famous Ibn Adam, but the Horse too was running away from the halter, the bridle the spur or the harness of the terrible Ibn Adam. Then he met a mule, a donkey, a buffalo and an elephant, and all were running in terror of Ibn Adam. The Lion thought what terrible monster must he be to have struck terror into all these monstrous animals! And on he went trembling, until hunger drove him to a forest to seek for prey to eat. While he was searching through the forest, lo and behold, a Carpenter was at work cutting wood. The Lion wondered at his curious form, and said, who knows but this may be Ibn Adam? So he came near and asked him saying, Are you Ibn Adam? He replied, I am. Then the Lion roared a fearful roar, and said, prepare for battle with the Lion, the king of beasts! Then Ibn Adam said: What do you want of me? Said the Lion, I want to devour you. Very well, said the Carpenter, wait until I can get my claws ready. I will go and take this wood yonder, and then I will return and fight you. If you kill me, eat me, and if I conquer you I will let you go, for we the sons of Adam do not eat the flesh of wild beasts, nor do we kill them, but we let them go. The Lion was deceived by those artful words, for he had seen the Camel and his companions running away, and he thought within himself, now, if Ibn Adam did really eat the flesh of beasts, he would not have let the Camel and the Horse, the Buffalo and the Mule escape into the desert. So he said to the Carpenter very well, I will wait for you to take the wood, and return with your claws. Not so, said the Carpenter, I am afraid that you will not wait for me. You are a stranger, and I do not trust your word. I fear you will run away before I return. Said the Lion, it is impossible that the Lion should run away from any one. Said the Carpenter, I cannot admit what you say, unless you will grant me one thing. And what is that, said the Lion. The Carpenter said, I have here a little rope. Come let me tie you to this tree until I return, and then I shall know where to find you. The Lion agreed to this plan, and the Carpenter bound him with ropes to the tree until he and the tree were one compact bundle. Then the Carpenter went away to his shop, and brought his glue pot, and filling it with glue and pitch boiled it over the fire. Then he returned and besmeared the Lion with the boiling mixture from his head to the end of his tail, and applied a torch until he was all in a flame from head to tail, and in this plight the Carpenter left him. Then the Lion roared in agony until the whole forest echoed the savage roar, and all the animals and wild beasts came running together to see what had happened. And when they saw him in this sad plight, they rushed to him and loosed his bonds, and he sprang to the river and extinguished the flames, but came out singed and scarred, with neither hair nor mane. Now when all the beasts saw this pitiable sight, they made a covenant together to kill Ibn Adam. So they watched and waited day and night, until at length they found him in the forest. As soon as he saw them, he ran to a lofty tree, and climbed to its very top, taking only his adze with him, and there awaited his fate. The whole company of beasts now gathered around the foot of the tree, and tried in vain to climb it, and after they walked around and around, at length they agreed that one should stand at the foot of the tree, and another on his back, and so on, until the upper one should reach Ibn Adam, and throw him down to the ground. Now the Lion whose back was burned and blistered, from his great fear of man demanded that he should stand at the bottom of the tree. To this all agreed. Then the Camel mounted upon the Lion's back, the Horse upon the Camel, the Buffalo upon the Horse, the Bear upon the Buffalo, the Wolf upon the bear, and the Donkey upon the Wolf, and so on in order, until the topmost animal was almost within reach of the Carpenter, Ibn Adam. Now, when he saw the animals coming nearer and nearer, and almost ready to seize him, he shouted at the top of his voice. Bring the glue pot of boiling pitch to the Lion! Hasten! Hasten! Now when the Lion heard of the boiling pitch, he was terrified beyond measure and leaped one side with all his might and fled. Down came the pile of beasts, tumbling in confusion, the one upon the other, and all lay groaning bruised and bleeding, some with broken legs, some with broken ribs, and some with broken heads. But as soon as the clamor of their first agony was over, they all called out to the Lion, why did you leap out and bring all this misery upon us! The Lion replied: The story's point he never knew, Who never felt the burning glue! Monsoor, who has just been to Damascus, says that if he can have another pipe, and a cup of Arab coffee, he will tell the story of the famous Jew Rufaiel of Damascus. So he begins: The story of Rufaiel, the rich Jew of Damascus, and the Moslem Dervish. Once there lived in Damascus a rich Jew named Rufaiel. He had great wealth in marble palaces and rich silk robes, and well stored bazaars, and his wife and daughters were clad in velvets and satins, in gold and precious stones. He had also great wit and cunning, and often helped his fellow Jews out of their troubles. Now the Pasha of Damascus was a Mohammedan, who had a superstitious fear of the holy Moslem Dervishes, and they could persuade him to tax and oppress the Jews in the most cruel manner. In those days there came to Damascus a holy Dervish who had long, uncombed black hair, and although he was a vile and wicked man, he made the people believe that he was a holy saint, and could perform wonderful miracles. The Pasha held him in great reverence, and invited him often to dinner, and when he came in, he would stoop and kiss the Dervish's feet! And what was most wonderful of all, the Dervish left Damascus every Thursday night after bidding the Pasha farewell, and journeyed to Mecca and returned in the morning and told the Pasha all the Mecca news and what he had seen and heard. This he did every week, though all wise men laughed at him, and said he only went out of the City Gate and slept in the gardens of Damascus! Now the Dervish was a great enemy of the Jews. He hated them, cursed them, spat upon them, and called them infidel dogs, and he persuaded the Pasha to increase their taxes fourfold. Their sufferings now became very great. They had to sell their houses and furniture to pay the heavy taxes, and many were beaten and thrust into prison. So the leading Jews in their distress came to Rufaiel, and begged him to go to the Pasha and obtain relief for them and their families. He said he would think about the matter. So after they had gone, he called the chief jeweller and pipe maker of the city, and ordered them to make a long pipe of exquisite workmanship, with a stem of rosewood carved and inlaid with pearls, a bowl of pure gold set with diamonds, and a mouth-piece of gold and amber. Then he went one day to call on the Pasha, and made him a present of this elegant pipe, the like of which had never been seen in Damascus. The Pasha was greatly pleased and ordered all in his presence to retire that he might enjoy the society of Rufaiel, the munificent Jew. Then Rufaiel turned to the Pasha and said, "may your Excellency live forever! I have brought you this pipe as a faint token of my high esteem and affection, but I am filled with deepest sorrow that it is not perfect." "Not perfect?" said the Pasha. "In what respect could it be more perfect than what it is?" Said Rufaiel, "you will notice that between the amber and the gold of the mouth-piece a little ring is wanting. This ring was the very gem and excellence of the pipe. It was cut from the Black Stone of the Kaaba in Mecca, and has miraculous properties. But when the pipe was brought from Mecca, the ring was left with Mustafa, the jeweller, who is ready to send it by the first fit opportunity." "Alas," said the Pasha, "but how can we send for it now? The Pilgrim caravan has gone, and there will be none again for a year." "Oh," said Rufaiel, "this is easily arranged. To-day is Thursday, and to-night the holy Dervish will go to Mecca and return to-morrow morning. Your Excellency need only command him to bring the black ring, and before this time to-morrow the pipe will be complete in its beauty and excellency." "El Hamdû Lillah! Praise to Allah! It shall be done!" So when Rufaiel had gone, the Pasha summoned the Dervish, and told him of this wonderful pipe which had come to him from Mecca, and that it only needed the black ring to make it absolutely perfect, and that he was hereby commanded on pain of death to bring the ring from Mecca before Friday at the hour of noon prayer. The Dervish bowed most obeisantly and retired black in the face with rage and despair. But it occurred to him at once that none in Damascus but Rufaiel could have purchased such a pipe. So he left the City Gate, called the Bab Allah, or Gate of God, at sunset, bidding his friends farewell, and walked away in the gardens until night came on. Then, at the sixth hour of the night he returned by another gate, and crept along to the door of the mansion of Rufaiel. The door was opened, and Rufaiel received him with great politeness. The Dervish fell on the floor and kissed his feet and begged for his life. Said he, "give me that black ring which belongs to the Pasha's pipe, and we will be friends forever! Ask what you will and it shall be done to you. Only give me this ring." Said Rufaiel, "you have ruined my people with oppression, and now do you ask a favor?" "Yes," said the Dervish, "and you shall have any favor you ask." So Rufaiel thought to himself a moment, and then said, "I ask one thing. Do you obtain from the Pasha an order on all the tax collectors of Damascus, that when any Jew shall say, _I am one of the Seventy_, the collector shall pass him by, and no tax ever be demanded of him." "Done," said the Dervish, and embracing Rufaiel, he bade him good-night. Then in the morning he hastened in at Bab Allah, and presented the ring to the Pasha, who was so delighted that he granted his request, and orders were given that no tax should ever be collected from any Jew who should say "I am one of the Seventy." Then Rufaiel assembled all the Jews of Damascus, and bade them say to the tax-gatherers whenever they came, "_I am one of the Seventy_." So the Jews had rest from taxation, all the days of Rufaiel. Saleh Bû Nusr, one of the best men in Mount Lebanon, and the father of Khalil, who brought us the list of Arab boys' games, has already told us the story of the Goats and the Ghoul, and he says that the savory odor of the egg plant being cooked for the wedding guests, reminds him of the story of the Badinjan or Egg Plant. Once there was a great Emir or Prince who had a very abject and obsequious servant named Deeb (Wolf). One day Deeb brought to the Emir for his dinner a dish of stewed badinjan, which pleased the Emir so much that he complimented Deeb, and told him that it was the best dinner he had eaten for months. Deeb bowed to the earth and kissed the feet of the Emir, and said, "may God prolong the life of your excellency! Your excellency knows what is good. There is nothing like the badinjan. It is the best of vegetables. Its fruit is good, its leaf is good, its stalk is good, and its root is good. It is good roasted, stewed, boiled, fried, and even raw. It is good for old and young. Your excellency, there is nothing like the badinjan." Now the Emir was unusually hungry, and ate so bountifully of the badinjan that he was made very ill. So he sent for Deeb, and rebuked him sharply, saying, "you rascal, you Deeb, your name is Wolf, and you are rightly named. This badinjan which you praised so highly has almost killed me." "Exactly so," said Deeb, "may your excellency live forever! The badinjan is the vilest of plants. It is never eaten without injury. Its fruit is injurious, its leaf is injurious, its stalk is noxious, and its root is the vilest of all. It is not fit 'ajell shanak Allah,' for the pigs to eat, whether raw, roasted, stewed, boiled or fried. It is injurious to the young and dangerous to the old. Your excellency, there is nothing so bad as the badinjan! Never touch the badinjan!"--"Out with you, you worthless fellow, you Deeb! What do you mean by praising the badinjan when I praise it, and abusing it when it injures me?" "Ah, your excellency," said Deeb, "am I the servant of the badinjan, or the servant of your excellency? I must say what pleases you, but it makes no difference whether I please the badinjan or not." The wedding party is now over, and the guests are departing. Each one on leaving says, "by your pleasure, good evening!" The host answers, "go in peace, you have honored us." The guests reply, "we have been honored, Allah give the newly married ones an arees," (a bridegroom). They would not dare wish that Shaheen and Handûmeh might some day have a little baby _girl_. That would be thought an insult. We will walk up the hill to our mountain home, passing the fountain and the great walnut trees. Here comes a horseman. It is Ali, who has been spending a month among the Bedawin Arabs. He will come up and stay with us, and tell us of his adventures. He says that the Sit Harba, the wife of the great Arab Sheikh ed Dukhy, taught him a number of the Bedawin Nursery Songs, and although he is weary with his journey, he will repeat some of them in Arabic. They are all about camels and spears and fighting and similar subjects, and no wonder, as they see nothing else, and think of nothing else. To-morrow is the feast day, We've no "henna" on our hands; Our camels went to bring it, From far off distant lands; We'll rise by night and listen, The camel bells will ring; And say a thousand welcomes To those who "henna" bring. And here is a song which shows that the Bedawin have the same habit of cursing their enemies, which we noticed in the Druze lullabys: On the rose and sweetest myrtle, May you sleep, my eyes, my boy; But may sharpest thorns and briars, All your enemies destroy! Ali says that one of the most mournful songs he heard in the desert was the following: I am like a wounded camel, I grind my teeth in pain; My load is great and heavy, I am tottering again. My back is torn and bleeding, My wound is past relief, And what is harder still to bear, None other knows my grief! The next is a song which the people sung in the villages on the borders of the desert. By "the sea" they mean the Sea of Galilee: My companions three, Were fishing by the sea; The Arabs captured one, The Koords took his brother, In one land was I, My friends were in another. I was left to moan, In sorrow deep and sad, Like a camel all alone, Departing to Baghdad; My soul I beg you tell me whether, Once parted friends e'er met together? The Bedawin have as low an idea of girls as the Bedawin in the cities, and are very glad when a boy is born. Sometimes when the Abeih girls are playing together, you will hear a little girl call out, "it is very small indeed. Why it is a little wee thing, as small as was the rejoicing the day I was born!" But hear what the Bedawin women sing when a boy is born: Mashallah, a boy, a _boy_! May Allah's eye defend him! May she who sees and says not _the Name_, Be smitten with blindness and die in shame! How would you like to live among the Bedawin, and have a dusky Arab woman, clad in coarse garments, covered with vermin and odorous of garlic and oil, to sing you to sleep on a mat on the ground? Hasten my cameleer, where are you going? It is eventide, and the camels are lowing: My house in a bundle I bear on my back, Whenever night comes, I my bundle unpack. The next is a song of the pastoral Arabs: Hasten my guide and lead us away, For we have fought and lost the day; To the well we went all thirsty and worn, The well was dry! and we slept forlorn. The Bedawin came in battle array, Attacked us all famished at break of day And took all our camels and tents away! Death enters the Bedawin tents as well as the palaces of kings and the comfortable homes of the people in Christian lands. But what desolation it leaves behind in those dark sorrowing hearts, who know nothing of the love of Jesus and the consolations of the gospel. This is a funeral song the poor Bedawin women sing over the death of a child: Oh hasten my camel, begone, begone, Oh haste where your loved ones stay: There weep and lament. There my "spirit" is gone, Is gone to a night without day: Oh Star of the Morning, thou Star of the day, And Star of the Evening, both hasten away, And bring me a balm for my wounded heart, For I from my child, my "spirit" must part. Soon may the "day dawn, and the day star arise" in their dark hearts, and Jesus the "Bright and Morning Star" be their portion forever! The next song is about the pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Thousands of Greeks, Armenians and Catholics go to Jerusalem every year to visit the "Holy Places," and get a certificate of the pardon of all their sins. The Greek Patriarch performs a lying imposture called the Holy Fire every year at Greek Easter, by lighting a candle with a match inside a dark room, and declaring that it is miraculously lighted by fire which comes forth from the tomb of Christ! So the poor Greek woman sings to her child: Oh take me on a pilgrimage, Jerusalem to see: The Tomb of Christ and Holy fire, And Hill of Calvary: And then I'll to the Convent go, Ask pardon for my sin: And say, my Lady, now forgive, And comfort me again. The next is really beautiful, and is good enough for any mother to sing to her child. It is a morning song: Praise to Him who brings the light, And keeps the birds in darkest night. God is merciful to all, Rise ye men and on Him call! Allah praise in every lot, He keeps you and you know it not. And this one too, about the little worms, is curious enough: Praise to Him who feeds the worms, In the silent vale! Provides their portion every day, Protects them in the dangerous way. No doubt they praise Him too, and pray, In the silent vale! When our good friend Yusef, whom we saw in Safita, asked the Nusairîyeh women to repeat to him their nursery rhymes, they denied that they had any. They were afraid to recite them, lest he write them down and use them as a magic spell or charm against them. When a child is born among them, no one is allowed to take a coal or spark of fire from the house for a week, lest the child be injured. They always hang a little coin around the child's neck to keep off eruptions and diseases from its body. You must be weary by this time, after Handumeh's wedding and the story telling and the Bedawin songs. Let us retire to rest for the night, thankful for the precious Bible, and the knowledge of Jesus Christ. You are safe indeed in the hands of God, and need not fear the Ghoul nor the Bah'oo. Good night. Such is life. Yesterday a wedding, and to-day a funeral. Do you hear that terrific wail, those shrieks and bitter cries of anguish? Young Sheikh Milham has died. The Druze and Christian women are gathered in the house, and wailing together in the most piteous manner. It is dreadful to think what sufferings the poor women must endure. They do everything possible to excite one another. They not only call out, "Milham, my pride, my bridegroom, star of my life, you have set, my flower, you have faded," but they remind each other of all the deaths that have occurred in their various families for years, and thus open old wounds of sorrow which time had healed. Yet they have regular funeral songs, and we will listen while they sing in a mournful strain: Milham Beg my warrior, Your spear is burnished gold; Your costly robes and trappings, Will in the street be sold. "Where is the Beg who bore me?" I hear the armor crying-- Where is the lord who wore me? I hear the garments sighing. Now Im Hassein from Ainab bursts out in a loud song, addressing the dead body, around which they are all seated on the ground: Rise up my lord, gird on your sword, Of heavy Baalbec steel; Why leave it hanging on the nail? Let foes its temper feel! Would that the Pasha's son had died, Not our Barmakeh's son and pride! Then Lemis answers in another song in which they all join: Ten thousands are thronging together, The Beg has a feast to-day; We thought he had gone on a visit, But alas, he has gone to stay. Then they all scream, and tear their hair and beat their breasts. Alas, they have no light beyond the grave. Who could expect them to do otherwise? The Apostle Paul urges the Christians "not to sorrow even as others which have no hope!" This is sorrow without hope. The grave is all dark to them. How we should thank our Saviour for having cast light on the darkness of the tomb, and given us great consolation in our sorrows! Here comes a procession of women from Kefr Metta. Hear them chanting: I saw the mourners thronging round, I saw the beds thrown on the ground; The marble columns leaning, The wooden beams careening, My lord and Sheikh with flowing tears, I asked what was its meaning? He sadly beckoned me aside, And said, To-day _my son_ has died! Then an old woman, a widow, who has been reminded of the death of her husband, calls out to him: Oh, Sheikh, have you gone to the land? Then give my salams to my boy, He has gone on a long, long journey, And took neither clothing nor toy. Ah, what will he wear on the feast days, When the people their festal enjoy? Now one of the women addresses the corpse: Lord of the wide domain, All praise of you is true. The women of your hareem, Are dressed in mourning blue. Then one sings the mother's wail: My tears are consuming my heart, How can I from him bear to part. Oh raven of death, tell me why, You betrayed me and left him to die? Oh raven of death begone! You falsely betrayed my son! Oh Milham, I beg you to tell, Why you've gone to the valley to dwell? From far, far away I have come, Who will come now to take me back home? Then rises such a wail as you never heard before. A hundred women all screaming together and then men are coming to take it away. The women hug and kiss the corpse, and try to pull it back, while the men drive them off, and carry it out to the bier. Some of the women faint away, and a piercing shriek arises. Then you hear the mother's wail again. Then one sings the call of the dead man for help: Oh ransom me, buy me, my friends to-day, 'Tis a costly ransom you'll have to pay, Oh ransom me, father, whate'er they demand, Though they take all your money and houses and land. And another sings his address to the grave-diggers: Oh cease, grave-diggers, my feelings you shock, I forbade you to dig, you have dug to the rock; I bade you dig little, you have dug so deep! When his father's not here, will you lay him to sleep? Then a poor woman who has lately buried a young daughter begins to sing: Oh bride! on the roofs of heaven, Come now and look over the wall: Oh let your sad mother but see you, Oh let her not vainly call! Hasten, her heart is breaking, Let her your smile behold; The mother is sadly weeping, The maiden is still and cold. The Druzes believe that millions of Druzes live in China and that China is a kind of heaven. So another woman sings: Yullah, now my lady, happy is your state! Happy China's people, when you reached the gate! Lady, you are passing, To the palace bright, All the stars surpassing, On the brow of night! And now the body is taken to be buried, and the women return to the house, where the wailing is kept up for days and weeks. They have many other funeral songs, of which I will give two in conclusion: Ye Druzes, gird on your swords, A great one is dead to-day; The Arabs came down upon us, They thought us in battle array, But they wept when they found us mourning, For our leader has gone away! The next is the lament of the mother over her dead son: The sun is set, the tents are rolled, Happy the mother whose lambs are in fold; But one who death's dark sorrow knew, Let her go to the Nile of indigo blue, And dye her robes a mourning hue! And now, my dear boy, our Syrian journey is ended. You have seen and heard many strange things. Whatever is good among the Arabs, try to imitate; whatever is evil, avoid. Perhaps you will write to me some day, and tell me what you think of Syria and the Syrians. Many little boys and girls will read this long letter, but it is your letter, and I have written it for your instruction and amusement. May the good Shepherd, who gave His life for the sheep, lead you beside the still waters of life, and at last when He shall appear, may He give you a crown of glory which fadeth not away! THE END INDEX. Arabs of the Jahiliyeh, 1 Arabs of Kinaneh, 2 Arabic Proverbs, 3 Araman, Michaiel, 19, 99 Asîn Haddad, 101 Abu Selim, 138, 260 Abu Mishrik, 148 Aleppo, 151 Asur el Jedid, 168 American Seminary Abeih, 169 Anazy, 182 Arthington, Mr., 181, 184 Ali, 184, 359 Amount of Instruction, 57, 78, 81, 316 Abdullah Yanni, 220 Aintab, 88 Abu Asaad, 274, 276, 283 Abu Isbir, 281 Arab Camp, 295 Abdullamites, 298 Arkites, 262 Abu Hanna, 263 Asaad Mishrik, 233 Burying Alive, 1 Birth of Daughter, 28, 236 B'hamdûn, 93, 121 Bliss, Mrs. Dr., 104 Booth, Wm. A., 105, 106 Bird, Rev., 47, 48, 50, 58, 115 Bistany, Mr., 126, 134, 158, 200 Bedr, Rev. Yusef, 148 Belinda, 149 Bedawin Arabs, 180 British Syrian Schools, 84 Beattie, Rev., 41 Bird, Mrs., 50 Beit Beshoor, 274 Bells, 304 Bedawin Songs, 360 Carabet Melita, 62, 65, 67, 153 Cheney, Miss, 74, 81, 97 Carruth, Miss, 104 Calhoun, Mrs., 79, 114, 197 Crawford, Mrs., 204 Church of Scotland Schools for Jewish Girls, 214 Carabet, Bishop Dionysius, 49 Convent of the Sacred Fish, 296 Camels, 245 Divorce, 14, 17, 29, 37 Druze, 20 Dodds, Dr., 39 De Forrest, Dr., 23, 33, 73, 75, 134, 298 Dales, Miss, 204 Department of Women's Work, 219 Dodge, Dr., 50 Dodge, Mrs., 50, 52, 53 Dog River, 312 El Khunsa, the poetess, 4 Education of Girls, 18, 19 Everett, Miss, 103 Early Age of Marriage, 117 Eddy, Mr., 151 El Hakem, 331, 22 Evil Eye, 336 Female Prayer-Meeting, 56, 74 Ford, Mr., 126, 151, 156 French Lazarist School, 169 Francis Effendi Merrash, 91 Fast of Ramadan, 306 Feller's Soap, 328 Funerals, 316, 364 Female Seminary, Beirût, 222, 315 Fruits, 255 Fisk, Rev. Pliny, 47 Greek School Suk el Ghurb, 169 Ghubrin Jebara, 173 Goodell, Mrs., 50 Games, 319 Greek Priests, 259 Goodell, Dr., 47, 48 Houris, 10 Hamzé, 20 Hala of Abeih, 29 Hammûd, 39 Hums, 140 Hassan, 198 Hicks, Miss, 206 Howe, Fisher, 76, 80 Haj Ibraham, 297 Ishoc, 149, 263 Irish-American United Presbyterian Mission in Damascus, 204 Ishmaelitic Songs, 326 Imprecations, 326 Johnson, Miss, 97 Jacombs, Miss, 98, 225 Jackson, Miss Ellen, 104 Jenan, 136, 162, 165, 191 Jenneh, 136 Jeneineh, 136 Jesuit School Ghuzir, 169 Job, 229 Khozma Ata, 33, 75 Katrina Subra, 93, 95 Koukab es Subah, 33, 126 Koran, 1, 2, 11, 126, 297 Khalil Effendi, 167 Khalil Ferah, 286 King, Dr. Jonas, 47, 48 Latakiah Boarding School, 42 Loring, Miss Sophia, 104 Luciya, Shekkur, 114 Lyde, Mr., 38, 39 Lying, 284 Lullaby, 294 Letters, 311 Lokunda, 242 Moslem Paradise for Women, 10 Moslem Idea of Women, 12, 17 Moulah Hakem, 22, 331 Massacres of 1860, 24, 95, 196, 286 Marriage Ceremony of Druzes, 25 Marie, 43 Maronites, 45 Mason, Miss, 97 Meshakah, Dr., 118 Miriam the Aleppine, 15 Modern Syrian Views, 158 Moslem Schools, 168, 253 Miss Taylor's School Moslem Girls, 213 Methak en Nissa, 21 Metheny, Dr., 40 Manger, 265 Missionary Stations, 249 Miriam, 279, 282 Monasteries, 309 Marriage, 338, 117, 143 Mohammed ed Dukhy, 182, 189, 246 Naman, King of Hira, 3 Nusairîyeh, 35 Nusairîyeh Women, 38 Nejm, 110 Naame Tabet, 201 Nowar, 286 Nursery Songs, 325 Names, 242, 244 Othman, 2 Okkal, 24 Oulad el Arab, 46 Poetesses of Arabs, 6 Position of Woman in Mohammedan World, 7 Prussian Deaconess' Institute Beirût, 206 Post, Dr., 29 Praying, 305 Parsons, Rev. Levi, 47 Qualifications for Missionaries, 53 Rakâsh, the Poetess, 6 Rufka, Gregory, 60, 97, 99, 102, 138, 175, 277 Resha, 110 Raheel, 120 Ruella Arabs, 184 Sa Saah, 3 Schwire, 10 Sheikh Owad, 16 Sheikh Said el Ghur, 19 Sheikh Khottar, 31 Sheikh Mohammed ed Dukhy, 182, 189, 246 Sheikh Aiub el Hashem, 288 Sitt Abla, 30 Syrian Christianity, 46 Stale of Mission in 1828, 49, --1834, 51, 53, --1841, 55, --1846, 57 --1852, 75, --1864, 101 Seclusion of Oriental Females, 52 Sada Gregory, 18, 61, 70 Superstitions, 77, 317, 318, 336 Sada Barakat, 84 Stanton, Miss, 98 Sada el Haleby, 84, 100, 115 Sara Bistany, 101, 136 Smith, Dr., 50, 127 Sarkis, Mr. Ibraham, 127 Sulleba Jerwan, 142 Sara Huntington Bistany, 157 Sitt Mariana Merrash, 162 Sitt Wustina Mesirra, 165 Schools of Syria, 169, 171 Sitt Harba, 183, 185, 359 Safita, 277, 285, 302, 334 Seven Arbitrary Pillars of the Law, 22 Suggestions to Friends of Missions, 224 Sidon Female Seminary, 225 Saad-ed-Deen, 67 Sphere and Mode of Woman's Work, 218 Syed Abdullah, 288 Swine, 306 Story of the Goats and the Ghoul, 343 Story of the Hamam, Butta, etc., 346 Story of the Lion and Ibn Adam, 350 Story of the Jew Rufaiel, 354 Story of the Badinjan, 358 Shepherds, 313 Swearing, 240 Soum el Kebir, 260 Smith, Mrs., 27, 50, 120 Syrian School-Houses, 235 Tribe of Temîm, 3 Triangle of Solomon, 36 Temple, Miss, 97 Thomson, Dr., 48, 100, 123 Thomson, Miss Emilia, 104 Tod, Mrs. Alexander, 122 Thompson, Mrs. Bowen, 208 Thomson, Mrs., 50 Telegraph, 310 Tilden, 33, 54, 60 Van Dyck, 31, 107, 117, 127, 172 Value Set on Woman's Life, 196 Wahidy, 19 Women's Work, 1820 to 1872, 45 Wortabet, Salome, 49, 64 Whittlesey, Mrs. A.L., 74, 78 Watson, Mrs., 98, 204 Women's Boards of Missions, 104 Whiting, Mrs., 31, 57, 63, 125 Wilson, Rev. D.M., 83, 142 Werdeh, 156 Wortabet, Rev. John, 202 Whiting, Rev., 50, 58, 61 Waly, 291 Wortabet, Gregory, 49, 51 Williams, Miss Rebecca, 52, 55 Yusef Jedid, 40 Yusef Ahtiyeh, 278, 281 Yanni, 237, 254, 256, 289, 300, 309 Yusef Keram, 301 Zarifeh, the Poetess, 6 Zeyarehs, 37, 268 Zahara, 39 Zarify, 110 Zahidy, 287 Transcriber's Notes: Replaced "Beirut" with "Beirût" for consistency throughout the book. Replaced "Nusairiyeh" with "Nusairîyeh" for consistency throughout the book. Page 147: Added opening parenthesis before "etc., etc." Page 206: Changed Aitah to Aitath. Page 273: Changed Inshallah to Inshullah. Page 311: Changed Mushullah to Mashallah. Page 370: Changed Abdulla Yanni to Abdullah Yanni. 
8884	----	TRAVELS IN SYRIA AND THE HOLY LAND; BY THE LATE JOHN LEWIS BURCKHARDT. PUBLISHED BY THE ASSOCIATION FOR PROMOTING THE DISCOVERY OF THE INTERIOR PARTS OF AFRICA. [1822] PREFACE OF THE EDITOR. [p.i]It is hoped that little apology is necessary for the publication of a volume of Travels in Asia, by a Society, whose sole professed object is the promotion of discoveries in the African continent. The Association having had the good fortune to obtain the services of a person of Mr. Burckhardt's education and talents, resolved to spare neither time nor expense in enabling him to acquire the language and manners of an Arabian Musulman in such a degree of perfection, as should render the detection of his real character in the interior of Africa extremely difficult. It was thought that a residence at Aleppo would afford him the most convenient means of study, while his intercourse with the natives of that city, together with his occasional tours in Syria, would supply him with a view of Arabian life and manners in every degree, from the Bedouin camp to the populous city. While thus preparing himself for the ultimate object of his mission, he was careful to direct his journeys through those parts of Syria which had been the least frequented by European travellers, and thus he had the opportunity of making some important additions to our knowledge of one of those countries of which the geography is not less interesting by its connection with ancient history, than it is imperfect, in consequence of the impediments which modern barbarism has opposed to scientific researches. After consuming near three years in Syria, Mr. Burckhardt, on his arrival in Egypt, found himself prevented from pursuing the execution of his instructions, by [p.ii] a suspension of the usual commercial intercourse with the interior of Africa, and was thus, during the ensuing five years, placed under the necessity of employing his time in Egypt and the adjacent countries in the same manner as he had done in Syria. After the journeys in Egypt, Nubia, Arabia, and Mount Sinai, which have been briefly described in the Memoir prefixed to the former volume of his travels, his death at Cairo, at the moment when he was preparing for immediate departure to Fezzan, left the Association in possession of a large collection of manuscripts concerning the countries visited by their traveller in these preparatory journeys, but of nothing more than oral information as to those to which he had been particularly sent. As his journals in Nubia, and in the regions adjacent to the Astaboras, although relating only to an incidental part of his mission to Africa, were descriptive of countries coming strictly within the scope of the African Association, these, together with all his collected information on the interior of Africa, were selected for earliest publication. The present volume contains his observations in Syria and Arabia Petraea; to which has been added his tour in the Peninsula of Mount Sinai, although the latest of all his travels in date, because it is immediately connected, by its subject, with his journey through the adjacent districts of the Holy Land. There still remain manuscripts sufficient to fill two volumes; one of these will consist of his travels in Arabia, which were confined to the Hedjaz, or Holy Land of the Musulmans, the part least accessible to Christians; the fourth volume will contain very copious remarks on the Arabs on the Desert, and particularly the Wahabys. The two principal maps annexed to the present volume have been constructed under the continued inspection of the Editor, by Mr. John Walker, junior, by whom they have been delineated and engraved. [p.iii]In the course of this process, it has been found, that our traveller's bearings by the compass are not always to be relied on. Those which were obviously incorrect, and useless for geographical purposes, have been omitted in the Journal; some instances of the same kind, which did not occur to the Editor until the sheets were printed, are noticed in the Errata, and if a few still remain, the reader is intreated not to consider them as proofs of negligence in the formation of the maps, which have been carefully constructed from Burckhardt's materials, occasionally assisted and corrected by other extant authorities. One cannot easily decide, whether the errors in our traveller's bearings are chiefly to be attributed to the variable nature of the instrument, or to the circumstances of haste and concealment under which he was often obliged to take his observations, though it is sufficiently evident that be fell into the error, not uncommon with unexperienced travellers, of multiplying bearings to an excessive degree, instead of verifying a smaller number, and measuring intermediate angles with a pocket sextant. However his mistakes may have arisen, the consequence has been, that some parts of the general map illustrative of his journeys in Syria and the Holy Land have been constructed less from his bearings than from his distances in time, combined with those of other travellers, and checked by some known points on the coast. Hence also a smaller scale has been chosen for that map than may be formed from the same materials when a few points in the interior are determined by celestial observations. In the mean time it is hoped, that the present sketch will be sufficient to enable the reader to pursue the narrative without much difficulty, especially as the part of Syria which the traveller examined with more minuteness than any other, the Haouran, is illustrated by a map upon a larger scale, which has been composed from two delineations made by him in his two journeys in that province. [p.iv]It appears unnecessary to the Editor to enter into any lengthened discussion in justification of the ancient names which he has inserted in the maps; he thinks it sufficient to refer to the copious exposition of the evidences of Sacred Geography contained in the celebrated work of Reland. Much is still wanting to complete this most interesting geographical comparison; and as a great part of the country visited by Burckhardt has since his time been explored by a gentleman better qualified to illustrate its antiquities by his learning; who travelled under more favourable circumstances, and who was particuarly diligent in collecting those most faithful of all geographical evidences, ancient inscriptions, it may be left to Mr. W. Bankes, to illustrate more fully the ancient geography of the Decapolis and adjoining districts, and to remove some of the difficulties arising from the ambiguity of the ancient authorities. It will be found, perhaps, that our traveller is incorrect in supposing, that the ruins at Omkeis are those of Gamala, for the situalion of Omkeis, the strength of its position, and the extent of the ruins, all favour the opinion that it was Gadara, the chief city of Peraea, the strongest place in this part of the country, and the situation of which, on a mountain over against Tiberias and Scythopolis, [Polyb.1.5.c.71. Joseph.de Bel. Jud.l.4.c.8. Euseb. Onomast. in [Greek text]. The distance of the ruins at Omkeis from the Hieromax and the hot baths seems to have been Burckhardt's objection to their being the remains of Gadara; but this distance is justified by St. Jerom, by Eusebius, and by a writer of the 5th century. According to the two former authors the hot baths were not at Gadara, but at a place near it called Aitham, or Aimath, or Emmatha; and the latter correctly states the distance at five miles. Reland Palaest. p.302, 775. Perhaps Gamala was at El Hosn; Gaulanitis, of which Gamala was the chief town, will then correspond very well with Djolan.] corresponds precisely with that of Omkeis. But it will probably be admitted, that our traveller has rightly placed several other cities, such as Scythopolis, Hippus, Abila,[There were two cities of this name. Abil on the Western borders of the Haouran appears to have been the Abila of Lysanias, which the Emperors Claudius and Nero gave together with Batanaea and Trachonitis, to Herodes Agrippa. Joseph. Ant. Jud. l.19.c.5.--sl.20.c.7.] Gerasa, Amathus; [p.v]and he has greatly improved our knowledge of Sacred Geography, by ascertaining many of the Hebrew sites in the once populous but now deserted region, formerly known by the names of Edom, Moab, Ammon, and the country of the Amorites. The principal geographical discoveries of our traveller, are the nature of the country between the Dead Sea and the gulf of Aelana, now Akaba;-- the extent, conformation, and detailed topography of the Haouran;--the site of Apameia on the Orontes, one of the most important cities of Syria under the Macedonian Greeks;--the site of Petra, which, under the Romans, gave the name of Arabia Petraea to the surrounding territory;-- and the general structure of the peninsula of Mount Sinai; together with many new facts in its geography, one of the most important of which is the extent and form of the AElanitic gulf, hitherto so imperfectly known as either to be omitted in the maps, or marked with a bifurcation at the extremity, which is now found not to exist. M. Seetzen, in the years 1805 and 1806, had traversed a part of the Haouran to Mezareib and Draa, had observed the Paneium at the source of the Jordan at Banias, had visited the ancient sites at Omkeis, Beit-er- Ras, Abil, Djerash and Amman, and had followed the route afterwards taken by Burckhardt through Rabbath Moab to Kerek, from whence he passed round the southern extremity of the Dead Sea to Jerusalem. The public, however, has never received any more than a very short account of these journeys, taken from the correspondence of M. Seetzen with M. de Zach, at Saxe-Gotha.[This correspondence having been communicated to the Palestine Association, was translated and printed by that Society in the year 1810, in a quarto of forty-seven pages.] He was quite unsuccessful in his inquiries for Petra, and having taken the road which leads to Mount Sinai [p.vi]from Hebron, he had no suspicion of the existence of the long valley known by the names of El Ghor, and El Araba. This prolongation of the valley of the Jordan, which completes a longitudinal separation of Syria, extending for three hundred miles from the sources of that river to the eastern branch of the Red Sea, is a most important feature in the geography of the Holy Land,--indicating that the Jordan once discharged itself into the Red Sea, and confirming the truth of that great volcanic convulsion, described in the nineteenth chapter of Genesis, which interrupted the course of the river, which converted into a lake the fertile plain occupied by the cities of Adma, Zeboin, Sodom and Gomorra, and which changed all the valley to the southward of that district into a sandy desert. The part of the valley of the Orontes, below Hamah, in which stood the Greek cities of Larissa and Apameia, has now for the first time been examined by a scientific traveller, and the large lake together with the modern name of Famia, which have so long occupied a place in the maps of Syria, may henceforth be erased. The country of the Nabataei, of which Petra was the chief town, is well characterized by Diodorus,[Diod. Sic.l.2,c.48.] as containing some fruitful spots, but as being for the greater part, desert and waterless. With equal accuracy, the combined information of Eratosthenes, [Eratosth. ap. Strab. p.767.] Strabo,[Strabo, p.779.] and Pliny, [Plin. Hist Nat.l.6,c.28.] describes Petra as falling in a line, drawn from the head of the Arabian gulf (Suez) to Babylon,--as being at the distance of three or four days from Jericho, and of four or five from Phoenicon, which was a place now called Moyeleh, on the Nabataean coast, near the entrance of the AElanitic gulf,--and as situated in a valley of about two miles in length surrounded with deserts, inclosed within precipices, and watered by a river. The latitude of 30 degrees 20 minutes [p.vii]ascribed by Ptolemy to Petra, agrees moreover very accurately with that which is the result of the geographical information of Burckhardt. The vestiges of opulence, and the apparent date of the architecture at Wady Mousa, are equally conformable with the remains of the history of Petra, found in Strabo,[P.781.] from whom it appears that previous to the reign of Augustus, or under the latter Ptolemies, a very large portion of the commerce of Arabia and India passed through Petra to the Mediterranean: and that ARMIES of camels were required to convey the merchandise from Leuce Come, on the Red Sea,[Leuce Come, on the coast of the Nabataei, was the place from whence AElius Gallus set out on his unsuccessful expedition into Arabia, (Strabo, ibid.) Its exact situation is unknown.] through Petra to Rhinocolura, now El Arish. But among the ancient authorities regarding Petra, none are more curious than those of Josephus, Eusebius, and Jerom, all persons well acquainted with these countries, and who agree in proving that the sepulchre of Aaron in Mount Hor, was near Petra.[Euseb. et Hieron. Onomast. in Greek text]. Joseph. Ant. Jud.l.4.c.4.] For hence, it seems evident, that the present object of Musulman devotion, under the name of the tomb of Haroun, stands upon the same spot which has always been regarded as the burying-place of Aaron; and there remains little doubt, therefore, that the mountain to the west of Petra, is the Mount Hor of the Scriptures, Mousa being, perhaps, an Arabic corruption of Mosera, where Aaron is said to have died. [Deuter.c.x.v.6. In addition to the proofs of the site of Petra, just stated, it is worthy of remark that the distance of eighty-three Roman miles from Aila, or AElana, to Petra, in the Table (called Theodosian or Peutinger,) when compared with the distance on the map, gives a rate of about 7/10 of a Roman mile to the geographical mile in direct distance, which is not only a correct rate, but accords very accurately with that resulting from the other two routes leading from Aila in the Table, namely, from Aila to Clysma, near the modern Suez, and from Aila to Jerusalem. Szadeka, which Burckhardt visited to the south of Wady Mousa, agrees in distance and situation as well as in name with the Zadagasta of the Table, or Zodocatha of the Notitiae dignitatum Imperii. See Reland Palaest. p. 230. Most of the other places mentioned on the three roads of the Table are noticed by Ptolemy or in the Notitiae. And here, the Editor may be permitted to add a few words on a third Roman route across these deserts, (having travelled the greater part of it three times,) namely, that from Gaza to Pelusium. In the Itinerary of Antoninus, the places, and their interjacent distances are stated as follows, Gaza, 22 M.P. Raphia, 22 M.P. Rhinocolura, 26 M.P. Ostracine, 26 M.P. Casium, 20 M.P. Pentaschoenus, 20 M.P. Pelusium. The Theodosian Table agrees with the Itinerary, but is defective in some of the names and distances; Gerrhae, placed by the Table at 8 M.P. eastward of Pelusium, is confirmed in this situation by Strabo and Ptolemy. Strabo confirms the Itinerary in regard to Raphia, omits to notice Ostracine, and in placing Casium at three hundred stades from Pelusium, differs not much from the 40 M.P. of the Itinerary, or the ten schoenes indicated by the word Pentaschoenus, midway. The name of Rafa is still preserved near a well in the desert, at six hours march to the southward of Gaza, where among many remains of of ancient buildings, two erect granite columns are supposed by the natives to mark the division between Africa and Asia. Polybius remarks (l.5,c.80), that Raphia was the first town of Syria, coming from Rhinocolura, which was considered an Egyptian town. Between Raphia and the easternmost inundations of the Nile, the only two places at which there is moisture sufficient to produce a degree of vegetation useful to man, are El Arish and Katieh. The whole tract between these places, except where it has been encroached upon by moving sands, is a plain strongly impregnated with salt, terminatig towards the sea in a lagoon or irruption of the sea anciently called Sirbonis. As the name of Katieh, and its distance from Tineh or Pelusium, leave no doubt of its being the ancient Casium, the only remaining question is, whether El Arish is Rhinocolura, or Ostracine? A commentary of St. Jerom, on the nineteenth chapter of Isaiah, v.18, suggests the possibility that the modern name El Arish may be a corruption of the Hebrew Ares, which, as Jerom observes, means [Greek text], and alludes to Ostracine. Jerom was well acquainted with this country; but as the translators of Isaiah have supposed the word not to have been Ares, and as Jerom does not state that Ares was a name used in his time, the conjecture is not of much weight. It is impossible to reconcile the want of water so severely felt at Ostracine (Joseph. de Bel. Jud. l.4, ad fin. Plutarch, in M. Anton. Gregor. Naz. ep. 46.), with El Arish, where there are occasional torrents, and seldom any scarcity of well water, either there or at Messudieh, two hours westward. Ostracine, therefore, was probably near the [Greek text] of the lagoon Sirbonis, about mid-way between El Arish and Katieh, on the bank described by Strabo (p. 760), which separates the Sirbonis from the sea. This maritime position of Ostracine is confirmed by the march of Titus, (Joseph. ibid.) Leaving the limits of the Pelusiac territory, he moved across the desert on the first day, not to the modern Katieh, but to the temple of Jupiter, at Mount Casium, on the sea shore, at the Cape now called Ras Kasaroun; on the second day to Ostracine; on the third to Rhinocolura; on the fourth to Raphia; on the fifth to Gaza. It will be seen by the map that these positions, as now settled, furnished exactly five convenient marches, the two longest being naturally through the desert of total privation, which lies between El Arish and Katieh. As the modern route, instead of following the sea shore, passes to the southward of the lagoon, the site of Ostracine has not yet been explored. [p.viii]It would seem, from the evidence regarding Petra which may be collected in ancient history, that neither in the ages prior to the [p.ix]commercial opulence of the Nabataei, nor after they were deprived of it, was Wady Mousa the position of their principal town. When the Macedonian Greeks first became acquainted with this part of Syria by means of the expedition which Antigonus sent against the Nabataei, under the command of his son Demetrius, we are informed by Diodorus that these Arabs placed their old men, women, and children upon a certain rock [Greek text], steep, unfortified by walls, admitting only of one access to the summit, and situated 300 stades beyond the lake Asphaltitis. [Diod. Sic. l.19.c.95, 98.] As this interval agrees with that of Kerek from the southern extremity of the Dead Sea, and is not above half the distance of Wady Mousa from the same point; and as the other parts of the description are well adapted to Kerek, while they are inapplicable to Wady Mousa, we can hardly doubt that Kerek was at that time the fortress of the Nabataei; and that during the first ages of the intercourse of that people with the Greeks, it was known to the latter by the name Petra, so often applied by them to barbarian hill-posts. When the effects of commerce required a situation better suited than Kerek to the collected population and increased opulence of the Nabataei, the appellation of Petra was transferred to the new city at Wady Mousa, which place had before been known to the [p.x]Greeks by the name of Arce [Greek text], a corruption perhaps of the Hebrew Rekem.[Joseph. Antiq. Jud. l.4,c.4.] To Wady Mousa, although of a very different aspect from Kerek, the name Petra was equally well adapted; and Kerek then became distinguished among the Greeks by its indigenous name, in the Greek form of Charax, to which the Romans added that of Omanorum, or Kerek of Ammon,[Plin. Hist. Nat. l.6,c.28.] to distinguish it from another Kerek, now called Kerek el Shobak. The former Kerek was afterwards restored by the Christians to the Jewish division of Moab, to which, being south of the river Arnon, it strictly belonged, and it was then called in Greek Charagmoba, under which name we find it mentioned as one of the cities and episcopal dioceses of the third Palestine.[Hierocl. Synecd. Notit. Episc. Graec.] When the stream of commerce which had enriched the Nabataei had partly reverted to its old Egyptian channel, and had partly taken the new course, which created a Palmyra in the midst of a country still more destitute of the commonest gifts of nature, then Arabia Petraea,[A comparison of the architecture at Wady Mousa, and at Tedmour, strengthens the opinion, that Palmyra flourished at a period later than Petra.] Wady Mousa was gradually depopulated. Its river, however, and the intricate recesses of its rocky valleys, still attract and give security to a tribe of Arabs; but the place being defensible only by considerable numbers, and being situated in a less fertile country than Kerek, was less adapted to be the chief town of the Nabataei, when they had returned to their natural state of divided wanderers or small agricultural communities. The Greek bishopricks of the third Palestine were obliterated by the Musulman conquest, with the sole exception of the metropolitan Petra, whose titular bishop still resides at Jerusalem, and occasionally visits Kerek, as being the only place in his province which contains [p.xi]a Christian community. Hence Kerek has been considered the see of the bishoprick of Petra, and hence has arisen the erroneous opinion often adopted by travellers from the Christians of Jerusalem, that Kerek is the site of the ancient capital of Arabia Petraea. The Haouran being only once mentioned in the Sacred Writings, [Ezekiel. c. xlvii v. 16. ] was probably of inconsiderable extent under the Jews, but enlarged its boundaries under the Greeks and Romans, by whom it was called Auranitis. It has been still farther increased since that time, and now includes not only Auranitis, but Ituraea also, or Ittur, of which Djedour is perhaps a corruption; together with the greater part of Basan, or Batanaea, and Trachonitis. Burckhardt seems not to have been aware of the important comment upon Trachonitis afforded by his description of the singular rocky wilderness of the Ledja, and by the inscriptions which he copied at Missema, in that district.[See p. 117, 118.] It appears from these inscriptions, that Missema was anciently the town of the Phaenesii, and the metrocomia or chief place of Trachon, the descriptions of which district by Strabo and Josephus,[Strabo, 755, 756. Joseph. Antiq. Jud. l.15,c.13.] are in exact conformity with that which Burckhardt has given us of the Ledja. From Strabo and Ptolemy,[Strabo, ibid. Ptolemy, l.5,c.15.] we learn that Trachonitis comprehended all the uneven country extending along the eastern side of the plain of Haouran, from near Damascus to Boszra. It was in consequence of the predatory incursions of the Arabs from the secure recesses of the Ledja into the neighbouring plains, that Augustus transferred the government of Trachonitis from Zenodorus, who was accused of encouraging them, to Herod, king of Judaea. [Joseph. Antiq. Jud.l.5,c.10. De Bell. Jud.l.1,c.20.] The two Trachones, into which Trachonitis was divided, agree with the two natural divisions of the Ledja and Djebel Haouran. [p.xii]Oerman, an ancient ruin at the foot of the Djebel Haouran, to the east of Boszra, appears from an inscription copied there by Burckhardt, to be the site of Philippopolis, a town founded by Philip, emperor of Rome, who was a native of Boszra. Another ancient name is found at Hebran, in the same mountains, to the N.E. of Boszra, where an inscription records the gratitude of the tribe of AEedeni to a Roman veteran. The Kelb Haouran, or summit of the Djebel Haouran, appears to be the Mount Alsadamum of Ptolemy.[Ptolem.l.5,c.15.] Of the ancient towns just mentioned, Philippopolis alone is noticed in ancient history; and although the name of Phaeno occurs as a bishoprick of Palestine, and that the adjective Phaenesius is applied to some mines at that place [Greek text], it seems evident that these Phaenesii were different from those of Trachon, and that they occupied a part of Idumaea, between Petra and the southern extremity of the Dead Sea.[Reland. Palaest. 1.3, voce Phaeno.] Mezareib, a village and castle on the Hadj route, appears to be the site of Astaroth, the residence of Og, king of Bashan; [Deuter. c.l.v.4. Josh. c.ix.v.10.] for Eusebius [Euseb. Onomast. in [Greek text].] places Astaroth at 6 miles from Adraa (or Edrei, now Draa,) between that place and Abila (now Abil), and at 25 miles from Bostra, a distance very nearly confirmed by the Theodosian Table, which gives 24 Roman miles between those two places. It will be seen by the map, that the position of Mezareib conforms to all these particulars. The unfailing pool of the clearest water, which now attracts the men and cattle of all the surrounding country to Mezareib in summer, must have made it a place of importance in ancient times, and therefore excited the wonder of our traveller at its having preserved only some very scanty relics of antiquity. Although Mount Sinai, and the deserts lying between that peninsula [p.xiii]and Judaea, have not, like the latter country, preserved many of the names of Holy Scripture, the new information of Burckhardt contains many facts in regard to their geography and natural history, which may be useful in tracing the progress of the Israelites from Egypt into Syria. The bitter well of Howara, 15 hours southward of Ayoun Mousa, corresponds as well in situation as in the quality of its water, with the well of Marah, at which the Israelites arrived after passing through a desert of three days from the place near Suez where they had crossed the Red Sea.[Exodus, c.xiv. xv. Numbers. c.xxxiii.] The Wady Gharendel, two hours beyond Howara, where are wells among date trees, seems evidently to be the station named Elim, which was next to Marah, and at which the Israelites found "twelve wells of water, and threescore and ten palm trees." [Exodus, c.xv. Numbers, c.xxxiii.] And it is remarkable, that the Wady el Sheikh, and the upper part of the Wady Feiran, the only places in the peninsula where manna is gathered from below the tamarisk trees, accord exactly with that part of the desert of Sin, in which Moses first gave his followers the sweet substance gathered in the morning, which was to serve them for bread during their long wandering;[Exodus, c.xvi.] for the route through Wady Taybe, Wady Feiran, and Wady el Sheikh, is the only open and easy passage to Mount Sinai from Wady Gharendel; and it requires the traveller to pass for some distance along the sea shore after leaving Gharendel, as we are informed that the Israelites actually did, on leaving Elim.[Numbers, c.xxxiii.v.10, 11.] The upper region of Sinai, which forms an irregular circle of 30 or 40 miles in diameter, possessing numerous sources of water, a temperate climate, and a soil capable of supporting animal and vegetable nature, was the part of the peninsula best adapted to [p.xiv]the residence of near a year, during which the Israelites were numbered and received their laws. About the beginning of May, in the fourteenth month from the time of their departure from Egypt, the children of Israel quitted the vicinity of Mount Horeb, and under the guidance of Hohab, the Midianite, brother- in-law of Moses, marched to Kadesh, a place on the frontiers of Canaan, of Edom, and of the desert of Paran or Zin.[Numbers, c.x. et seq. and c.33. Deuter. c.i.] Not long after their arrival, "at the time of the 'first ripe grapes,'" or about the beginning of August, spies were sent into every part of the cultivated country, as far north as Hamah.[Numbers, c.xiii. Deuter. c.i.] The report which they brought back was no less favourable to the fertility of the land, than it was discouraging by its description of the warlike spirit and preparation of the inhabitants, and of the strength of the fortified places; and the Israelites having in consequence refused to follow their leaders into Canaan, were punished by that long wandering in the deserts lying between Egypt, Judaea, and Mount Sinai, of which the sacred historian has not left us any details, but the tradition of which is still preserved in the name of El Tyh, annexed to the whole country; both to the desert plains, and to the mountains lying between them and Mount Sinai. In the course of their residence in the neighbourhood of Kadesh, the Israelites obtained some advantages over the neighbouring Canaanites,[Numbers, c.xxi.] but giving up at length all hope of penetrating by the frontier, which lies between Gaza and the Dead Sea, they turned to the eastward, with a view of making a circuit through the countries on the southern and eastern sides of the lake. [Numbers, c.xx, xxi.] Here however, they found the difficulty still greater; Mount Seir of Edom, which under the modern names of Djebal, Shera, and Hesma, [p.xv]forms a ridge of mountains, extending from the southern extremity of the Dead Sea to the gulf of Akaba, rises abruptly from the valleys El Ghor and El Araba, and is traversed from west to east by a few narrow Wadys only, among which the Ghoeyr alone furnishes an entrance that would not be extremely difficult to a hostile force. This perhaps was the "high way," by which Moses, aware of the difficulty of forcing a passage, and endeavouring to obtain his object by negotiation, requested the Edomites to let him pass, on the condition of his leaving the fields and vineyards untouched, and of purchasing provisions and water from the inhabitants.[Numbers, c.xx. Deuter, c.i.] But Edom "refused to give Israel passage through his border," and "came out against him with much people, and with a strong hand."[Numbers, c.xx.] The situation of the Israelites therefore, was very critical. Unable to force their way in either direction, and having enemies on three sides; (the Edomites in front, and the Canaanites, and Amalekites on their left flank and rear,) no alternative remained for them but to follow the valley El Araba southwards, towards the head of the Red Sea. At Mount Hor, which rises abruptly from that valley, "by the coast of the land of Edom,"[Numbers, ibid.] Aaron died, and was buried in the conspicuous situation, which tradition has preserved as the site of his tomb to the present day. Israel then "journeyed from Mount Hor, by the way of the Red Sea, to compass the land of Edom,"[Numbers, c.xxi.] "through the way of the plain from Elath, and from Eziongeber," until "they turned and passed by the way of the wilderness of Moab, and arrived at the brook Zered."[Deuter, c.ii.] It may be supposed that they crossed the ridge to the southward of Eziongeber, about the place where Burckhardt remarked, from the opposite coast, that the mountains were lower than to the northward, and it [p.xvi] was in this part of their wandering that they suffered from the serpents, of which our traveller observed the traces of great numbers on the opposite shore of the AElanitic gulf. The Israelites then issued into the great elevated plains which are traversed by the Egyptian and Syrian pilgrims, on the way to Mekka, after they have passed the two Akabas. Having entered these plains, Moses received the divine command, "You have compassed this mountain long enough, turn you northward."--"Ye are to pass through the coast of your brethren the children of Esau, which dwell in Seir, and they shall be afraid of you." [Deuter, c.ii.] The same people who had successfully repelled the approach of the Israelites from the strong western frontier, was alarmed now that they had come round upon the weak side of the country. But Israel was ordered "not to meddle" with the children of Esau, but "to pass through their coast" and to "buy meat and water from them for money," in the same manner as the caravan of Mekka is now supplied by the people of the same mountains, who meet the pilgrims on the Hadj route. After traversing the wilderness on the eastern side of Moab, the Israelites at length entered that country, crossing the brook Zered in the thirty-eighth year, from their first arrival at Kadesh Barnea, "when all the generation of the men of war were wasted out from among the host."[Deuter, c.ii.] After passing through the centre of Moab, they crossed the Arnon, entered Ammon, and were at length permitted to begin the overthrow of the possessors of the promised land, by the destruction of Sihon the Amorite, who dwelt at Heshbon.[Numbers, c.xxi. Deuter, c.ii.] The preservation of the latter name, and of those of Diban, Medaba, Aroer, Amman, together with the other geographical facts derived from the journey of Burckhardt through the countries beyond the Dead Sea, furnishes a most satisfactory illustration of the sacred historians. [p.xvii]It remains for the Editor only to add, that while correcting the foreign idiom of his Author, and making numerous alterations in the structure of the language, he has been as careful as posible not to injure the originality of the composition, stamped as it is with the simplicity, good sense, and candour, inseparable from the Author's character. In the Editor's wish, however, to preserve this originality, he cannot flatter himself that incorrect expressions may not sometimes have been left. In regard to the Greek inscriptions, he thinks it necessary only to remark, that although the propriety of furnishing the reader with fac-similes of all such interesting relicts of ancient history cannot in general be doubted, yet in the present instance, the trouble and expense which it would have occasioned, would hardly have been compensated by the importance of the monuments themselves, or by the degree of correctness with which they were copied by the traveller. They have therefore been printed in a type nearly resembling the Greek characters which were in use at the date of the inscriptions, and the Editor has taken the liberty of separating the words, and of supplying in the small cursive Greek character, the defective parts of the traveller's copies. The Editor takes this opportunity of stating, that in consequence of some discoveries in African geography, which have been made known since the publication of Burckhardt's Travels in Nubia, he has made some alterations in the maps of the second edition of that work. The observations of Captain Lyon have proved Morzouk to be situated a degree and a half to the southward of the position formerly assigned to it, and his enquiries having at the same time confirmed the bearing and distance between Morzouk and Bornou, as reported by former travellers, a corresponding change will follow in the latitude of Bornou, as well as in the [p.xviii]position of the places on the route leading to those two cities from the countries of the Nile. A journey into Nubia, by the Earl of Belmore, and his brother, the Hon. Capt. Corry, has furnished some latitudes and longitudes, serving to correct the map of "the course of the Nile, from Assouan to the confines of Dongola", which the Editor constructed from the journals of Burckhardt, without the assistance of any celestial observatians. The error in the map as to the most distant point observed by Lord Belmore is however so small, that it has not been thought necessary to make any alteration in that map for the second edition of Burckhardt's Journey in Nubia; but the whole delineation of this part of the Nile will be corrected from the recent observations, in a new edition of the Supplement to the Editor's general Map of Egypt. Since the Journey of Lord Belmore, Mr. Waddington and Mr. Hanbury, taking advantage of an expedition sent into AEthiopia by the Viceroy of Egypt, have prolonged the examination of the Nile four hundred miles beyond the extreme point reached by Burckhardt; and some French gentlemen have continued to follow the army as far as Sennaar. The presence of a Turkish army in that country will probably furnish greater facilities for exploring the Bahr el Abiad, or western branch of the Nile, than have ever before been presented to travellers; there is reason to hope, that the opportunity will not be neglected, and thus a survey of this celebrated river from its sources to the Mediterranean, may, perhaps, at length be made, if not for the first time, for the first time at least since the extinction of Egyptian science. The expedition of the Pasha of Egypt has already produced some important additions to African geography. By permission of Mr. Waddington, the Editor has corrected, from that gentleman's delineation, the parts of the Nile above Mahass, for the second [p.xix] edition of Burckhardt's Nubia, and from the information transmitted to England by Mr. Salt, he has been enabled to insert in the same map, the position of the ruins of an ancient city situated about 20 miles to the north-eastward of Shendy. These ruins had already been partially seen by Bruce and Burckhardt, [Burckhardt passed through the vestiges of what seems to have been a dependency of this city on the Nile, at seven hours to the north of Shendy, and two hours to the south of Djebail; the latter name, which is applied by Burckhardt to a large village on a range of hills, is evidently the same as the Mount Gibbainy, where Bruce observed the same ruins, which have now been more completely explored by M. Cailliaud. See Travels in Nubia, p.275. Bruce's Travels, Vol. iv. p.538, 4to.] and there can be little doubt that Bruce was right in supposing them to be the remains of Meroe, the capital of the great peninsula of the same name, of which the general geography appears to have been known with considerable accuracy to men of science in the Augustan age, although it had not been visited by any of the writers whose works have reached us. For, assuming [To illustrate the following observations, as well as some of the preceding, a small drawing of the course of the Nile is inserted in the margin of the map of Syria which accompanies the present volume.] these ruins to mark the site of the city Meroe, and that the latitude and longitude of Shendy have been accurately determined by Bruce, whose instruments were good, and whose competency to the task of observation is undoubted, it will be found that Ptolemy is very nearly right in ascribing the latitude of 16.26 to the city Meroe.[Ptolem. l.4,c.8.] Pliny [Plin. Hist. Nat. l.2,c.73.] is equally correct in stating that the two points of the ecliptic, in which the sun is in the zenith at Meroe, are the 18th degree of Taurus, and the 14th degree of Leo. The 5000 stades which Strabo[Strabo, p. 113.] and Pliny [Plin. ibid.] We learn from another passage in Pliny, (l.6,c.29,) that the persons sent by Nero to explore the Nile, measured 884 miles, "by the river", from Syene to Meroe.] assert to be the distance between Meroe and Syene is correct, at a rate of between 11 and 12 [p.xx]stades to the geographical mile; if the line be taken in direct distance, as evidently appears to have been the intention of Strabo, by his thrice stating (upon the authority of Eratosthenes,) that the distance from Meroe to Alexandria was 10,000 stades.[Eratosth. ap. strab. p. 62. Strabo, p. 113, 825.] The latitudes of Ptolemy equally accord in shewing the equidistance of Syene from Meroe and from Alexandria; the latitude of Syene being stated by him at 23-50,[Ptolem. l.4,c.6.] and that of Alexandria at 31-0. [Ptolem. ibid.] The description of the island of Meroe as being 3000 stades long, and 1000 broad, in form like a shield, and as formed by the confluence of the Astasobas, Astapus, and Astaboras,[Eratosth. ap. Strab. p.786. Strab. p.821. Diodor. Sic. l.l,c.33. Heliodor. AEthiop. l.10,c.5] is perfectly applicable to the great peninsula watered on the east by the Tacazze, and on the west by the Bahr el Abiad, after receiving the Bahr el Azrek. The position of the city Meroe is shewn by Artemidorus, Ptolemy, and Pliny,[Artemid. ap. Strab. p.771. Ptolem. l.4,c.8. Plin. Hist. Nat. l.6,c.29.] to have been, like the ruins near Shendy, near the northern angle of the island, or the confluence of the rivers. The island between Djebail and Shendy which Bruce calls Kurgos, answers to that which Pliny describes as the port of Meroe; and finally, the distance of "15 days to a good walker," which Artemidorus [Artemid. ibid.] places between Meroe and the sea, giving a rate of about 16 English miles a-day, in direct distance, is a correct statement of the actual distance between the ruins near Shendy and Souakin. [It is fair to remark, that there are two authorities which tend to place the city of Meroe 30 or 40 miles to the southward of the ruins near Shendy. Eratosthenes states it to have been at 700 stades, and Pliny at 70 miles above the confluence. But it is rare indeed to find a coincidence of many ancient authorities in a question where numbers are concerned, unless one author has borrowed from another, which is probably the case in regard to the two just quoted.] [p.xxi]It will hardly be contested, that the modern name of Merawe, which is found attached to a town near the ruins of an ancient city, discovered by Messrs. Waddington and Hanbury in the country of the Sheygya, is sufficient to overthrow the strong evidence just stated. It may rather be inferred, that the Greek Meroe was formed from a word signifying "city" in the ancient AEthiopic language, which has continued up to the present time, to be attached to the site of one of the chief cities on the banks of the Nile,--thus resembling in its origin many names of places in various countries, which from simple nouns expressive in the original language of objects or their qualities, such as city, mountain, river, sacred, white, blue, black, have been converted by foreigners into proper names. The ruins near Merawe seem to those of Napata, the chief town of the country intermediate between Meroe and Egypt, and which was taken by the praefect Petronius, in the reign of Augustus, when it was the capital of Queen Candace;[Ptolem. l.4,c.7. Strabo, p.820. Plin. Hist. Nat.l.6,c.29.] for Pliny, on the authority of the persons sent by Nero to EXPLORE the river above Syene, states 524 Roman miles to have been the interval between Syene and Napata, and 360 miles to have been that between Napata and Meroe, which distances correspond more nearly than could have been expected with the real distances between Assouan, Merawe, and Shendy, taken along the general curve of the river, without considering the windings in detail.[We must not, however, too confidently pronounce on REAL distances until we possess a few more positions fixed by astronomical observations.] The island of Argo, from its extent, its important ruins, its fertility, as well as from the similarity of name, seems to be the Gora, of Juba,[Ap. Plin. ibid.] or the Gagaudes, which the explorers of Nero reported to be situated at 133 miles below Napata. [p.xxii]In placing Napata at the ruins near Mérawe, it is necessary to abandon the evidence of Ptolemy, whose latitude of Napata is widely different from that of Merawe; and as we also find, that he is considerably in error, in regard to the only point between Syene and Meroe, hitherto ascertained, namely, the Great Cataract, which he places 37 minutes to the north of Wady Halfa, still less can we rely upon his authority for the position of the obscurer towns. Although the extreme northern point to which the Nile descends below Berber, before it turns to the south, is not yet accurately determined in latitude, nor the degree of southern latitude which the river reaches before it finally takes the northern course, which it continues to the Mediterranean, we cannot doubt that Eratosthenes had received a tolerably correct account of its general course from the Egyptians, notwithstanding his incorrectness in regard to the proportionate length of the great turnings of the river. "The Nile," he says "after having flowed to the north from Meroe for the space of 2700 stades, turns to the south and southwest for 3700 stades, entering very far into Lybia, until it arrives in the latitude of Meroe; then making a new turn, it flows to the north for the space of 5300 stades, to the great Cataract, whence inclining a little eastward, it traverses 1200 stades to the small Cataract of Syene, and then 5300 stades to the sea.[Ap. Strab. p.786. The only mode of reconciling these numbers to the truth, is to suppose the three first of them to have been taken with all the windings of the stream, the two last in a direct line, and even then they cannot be very accurate.] The Nile receives two rivers, which descending from certain lakes surround the great island of Meroe. That which flows on the eastern side is called Astaboras, the other is the Astapus, though some say it is the Astasobas," &c. This ambiguity, it is hardly necessary to observe, was caused by the greater magnitude of the Astasobas, or Bahr el Abiad, or White [p.xxiii] River, which caused it to give name to the united stream after its junction with the Astapus, or Bahr el Azrek, or Blue River; and hence Pliny,[Plin. Hist. Nat. l.5,c.9.] in speaking of Meroe, does not say that it was formed by the Astapus, but by the Astasobas. In fact, the Astapus forms the boundary of the island, as it was called, on the S.W. the Astasobas, or united stream, on the N.W. WILLIAM MARTIN LEAKE, Acting Secretary of the African Association. ERRATA. [Not included] CONTENTS. Journal of a Tour from Damascus, in the Countries of the Libanus and Anti-Libanus ...................................page 1 Journal of an Excursion into the Haouran, in the Autumn and Winter of 1810,.................................................51 Journal of a Tour from Aleppo to Damascus, through the Valley of the Orontes and Mount Libanus, in February and March, 1812...........................................................121 Journal of a Tour from Damascus into the Haouran, and the Mountains to the E. and S.E. of the Lake of Tiberias, in the Months of April and May, 1812..................................211 Description of a Journey from Damascus through the Mountains of Arabia Petraea and Desert el Ty, to Cairo, in the Summer of 1812........................................................311 Journal of a Tour in the Peninsula of Mount Sinai, in the Spring of 1816........................................................457 APPENDIX. No. I. An Account of the Ryhanlu Turkmans.......................633 No. II. On the Political Division of Syria, and the recent changes in the Government of Aleppo............................648 No. III. The Hadj Route from Damascus to Mekka....................656 No. IV. Description of the Route from Boszra in the Haouran, to Djebel Shammor..............................................662 No. V. A Route to the Eastward of the Castle El Hasa.............665 TRAVELS IN SYRIA, AND THE HOLY LAND. JOURNAL OF A TOUR FROM DAMASCUS COUNTRIES OF THE LIBANUS, AND ANTI-LIBANUS. September 22, 1810.--I Left Damascus at four o'clock P.M. with a small caravan destined for Tripoli; passed Salehíe, and beyond it a Kubbe,[Kubbe, a cupola supported by columns or walls; the sepulchre of a reputed saint.] from whence I had, near sun-set, a most beautiful view of the city of Damascus and its surrounding country. From the Kubbe, the road passes along the left side of the valley in which the Barrada runs, over uneven ground, which for the greater part is barren rock. After a ride of two hours and a quarter from Salehie, we descended to the river's side, and passed the Djissr [Djissr--Bridge.] WADY BARRADA [p.2]Dumar; on the other side of which we encamped. It is a well-built bridge, with two archies, at twenty minutes distance from the village Dumar. September 23.--We set off before daylight, crossing the mountains, in one of whose Wadys[Wady--Valley.] the Barrada winds along; we crossed it repeatedly, and after two hours arrived at the village Eldjdide [Arabic], built on the declivity of a hill near the source of one of the numerous rivulets that empty themselves into the Barrada. One hour and three quarters further, we descended into the Wady Barrada, near two villages, built on either side of the river, opposite to each other, called Souk Barrada.[Souk (market) is an appellation often added to villages, which have periodical markets.] The valley of the Barrada, up to Djissr Barrada, is full of fruit trees; and where its breadth permits, Dhourra and wheat are sown. Half an hour further, is Husseine, a small village in the lower part of the valley. Three-quarters of an hour, El Souk; here the Wady begins to be very narrow. A quarter of an hour beyond, turning round a steep rock, the valley presents a very wild and picturesque aspect. To the left, in the mountain, are six chambers cut in the rock; said to be the work of Christians, to whom the greater part of the ancient structures in Syria are ascribed. The river was not fordable here; and it would have taken me at least two hours to reach, by a circuitous route, the opposite mountains. A little way higher up is the Djissr el Souk, at the termination of the Wady; this bridge was built last year, as appears by an Arabic inscription on the rock near it. From the bridge the road leads up the side of the mountain, and enters, after half an hour's ride, upon a plain country. The river has a pretty cascade, near which are ZEBDENI [p.3] the remains of a bridge. The above mentioned plain is about three- quarters of an hour in breadth, and three hours in length; it is called Ard Zebdeni, or the district of Zebdeni; it is watered by the Barrada, one of whose sources is in the midst of it; and by the rivulet called Moiet[Moye--Water.] Zebdeni [Arabic], whose source is in the mountain, behind the village of the same name. The latter river, which empties itself into the Barrada, has, besides the source in the Ard Zebdeni, another of an equal size near Fidji, in a side branch of the Wady Barrada, half an hour from the village Husseine. The fall of the river is very rapid. We followed the plain of Zebdeni from one end to the other: it is limited on one side by the eastern part of the Anti- Libanus, called here Djebel Zebdeni. Its cultivable ground is waste till near the village of Beroudj [Arabic], where I saw plantations of mulberry trees, which seemed to be well taken care of. Half an hour from Beroudj is the village of Zebdeni [Arabic], and between them the ruined Khan Benduk (the bastard Khan). Zebdeni is a considerable village; its inhabitants breed cattle, and the silk-worm, and have some dyeing houses. I had a letter for the Sheikh of Zebdeni from a Damascene; the Sheikh ordered me an Argile[Argile--A Persian pipe, in which the smoke passes through water.] and a cup of coffee, but went to supper with his household, without inviting me to join them. This being considered an insult, I left his house and went to sup with the muleteers, with whom I slept upon an open piece of ground before a ruined bath, in the midst of the village. The inhabitants of Zebdeni are three-fourths Turks, and the remainder Greek Catholics; it is a place much frequented by those passing from Damascus to the mountain. September 24.--Left the village before day-light and crossed the Anti- Libanus, at the foot of which Zebdeni lies. This chain of EL KANNE [p.4] mountains is, by the inhabitants of the Bekaa and the Belad [Belad--District, province.] Baalbec, called Djebel[Djebel--Mountain.] Essharki (or the eastern mountain), in opposition to Djebel el Gharbi, the western mountain, otherwise called Djebel Libnan (Libanus); but that part of it which lies nearer to Zebdeni than to the great valley, is called Djebel Zebdeni. We travelled for the greater part of the morning upon the mountain. Its rock is primitive calcareous, of a fine grain; upon the highest part I found a sandy slate: on the summit and on the eastern side of this part of the Anti-Libanus there are many spots, affording good pasturage, where a tribe of Turkmans sometimes feed their cattle. It abounds also in short oak trees [Arabic], of which I saw none higher than twelve or fifteen feet. Our road lay N.W. Two hours and a half from Zebdeni we passed a spot with several wells, called Bir[Bir-- Well.] Anhaur, or Bekai. The western declivity of the mountain, towards the district of Baalbec, is completely barren, without pasture or trees. After five hours and three quarters riding we descended into the plain, near the half-ruined village of El Kanne [Arabic], and passed the river of El Kanne, whose source is at three hours distance, in the mountain. It empties itself into the Liettani, in the plain, two hours below Kanne. I here left the caravan and took a guide to Zahle, where I meant to stay a few days. Our way lay W.b.N. across the plain; passed the village El Nahrien Haoush Hale, consisting of miserable mud cottages. The plain is almost totally uncultivated. Passed the Liettani [Arabic] at two hours from El Kanne. Half an hour, on the other side of it, is the village Kerak, at the foot of the Djebel Sannin; it consists of about one hundred and fifty-houses and has some gardens in the plain, which are watered by a branch of the Berdoun, or river of Zahle. Kerak is entirely inhabited by Turks; it belongs to: ZAHLE [p.5] the dominions of the Emir of the Druses, who some years ago took it by force from the Emir of Baalbec. On the southern side of the village is a mosque, and adjoining to it a long building, on the eastern side of which are the ruins of another mosque, with a Kubbe still remaining. The long building contains, under a flat roof, the pretended tomb of Noah [Arabic]; it consists of a tomb-stone above ten feet long, three broad and two high, plastered all over; the direction of its length is S.E. and N.W. The Turks visit the grave, and pretend that Noah is really buried there. At half an hour from Kerak is the town of Zahle [Arabic], built in an inlet of the mountain, on a steep ascent, surrounded with Kerums (vineyards). The river Berdoun [Arabic] here issues from a narrow valley into the plain and waters the gardens of Zahle. September 25th.--Took a walk through the town with Sheikh Hadj Farakh. There are eight or nine hundred houses, which daily increase, by fugitives from the oppressions of the Pashas of Damascus and of the neighbouring petty tyrants. Twenty-five years ago there were only two hundred houses at Zahle: it is now one of the principal towns in the territory of the Emir Beshir. It has its markets, which are supplied from Damascus and Beirout, and are visited by the neighbouring Fellahs, and the Arabs El Naim, and El Harb, and El Faddel, part of whom pass the winter months in the Bekaa, and exchange their butter against articles of dress, and tents, and horse and camel furniture. The inhabitants, who may amount to five thousand, are all Catholic Greeks, with the exception only of four or five Turkish families. The Christians have a bishop, five churches and a monastery, the Turks have no mosque. The town belongs to the territory of the Druses, and is under the authority of the Emir Beshir, but a part of it still belongs to the family of Aamara, whose influence, formerly very [p.6] great in the Mountain, has lately been so much circumscribed by the Emir, that the latter is now absolute master of the town. The Emir receives the Miri, which is commonly the double of its original assessment (in Belad Baalbec it is the triple), and besides the Miri, he makes occasional demands upon the town at large. They had paid him forty-five purses a few weeks before my arrival. So far the Emir Beshir's government resembles perfectly that of the Osmanlys in the eastern part of Syria: but there is one great advantage which the people enjoy under his command--an almost complete exemption from all personal exactions, and the impartiality of justice, which is dealt out in the same manner to the Christian and to the Turk. It is curious, that the peace of so numerous a body should be maintained without any legal power whatsoever. There is neither Sheikh nor governor in the town; disputes are settled by the friends of the respective parties, or if the latter are obstinate, the decision is referred to the tribunal of the Emir Beshir, at Deir el Kammar. The inhabitants, though not rich, are, in general, in independent circumstances; each family occupies one, or at most two rooms. The houses are built of mud; the roofs are supported by one or two wooden posts in the midst of the principal room, over which beams of pine-wood are laid across each other; upon these are branches of oak trees, and then the earth, which forms the flat terrace of the house. In winter the deep snow would soon break through these feeble roofs, did not the inhabitants take care, every morning, to remove the snow that may have fallen during the night. The people gain their subsistence, partly by the cultivation of their vineyards and a few mulberry plantations, or of their fields in the Bekaa, and partly by their shops, by the commerce in Kourdine sheep, and their manufactures. Almost every family weaves cotton cloth, which is used as shirts by the inhabitants and [p.7] Arabs, and when dyed blue, as Kombazes, or gowns, by the men. There are more than twenty dyeing houses in Zahle, in which indigo only is employed. The Pike [The Pike is a linear measure, equal to two feet English, when used for goods of home manufacture, and twenty-seven inches for foreign imported commodities.] of the best of this cotton cloth, a Pike and a half broad, costs fifty paras, (above 1s. 6d. English). The cotton is brought from Belad Safad and Nablous. They likewise fabricate Abbayes, or woollen mantles. There are above one hundred horsemen in the town. In June 1810, when the Emir Beshir joined with his corps the army of Soleiman Pasha, to depose Youssef Pasha, he took from Zahle 400 men, armed with firelocks. On the west side of the town, in the bottom of the Wady, lies the monastery of Mar Elias, inhabited by a prior and twenty monks. It has extensive grape and mulberry plantations, and on the river side a well cultivated garden, the products of which are sold to the town's people. The prior received me with great arrogance, because I did not stoop to kiss his hands, a mark of respect which the ecclesiastics of this country are accustomed to receive. The river of Zahle, or Berdoun, forms the frontier of the Bekaa, which it separates from the territory belonging to the Emir of Baalbec, called Belad Baalbec; so that whatever is northward from the bridge of the Berdoun, situated in the valley, a quarter of an hour below Zahle, belongs to Belad Baalbec; and whatever is south-ward, to the Bekaa. Since Soleiman Pasha has governed Damascus, the authority of the Emir Beshir has been in some measure extended over the Bekaa, but I could not inform myself of the distinct laws by which it had been regulated. The Pashas of Damascus, and the Emir Beshirs, have for many years been in continual dispute about their rights over the villages of the Bekaa. ANDJAR [p.8] Following up the Berdoun into the Mountain, are the villages of Atein, Heraike, and another in the vicinity of Zahle. September 26.--On the night of the 25th to the 26th, was the Aid Essalib, or feast of the Cross, the approach of which was celebrated by repeated discharges of musquets and the lighting of numerous fires, which illuminated all the mountains around the town and the most conspicuous parts of the town itself. I rode to Andjar [Arabic], on the eastern side of the Bekaa, in a direction south-east by south, two hours and a half good walking from Zahle. I found several encampments of the Arabs Naim and Faddel in the plain. In one hour and a quarter, passed the Liettani, near an ancient arched bridge; it had very little water: not the sixth part of the plain is cultivated here. The place called Andjar lies near the Anti-Libanus, and consists of a ruined town-wall, inclosing an oblong square of half an hour in circumference; the greater part of the wall is in ruins. It was originally about twelve feet thick, and constructed with small unhewn stones, loosely cemented and covered by larger square stones, equally ill cemented. In the enclosed space are the ruins of habitations, of which the foundations alone remain. In one of these buildings are seen the remains of two columns of white marble, one foot and a quarter in diameter. The whole seems to have been constructed in modern times. Following the Mountain to the southward of these ruins, for twenty minutes, I came to the place where the Moiet Andjar, or river of Andjar, has its source in several springs. This river had, when I saw it, more than triple the volume of water of the Liettani; but though it joins the latter in the Bekaa, near Djissr Temnin, the united stream retains the name Liettani. There are remains of ancient well-built walls round all the springs which constitute the source of the Andjar; one of the springs, in particular, [p.9]which forms a small but very deep basin, has been lined to the bottom with large stones, and the wall round it has been constructed with large square stones, which have no traces of ever having been cemented together. In the wall of a mill, which has been built very near these springs, I saw a sculptured architrave. These remains appear to be much more ancient than those of Andjar, and are perhaps coeval with the buildings at Baalbec. I was told, by the people of the mill, that the water of the larger spring, in summer time, stops at certain periods and resumes its issue from under the rock, eight or ten times in a day. Further up in the mountain, above the spring, is a large cavern where the people sometimes collect saltpetre; but it is more abundant in a cavern still higher in the mountain. Following the road northward on the chain of the Anti-Libanus, half an hour from these springs, I met with another copious spring; and a little higher, a third; one hour further, is a fourth, which I did not visit. Near the two former are traces of ancient walls. The waters of all these sources join in Moiet Andjar, and they are all comprised under the appellation of the Springs of Moiet Andjar [Arabic]. They are partly covered with rushes, and are much frequented by water fowls, and wild boars also resort to them in great numbers. August 27th.--Being disappointed in my object of proceeding to Baalbec, I passed the day in the shop of one of the petty merchants of Zahle, and afterwards supped with him. The sales of the merchants are for the greater part upon credit; even those to the Arabs for the most trifling sums. The common interest of money is 30 percent. August 28th.--Set out in the afternoon for Baalbec, with a native of that place, who had been established with his family at Zahle, for several years. Passed the villages of Kerak, Abla, Temnin, Beit BAALBEC [p.10]Shaeme, Haoush el Rafka, Tel Hezin, and arrived, after seven hours, at Baalbec.[The following are the names of villages in Belad Baalbec, between Baalbec and Zahle. On the Libanus, or on the declivity near its foot; Kerak, Fursul, Nieha, Nebi Eily, Temnin foka (the upper Temnin) Bidneil, Smustar, Hadad Tareie, Nebi Ershaedi, Kefferdein Saide, Budei, Deir Akhmar, Deir Eliaout, Sulife, Btedai. In the plain; Abla, Temnin tahte (the lower Temnin) Ksarnabe, Beit Shaeme, Gferdebesh, Haoush el Rafka, Haoush el Nebi, Haoush Esseneid, Telhezin (with a copious spring), Medjdeloun, Haoush Barada, Haoush Tel Safie, Tel Wardin, Sergin, Ain, Ouseie, Haoush Mesreie, Bahami, Duris, Yead. On the Anti-Libanus, or near its foot; Briteil, Tallie, Taibe, Khoreibe, El Aoueine, Nebi Shit, Marrabun, Mouze, Kanne, Deir el Ghazal, Reia, Hushmush. All these villages are inhabited by Turks or Metawelis; Abla and Fursul are the only Christian villages. I subjoin the villages in the plain to the N. of Baalbec, belonging to the territory of Baalbec. On the Libanus; Nebba, Essafire, Harbate. On the Plain; Tunin, Shaet, Ras el Haded, Leboue, El Kaa. Anti-Libanus, and at its foot: Nahle, El Ain, Nebi Oteman, Fiki, Erzel, Mukra, El Ras.] The territory of Baalbec extends, as I have before mentioned, down to the Bekaa. On the eastern side it comprises the mountain of the Anti- Libanus, or Djebel Essharki, up to its top; and on the western side, the Libanus likewise, as far as its summits. In the plain it reaches as far as El Kaa, twelve hours from Baalbec and fourteen hours from Homs, where the Anti-Libanus terminates, and where the valley between the two mountains widens considerably, because the Anti-Libanus there takes a more eastern direction. This district is abundantly watered by rivulets; almost every village has its spring, all of which descend into the valley, where most of them lose themselves, or join the Liettani, whose source is between Zahle and Baalbec, about two hours from the latter place, near a hill called Tel Hushben. The earth is extremely fertile, but is still less cultivated than in the Bekaa. Even so late as twelve years ago, the plain, and a part of the mountain, to the distance of a league and a half round the town, were covered with grape plantations; the oppressions of the governors, [p.11]and their satellites have now entirely destroyed them; and the inhabitants of Baalbec, instead of eating their own grapes, which were renowned for their superior flavour, are obliged to import them from Fursul and Zahle. The government of Baalbec has been for many years in the hands of the family of Harfush, the head family of the Metaweli of Syria.[The Metaweli are of the sect of Ali, like the Persians; they have more than 200 houses at Damascus, but they conform there to the rites of the orthodox Mohammedans.] In later times, two brothers, Djahdjah and Sultan, have disputed with each other the possession of the government; more than fifteen individuals of their own family have perished in these contests, and they have dispossessed each other by turns, according to the degree of friendship or enmity which the Pashas of Damascus bore to the one or the other. During the reign of Youssef Pasha, Sultan was Emir; as soon as Soleiman was in possession of Damascus, Sultan was obliged to fly, and in August, 1810, his brother Djahdjah returned to his seat, which he had already once occupied. He pays a certain annual sum to the Pasha, and extorts double its amount from the peasant. The Emir Beshir has, since the reign of Soleiman Pasha, likewise acquired a certain influence over Baalbec, and is now entitled to the yearly sum of fifteen purses from this district. The Emir Djahdjah resides at Baalbec, and keeps there about 200 Metaweli horsemen, whom he equips and feeds out of his own purse. He is well remembered by several Europeans, especially English travellers, for his rapacity, and inhospitable behaviour. The first object which strikes the traveller arriving from the Bekaa, is a temple [This temple is not seen in approaching Baalbec from Damascus.] in the plain, about half an hour's walk from the town, which has received from the natives the appellation of Kubbet Duris. Volney has not described this temple. It is an [p.12]octagon building supported by eight beautiful granite columns, which are all standing. They are of an order resembling the Doric; the capitals project very little over the shaft, which has no base. Over every two pillars lies one large stone, forming the architrave, over which the cornice is still visible, very little adorned with sculpture. The roof has fallen in. On the N.W. side, between two of the columns, is an insulated niche, of calcareous stone, projecting somewhat beyond the circumference of the octagon, and rising to about two feet below the roof. The granite of the columns is particularly beautiful, the feldspath and quartz being mixed with the hornblende in large masses. The red feldspath predominates. One of the columns is distinguished from the rest by its green quartz. We could not find any traces of inscriptions. September 29th.--I took lodgings in a small room belonging to the catholic priest, who superintends a parish of twenty-five Christian families. This being near the great temple, I hastened to it in the morning, before any body was apprised of my arrival. The work of Wood, who accompanied Dawkins to Baalbec in 1751, and the subsequent account of the place given by Volney, who visited Baalbec in 1784, render it unnecessary for me to enter into any description of these ruins. I shall only observe that Volney is incorrect in describing the rock of which the buildings are constructed as granite; it is of the primitive calcareous kind, but harder than the stone of Tedmor. There are, however, many remains of granite columns in different parts of the building. I observed no Greek inscriptions; there were some few in Latin and in Arabic; and I copied the following Cufic inscription on the side of a stair-case, leading down into some subterranean [p.13]chambers below the small temple, which the Emir has walled up to prevent a search for hidden treasures. [Cufic inscription] Having seen, a few months before, the ruins of Tedmor, a comparison between these two renowned remains of antiquity naturally offered itself to my mind. The entire view of the ruins of Palmyra, when seen at a certain distance, is infinitely more striking than those of Baalbec, but there is not any one spot in the ruins of Tedmor so imposing as the interior view of the temple of Baalbec. The temple of the Sun at Tedmor is upon a grander scale than that of Baalbec, but it is choked up with Arab houses, which admit only of a view of the building in detail. The archilecture of Baalbec is richer than that of Tedmor. The walls of the ancient city may still be traced, and include a larger space than the present town ever occupied, even in its most flourishing state. Its circuit may be between three and four miles. On the E. and N. sides the gates of the modern town, formed in the ancient wall, still remain entire, especially the northern gate; it is a narrow arch, and comparatively very small. I suppose it to be of Saracen origin. [p.14] The women of Baalbec are esteemed the handsomest of the neighbouring country, and many Damascenes marry Baalbec girls. The air of Belad Baalbec and the Bekaa, however, is far from being healthy. The chain of the Libanus interrupts the course of the westerly winds, which are regular in Syria during the summer months; and the want of these winds renders the climate extremely hot and oppressive. September 30th.--I again visited the ruins this morning. The Emir had been apprised of my arrival by his secretary, to whom I had a letter of recommendation. He sent the secretary to ask whether I had any presents for him; I answered in the negative, but delivered to him a letter, which the Jew bankers of the Pasha of Damascus had given me for him; these Jews being men of great influence. He contented himself with replying that as I had no presents for him, it was not necessary that I should pay him my respects; but he left me undisturbed in my pursuits, which was all I wanted. Near a well, on the S. side of the town, between the temple and the mountain, I found upon a stone the following inscription; C. CASSIVS ARRIANVS MONVMENTVM SIBI -OCO SVO VIVVS FECIT In the afternoon I made a tour in the invirons of Baalbec. At the foot of the Anti-Libanus, a quarter of an hour's walk from the town, to the south is a quarry, where the places are still visible from whence several of the large stones in the south wall of the castle were extracted; one large block is yet remaining, cut on three sides, ready to be transported to the building, but it must be done by other hands than those of the Metaweli. Two other blocks, cut in [p.15]like manner, are standing upright at a little distance from each other; and near them, in the rock, are two small excavated tombs, with three niches in each, for the dead, in a style of workmanship similar to what I saw to the north of Aleppo, in the Turkman mountains towards Deir Samaan. In the hills, to the S.W. of the town, just behind this quarry, are several tombs, excavated in the rock, like the former, but of larger dimensions. In following the quarry towards the village of Duris, numerous natural caverns are met with in the calcareous rocks; I entered more than a dozen of them, but found no traces of art, except a few seats or steps rudely cut out. These caverns serve at present as winter habitations for the Arabs who pasture their cattle in this district. The principal quarry was a full half hour to the southward of the town. The mountains above Baalbec are quite uncultivated and barren, except at the Ras el Ain, or sources of the river of Baalbec, where a few trees only remain. This is a delightful place, and is famous amongst the inhahitants of the adjoining districts for the salubrity of its air and water. Near the Ain, are the ruins of a church and mosque. The ruined town of Baalbec contains about seventy Metaweli families, and twenty-five of Catholic Christians. Amidst its ruins are two handsome mosques, and a fine bath. The Emir lives in a spacious building called the Serai. The inhabitants fabricate white cotton cloth like that of Zahle; they have some dyeing houses, and had, till within a few years, some tanneries. The men are the artizans here, and not the women. The property of the people consists chiefly of cows, of which every house has ten or fifteen, besides goats and sheep. The goats are of a species not common in other parts of Syria; they have very long ears, large horns, and long hair, but not silky like that of the goats of Anatolia. [p.16]The breed of Baalbec mules is much esteemed, and I have seen some of them worth on the spot £30 to £35. sterling. October 1st.--After having again visited the ruins, I engaged a man in the forenoon, to shew me the way to the source of the rivulet called Djoush [Arabic]. It is in a Wady in the Anti-Libanus, three quarters of an hour distant from Baalbec. The rivulet was very small, owing to the remarkable dryness of the season, and was lost in the Wady before it reached the plain; at other times it flows down to Baalbec and joins the river, which, after irrigating the gardens and fields round the town, loses itself in the plain. A little higher in the mountain than the spot where the water of the Djoush first issues from the spring, is a small perpendicular hole, through which I descended, not without some danger, about sixteen feet, into an aqueduct which conveys the water of the Djoush underground for upwards of one hundred paces. This aqueduct is six feet high and three feet and a half wide, vaulted above, and covered with a thick coat of plaister; it is in perfect preservation; the water in it was about ten inches deep. In following up this aqueduct I came to a vaulted chamber about ten feet square, built with large hewn stones, into which the water falls through another walled passage, but which I did not enter, being afraid that the water falling on all sides might extinguish the only candle that I had with me. Below this upper passage, another dark one is visible through the water as it falls down. The aqueduct continues beyond the hole through which I descended, as far as the spot where the water issues from under the earth. Above ground, at a small distance from the spring, and open towards it, is a vaulted room, built in the rock, now half filled with stones and rubbish. Ten or twelve years ago, at the time when the plague visited DEIR EL AKHMAR [p.17]these countries and the town of Baalbec, all the Christian families quitted the town, and encamped for six weeks around these springs. From Djoush we crossed the northern mountain of the valley, and came to Wady Nahle, near the village of Nahle, situated at the foot of the mountain, and one hour and a half E.b.N. from Baalbec. There is nothing remarkable in the village, except the ruins of an ancient building, consisting at present of the foundations only, which are strongly built; it appeared to me to be of the same epoch as the ruins of Baalbec. The rivulet named Nahle rises at one hour's distance, in a narrow Wady in the mountain. The neighbourhood of Baalbec abounds in walnut trees; the nuts are exported to Zahle and the mountains, at two or two and a half piastres per thousand. In the evening we left Baalbec, and began to cross the plain in the direction of the highest summit of Mount Libanus. We passed the village of Yeid on the left, and a little farther on, an encampment of Turkmans. During the winter, the territory of Baalbec is visited by a tribe of Turkmans called Suedie, by the Hadidein Akeidat, the Arabs Abid, whose principal seat is near Hamil, between El Kaa and Homs; and the Arabs Harb. The Suedie Turkmans remain the whole year in this district, and in the valleys of the Anti-Libanus. All these tribes pay tribute to the Emir of Baalbec, at the rate of twelve or fifteen pounds of butter for each tent, for the summer pasture. At the end of three hours march we alighted at the village Deir el Akhmar, two hours after sunset. This village stands just at the foot of the mountain; it was at this time deserted, its inhabitants having quitted it a few weeks before to escape the extortions of Djahdjah, and retired to Bshirrai. In one of the abandoned houses we found a shepherd who tended a flock belonging to the Emir; he treated us with some milk, and made a large fire, round which we lay down, and slept till day-break. MOUNT LIBANUS [p.18]October 2d.--The tobacco of Deir el Akhmar is the finest in Syria. There is no water in the village, but at twenty minutes from it, towards the plain, is a copious well. After ascending the mountain for three hours and a half, we reached the village Ainnete: thus far the mountain is covered with low oak trees (the round-leaved, and common English kinds), and has but few steep passages. Nearly one hour from Ainnete begins a more level country, which divides the Upper from the Lower Libanus. This part was once well cultivated, but the Metaweli having driven the people to despair, the village is in consequence deserted and in ruins. A few fields are still cultivated by the inhabitants of Deir Eliaout and Btedai, who sow their seed in the autumn, and in the spring return, build a few huts, and watch the growing crop. The walnut tree abounds here. There are three springs at Ainnete, one of which was dried up; another falls over the rock in a pretty cascade; they unite in a Wady which runs parallel with the upper mountain as far as the lake Liemoun, two hours west of Ainnete; at this time the lake was nearly dry, an extraordinary circumstance; I saw its bed a little higher up than Ainnete. From Ainnete the ascent of the mountain is steep, and the vegetation is scanty; though it reaches to the summit. A few oaks and shrubs grow amongst the rocks. The road is practicable for loaded mules, and my horse ascended without difficulty. The honey of Ainnete, and of the whole of Libanus, is of a superior quality. At the end of two hours and a half from Ainnete we reached the summit, from whence I enjoyed a magnificent view over the Bekaa, the Anti- Libanus, and Djebel Essheikh, on one side, and the sea, the sea shore near Tripoli, and the deep valley of Kadisha on the other. We were not quite upon the highest summit, which lay half an hour to the right. Baalbec bore from hence S. by E, [p.19]and the summit of Djebel Essheikh S. by W. The whole of the rock is calcareous, and the surface towards the top is so splintered by the action of the atmosphere, as to have the appearance of layers of slates. Midway from Ainnete I found a small petrified shell, and on breaking a stone which I picked up on the summit, I discovered another similar petrifaction within it. Having descended for two hours, we came to a small cultivated plain. On this side, as well as on the other, the higher Libanus may be distinguished from the lower; the former presenting on both sides a steep barren ascent of two to two hours and a half; the latter a more level wooded country, for the greater part fit for cultivation this difference of surface is observable throughout the Libanus, from the point where I crossed it, for eight hours, in a S. W. direction. The descent terminates in one of the numerous deep valleys which run towards the seashore. I left my guide on the small plain, and proceeded to the right towards the Cedars, which are visible from the top of the mountain, standing half an hour from the direct line of the route to Bshirrai, at the foot of the steep declivities of the higher division of the mountain. They stand on uneven ground, and form a small wood. Of the oldest and best looking trees, I counted eleven or twelve; twenty-five very large ones; about fifty of middling size; and more than three hundred smaller and young ones. The oldest trees are distinguished by having the foliage and small branches at the BSHIRRAI. [p.20]top only, and by four, five, or even seven trunks springing from one base; the branches and foliage of the others were lower, but I saw none whose leaves touched the ground, like those in Kew Gardens. The trunks of the old trees are covered with the names of travellers and other persons, who have visited them: I saw a date of the seventeenth century. The trunks of the oldest trees seem to be quite dead; the wood is of a gray tint; I took off a piece of one of them; but it was afterwards stolen, together with several specimens of minerals, which I sent from Zahle to Damascus. At an hour and a quarter from the Cedars, and considerably below them, on the edge of a rocky descent, lies the village of Bshirrai, on the right bank of the river Kadisha [Arabic]. October 3d.--Bshirrai consists of about one hundred and twenty houses. Its inhabitants are all Maronites, and have seven churches. At half an hour from the village is the Carmelite convent of Deir Serkis (St. Sergius,) inhabited at present by a single monk, a very worthy old man, a native of Tuscany, who has been a missionary to Egypt, India, and Persia. Nothing can be more striking than a comparison of the fertile but uncultivated districts of Bekaa and Baalbec, with the rocky mountains, in the opposite direction, where, notwithstanding that nature seems to afford nothing for the sustenance of the inhabitants, numerous villages flourish, and every inch of ground is cultivated. Bshirrai is surrounded with fruit trees, mulberry plantations, vineyards, fields of Dhourra, and other corn, though there is scarcely a natural plain twenty feet square. The inhabitants with great industry build terraces to level the ground and prevent the earth from being swept down by the winter rains, and at the same time to retain the water requisite for the irrigation of their crops. Water is very abundant, as streams from numerous springs descend KANOBIN. [p.21]on every side into the Kadisha, whose source is two hours distant from Bshirrai, in the direction of the mountain from whence I came. Bshirrai belongs to the district of Tripoli, but is at present, with the whole of the mountains, in the hands of the Emir Beshir, or chief of the Druses. The inhabitants of the village rear the silk-worm, have excellent plantations of tobacco, and a few manufactories of cotton stuffs used by the mountaineers as shawls for girdles. Forty years ago the village was in the hands of the Metaweli, who were driven out by the Maronites. In the morning I went to Kanobin; after walking for two hours and a half over the upper plain, I descended the precipitous side of a collateral branch of the valley Kadisha, and continued my way to the convent, which I reached in two hours and a half. It is built on a steep precipice on the right of the valley, at half an hour's walk from the river, and appears as if suspended in the air, being supported by a high wall, built against the side of the mountain. There is a spring close to it. The church, which is excavated in the rock, and dedicated to the Virgin, is decorated with the portraits of a great number of patriarchs. During the winter, the peasants suspend their silk-worms in bags, to the portrait of some favourite saint, and implore his influence for a plenteous harvest of silk; from this custom the convent derives a considerable income. Kanobin is the seat of the patriarch of the Maronites, who is at the head of twelve Maronite bishops, and here in former times he generally passed the summer months, retiring in the winter to Mar Hanna; but the vexations and insults which the patriarchs were exposed to from the Metaweli, in their excursions to and from Baalbec, induced them for many years to abandon this residence. The present patriarch is the first who for a long time has resided in HOSRUN. [p.22]Kanobin. Though I had no letter of introduction to him, and was in the dress of a peasant, he invited me to dinner, and I met at his table his secretary, Bishop Stefano, who has been educated at Rome, and has some notions of Europe. While I was there, a rude peasant was ordained a priest. Kanobin had once a considerable library; but it has been gradually dispersed; and not a vestige of it now remains. The cells of the monks are, for the most part, in ruins. Three hours distant from Kanobin, at the convent Kashheya, which is near the village Ehden, is a printing office, where prayer-books in the Syriac language are printed. This language is known and spoken by many Maronites, and in this district the greater part of them write Arabic in the Syriac characters. The names of the owners of the silk-worms were all written in this character in different hands, upon the bags suspended in the church. I returned to Bshirrai by an easier road than that which I had travelled in the morning; at the end of three quarters of an hour I regained the upper plain, from whence I proceeded for two hours by a gentle ascent, through fields and orchards, up to the village. The potatoe succeeds here very well; a crop was growing in the garden of the Carmelite convent; it has also been cultivated for some time past in Kesrouan. In the mountains about Kanobin tigers are said to be frequently met with; I suppose ounces are meant. October 4th.--I departed from Bshirrai with the intention of returning to Zahle over the higher range of the Libanus. We crossed the Kadisha, at a short distance from Bishirrai, above the place where it falls over the precipice: at one hour distant from Bshirrai, and opposite to it, we passed the village of Hosrun. The same cultivation prevails here as in the vicinity of Bshirrai; mulberry and ARD LAKLOUK. walnut [p.23]trees, and vines, are the chief productions. From Hosrun we continued our way along the foot of the highest barren part of Libanus. About two hours from its summit, the mountain affords pasturage, and is capable of cultivation, from the numerous springs which are everywhere met with. During the greater part of this day's journey I had a fine view of the sea shore between Tartous and Tripoli, and from thence downwards towards Jebail. At three hours and a half from Hosrun, still following the foot of the upper chain of the Libanus, we entered the district of Tanurin (Ard Tanurin), so called from a village situated below in a valley. The spots in the mountain, proper for cultivation, are sown by the inhabitants of Tanurin; such as afford pasture only are visited by the Arabs El Haib. I was astonished at seeing so high in the mountain, numerous camels and Arab huts. These Arabs pass the winter months on the sea shore about Tripoli, Jebail, and Tartous. Though like the Bedouins, they have no fixed habitations, their features are not of the true Bedouin cast, and their dialect, though different from that of the peasants, is not a pure Bedouin dialect. They are tributary to the Turkish governors, and at peace with all the country people; but they have the character of having a great propensity to thieving. Their property, besides camels, consists in horses, cows, sheep, and goats. Their chief is Khuder el Aissy [Arabic]. On leaving the district of Tanurin, I entered Ard Laklouk [Arabic], which I cannot describe better, than by comparing it to one of the pasturages in the Alps. It is covered with grass, and its numerous springs, together with the heavy dews which fall during the summer months, have produced a verdure of a deeper tint than any I saw in the other parts of Syria which I visited. The Arabs El Haib come up hither also, and wander about the district for five months in the year; some of them even remain here the whole AKOURA. [p.24]year; except that in winter they descend from the pastures, and pitch their tents round the villages of Tanurin and Akoura, which are situated in a valley, sheltered on every side by the perpendicular sides of the Upper Libanus. At Tanurin and Laklouk the winter corn was already above ground. The people water the fields for three or four days before they sow the seed. Akoura has a bad name amongst the people of this country; its inhabitants, who are all Greek Catholics, are accused of avarice, and inhospitality. The mountaineers, when upon a journey, never think of spending a para, for their eating, drinking, or lodging. On arriving in the evening at a village, they alight at the house of some acquaintance, if they have any, which is generally the case, and say to the owner, "I am your guest," Djay deyfak [Arabic]. The host gives the traveller a supper, consisting of milk, bread, and Borgul, and if rich and liberal, feeds his mule or mare also. When the traveller has no acquaintance in the village, he alights at any house he pleases, ties up his beast, and smokes his pipe till he receives a welcome from the master of the house, who makes it a point of honour to receive him as a friend, and to give him a supper. In the morning he departs with a simple "Good bye." Such is the general custom in these parts; the inhabitants of Akoura, however, are noted for refusing to receive travellers, to whom they will neither give a supper, nor sell them provision for ready money; the consequence of which conduct is, that the Akourans, when travelling about, are obliged to conceal their origin, in order to obtain food on the road. My guide had a friend at Akoura, but he happened to be absent; we therefore alighted at another house, where we obtained with much difficulty a little barley for our horses; and we should have gone supperless to rest, had I not repaired to the Sheikh, and made him believe I was a Kourdine (my dress being somewhat like that of the Kourds) in the service of the [p.25] Pasha of Damascus, on my way to the Emir Beshir. As I spoke with confidence, the Sheikh became alarmed, and sent us a few loaves of bread, and some cheese; on my return, I found my guide in the midst of a large assembly of people, abusing them for their meanness. The property of the inhabitants of this village consists of cows and other cattle, silkworms, and plantations of olive trees. At Akoura Djebel Libnan terminates; and farther down towards Zahle and the Bekaa, the mountain is called Djebel Sannin [Arabic]. The Libanus is here more barren and wild than further to the north. The rocks are all in perfectly horizontal layers, some of which are thirty to forty yards in thickness, while others are only a few yards. October 5th.--We left the inhospitable Akoura before day light, and reached, after one hour and three quarters, a village called Afka, situated in the bottom of a valley, near a spring, whose waters join those of Wady Akoura, and flow down towards Jebail. The name Afka is found in the ancient geography of Syria. At Aphaca, according to Zosimus, was a temple of Venus, where the handsomest girls of Syria sacrificed to the goddess: it was situated near a small lake, between Heliopolis and the sea coast. [Zosim. l.i.c.58.] The lake Liemoun is at three hours distance from Afka. I could not hear of any remains of antiquity near Afka. All the inhabitants are Metaweli, under the government of Jebail. Near it, towards Jebail, are the Metaweli villages of Mghaiere, Meneitere, and Laese. From Afka the road leads up a steep Wady. At half an hour from it is the spring called Ain Bahr; three quarters of an hour beyond it is a high level country, still on the western side of the summit of the mountain. This district is called Watty el Bordj WATTY EL BORDJ. [p.26] [Arabic], from a small ruined tower. It is three or four hours in length, and two in breadth. In the spring the Arabs Abid, Turkmans, and Kourdines, here pasture their cattle. These Kourdines bring annually into Syria from twenty to thirty thousand sheep, from the mountains of Kourdistan; the greater part of which are consumed by Aleppo, Damascus, and the mountains, as Syria does not produce a sufficient number for its inhabitants. The Kourd sheep are larger than those of Syria, but their flesh is less esteemed. The Kourd sheep-dealers first visit with their flocks Aleppo, then Hama, Homs, and Baalbec; and what they do not sell on the road, they bring to pasture at Watty el Bordj, whither the people of Zahle, Deir el Kammar, and other towns in the mountains repair, and buy up thousands of them, which they afterwards sell in retail to the peasants of the mountains. They buy them for ready money at twenty to thirty piastres a head, and sell them two months afterwards at thirty to forty. The mountaineers of the Druse and Maronite districts breed very few sheep, and very seldom eat animal food. On the approach of their respective great festivals, (Christmas with the Maronites, and Ramadan with the Druses) each head of a family kills one or two sheep; during the rest of the year, he feeds his people on Borgul, with occasionally some old cow's, or goat's flesh. It is only in the largest of the mountain towns of the Druses and Maronites that flesh is brought daily to market. There are no springs or water in the Watty el Bordj; but the melting of the snow in the spring affords drink for men and cattle, and snow water is often found during the greater part of the summer in some funnel- shaped holes formed in the ground by the snow. At the time I passed no water was any where to be found. In many places the snow remains throughout the year; but this year none was left, not even on the summits of the mountain, [p.27] except in a few spots on the northern declivity of the Libanus towards the district of Akkar. Watty el Bordj affords excellent pasturage; in many spots it is overgrown with trees, mostly oaks, and the barbery is also very frequent. We started partridges at every step. Our route lay generally S.W. by S. Four hours from Ain Bahr, we entered the mountain, a part of which is considered to belong to Kesrouan. It is completely stony and rocky, and I found some calcareous spath. I shall here remark that the whole of the mountain from Zahle to Belad Akkar is by the country people comprehended under the general name of Djurd Baalbec, Djurd meaning, in the northern Arabic dialect, a rocky mountain. Crossing this part of the mountain Sannin for two hours, we came to a spring called Ain Naena, from whence another road leads down north- eastwards, into the territory of Baalbec. This route is much frequented by the people of Kesrouan, who bring this way the iron ore of Shouair, to the Mesbek or smelting furnaces at Nebae el Mauradj, two hours from hence to the north-east, Shouair, which is at least ten hours distance, affording no fuel for smelting. The iron ore is carried upon mules and asses, one day's journey and a half to the Mesbek, where the mountain abounds in oak. From Aine Naena we gradually descended, and in three hours reached Zahle. October 6th.--At Zahle I found the Catholic bishop, who was absent on his episcopal tour during my first visit to this place. He is distinguished from his countrymen by the politeness of his manners, the liberality of his sentiments, his general information, and his desire of knowledge, though at a very advanced age. I had letters for him; and he recommended himself particularly to me by being the friend of Mr. Browne, the African traveller, who had lived with him a fortnight, and had visited ZAHLE. [p.28] Baalbec in his company. His diocese comprises the whole Christian community in the Bekaa, and the adjoining villages of the mountain. He is, with five other bishops, under the orders of the Patriarch at Mekhalis, and there are, besides, seven monasteries under this diocese in Syria. The Bishop's revenue arises from a yearly personal tax of half a piastre upon all the male adults in his diocese. He lives in a truly patriarchal manner, dressing in a simple black gown, and black Abbaye, and carries in his hand a long oaken stick, as an episcopal staff. He is adored by his parishioners, though they reproach him with a want of fervour in his intercourse with other Christian sects; by which they mean fanatism, which is a striking feature in the character of the Christians not only of the mountain, but also of the principal Syrian towns, and of the open country. This bigotry is not directed so much against the Mohammedans, as against their Christian brethren, whose creed at all differs from their own. It need hardly be mentioned here, that many of those sects which tore Europe to pieces in the earlier ages of Christianity, still exist in these countries: Greeks, Catholics, Maronites, Syriacs, Chaldeans, and Jacobites, all have their respective parishes and churches. Unable to effect any thing against the religion of their haughty rulers the Turks, they turn the only weapons they possess, scandal and intrigue, with fury against each other, and each sect is mad enough to believe that its church would flourish on the ruins of those of their heretic brethren. The principal hatred subsists between the Catholics and the Greeks; of the latter, many thousands have been converted to Catholicism, so that in the northern parts of Syria all Catholics, the Maronites excepted, were formerly of the Greek church: this is the case in Aleppo, Damascus, and in all the intermediate country; communities of original Latin Christians being found only around Jerusalem and Nablous. The Greeks HEUSN NIEHA. [p.29] of course see with indignation the proselytism of their brethren, which is daily gaining ground, and avenge themselves upon the apostates with the most furious hatred. Nor are the Greek and original Latin Christians backward in cherishing similar feelings; and scenes most disgraceful to Christianity are frequently the consequence. In those parts where no Greeks live, as in the mountains of Libanus, the different sects of Catholics turn their hatred against each other, and the Maronites fight with the converted Greek Catholics, or the Latins, as they do at Aleppo with the followers of the Greek church. This system of intolerance, at which the Turkish governors smile, because they are constantly gainers by it, is carried so far that, in many places, the passing Catholic is obliged to practise the Greek rites, in order to escape the effects of the fanatism of the inhabitants. On my way from Zahle to Banias, we stopped one night at Hasbeya and another at Rasheya el Fukhar; at both of which places my guide went to the Greek church, and prayed according to its forms; in passing through Zahle, as he informed me, the Greeks found it equally necessary to conform with the rites of the Latin Catholics. The intrigues carried on at Jerusalem between the Greek and Latin monks contribute to increase these diputes, which would have long ago led to a Christian civil war in these countries, did not the iron rod of the Turkish government repress their religious fury. The vineyards are estimated at the exact number of vines they contain, and each vine, if of good quality, is worth one piastre. The Miri or land tax of every hundred [Arabic] vines is ten paras. For many years past a double Miri has been levied upon Zahle. October 7th.--Remained at Zahle, and enjoyed the instructive conversation of the Bishop Basilios. October 8th.--I went to see the ruined temple called Heusn Nieha, two hours from Zahle, in the Djebel Sannin, and half an hour [p.30] from the village of Fursul. These remains stand in a Wady, surrounded by barren rocks, having a spring near them to the eastward. The temple faced the west. A grand flight of steps, twelve paces broad, with a column three feet and a half in diameter at each end of the lower step, formed the approach to a spacious pronaos, in which are remains of columns: here a door six paces in width opens into the cella, the fallen roof of which now covers the floor, and the side walls to half their original height only remain. This chamber is thirty-five paces in length by fifteen in breadth. On each of the side walls stood six pilasters of a bad Ionic order. At the extremity of the chamber are steps leading to a platform, where the statue of the deity may, perhaps, have stood: the whole space is here filled up with fragments of columns and walls. The square stones used in the construction of the walls are in general about four or five cubic feet each, but I saw some twelve feet long, four feet high, and four feet in breadth. On the right side of the entrance door is a staircase in the wall, leading to the top of the building, and much resembling in its mode of construction the staircase in the principal temple of Baalbec. The remains of the capitals of columns betray a very corrupt taste, being badly sculptured, and without any elegance either in design or execution; and the temple seems to have been built in the latest times of paganism, and was perhaps subsequently repaired, and converted into a church. The stone with which it has been built is more decayed than that in the ruins at Baalbec, being here more exposed to the inclemency of the weather. No inscriptions were any where visible. Around the temple are some ruins of ancient and others of more modern habitations. Above Fursul is a plain called Habis, in which are a number of grottos excavated in the rock, apparently tombs; but I did not visit them. AIN ESSOUIRE [p.31] October 9th.--I was disappointed in my intention of proceeding, and passed the day in calling at several shops in the town, and conversing with the merchants and Arab traders. October 10th.--I set out for Hasbeya, accompanied by the same guide with whom I had made the mountain tour. We crossed the Bekaa nearly in the direction of Andjar.[The following are the villages in the Bekaa, and at the foot of the western mountain, which from Zahle southward takes the name of Djebel Riehan; namely, Saad-Nayel [Arabic], Talabaya [Arabic], Djetye [Arabic], Bouarish [Arabic], Mekse [Arabic], Kab Elias [Arabic], Mezraat [Arabic], Bemherye [Arabic], Aamyk [Arabic], Deir Tenhadish [Arabic], Keferya [Arabic], Khereyt Kena [Arabic], Beit Far [Arabic], Ain Zebde [Arabic], Segbin [Arabic], Deire el Djouze [Arabic], Bab Mara [Arabic], Aitenyt [Arabic], El Kergoue [Arabic], El Medjdel [Arabic], Belhysz [Arabic], Lala [Arabic], Meshgara [Arabic], Sahhar Wyhbar [Arabic], Shedite, Nebi Zaour, Baaloul [Arabic], Bedjat [Arabic], Djub Djenin [Arabic], Tel Danoub [Arabic], El Khyare [Arabic], El Djezyre [Arabic], El Estabbel [Arabic], El Merdj [Arabic], Tel el Akhdar [Arabic], Taanayl [Arabic], Ber Elias [Arabic], Deir Zeinoun [Arabic].] The generality of the inhabitants of the Bekaa are Turks; one fifth, perhaps, are Catholic Christians. There are no Metaweli. The land is somewhat better cultivated than that of Belad Baalbec, but still five- sixths Of the soil is left in pasture for the Arabs. The Fellahs (peasant cultivators) are ruined by the exorbitant demands of the proprietors of the soil, who are, for the greater part, noble families of Damascus, or of the Druse mountains. The usual produce of the harvest is tenfold, and in fruitful years it is often twenty fold. After two hours and three quarters brisk walking of our horses, we passed Medjdel to our right, near which, on the road, lies a piece of a large column of acalcareous and flinty breccia. Half an hour beyond Medjdel, we reached a spring called Ain Essouire. Above it in the hills which branch out of the Anti-Libanus, or HASBEYA [p.32] Djurd Essharki, into the Bekaa, is the village Nebi Israi, and to the left, in the Anti-Libanus, is the Druse village of Souire. A little farther on we passed Hamara, a village on the Anti-Libanus. At one hour from Ain Essouire, is Sultan Yakoub, with the tomb of a saint, a place of holy resort of the Turks. Below it lies the Ain Sultan Yakoub. Half an hour farther is Nebae el Feludj, a spring. Our road lay S. by W. At the end of three hours and a half from Ain Essouire, we reached the village El Embeite, on the top of a hill, opposite to Djebel Essheikh. The route to this place, from Medjdel, lay through a valley of the Anti- Libanus, which, farther on, towards El Heimte, loses itself in the mountains comprised under the name of Djebel Essheikh. The summit of this mountain, which bears west from Damascus, is probably the highest in Syria, for snow was still lying upun it. The mountain belongs to the district of the Emir of the Druses, commanding at Rasheia, a Druse village at one hour and a half from El Heimte. We slept at El Heimte, in the house of the Druse Sheikh, and the Khatib, or Turkish priest of the village, gave us a plentiful supper. The Druses in this district affect to adhere strictly to the religious precepts of the Turks. The greater part of the inhabitants of El Heimte are Druses belonging to Rasheia. Near it are the villages of Biri and Refit. October 11th.--We set out at day-break, and at the end of an hour passed on the left the Druse villages Deneibe and Mimis, and at two hours Sefa on our right, also a Druse village. Our road lay over an uneven plain, cultivated only in spots. After three hours and a half, we came to Ain Efdjur, direction S.W. by W.; from thence in two hours and a half we reached the Djissr-Moiet-Hasbeya, or bridge of the river of Hasbeya, whose source is hard by; the road lying the whole way over rocky ground little susceptible of culture. From the Djissr we turned up a steep Wady E. b. S. and arrived, in about three quarters of an hour, at Hasbeya, situated [p.33] on the top of a mountain of no great height. I had letters from the Greek patriarch of Damascus to the Greek bishop of Hasbeya, in whose house, four years ago, Dr. Seetzen spent a week, having been prevented from proceeding by violent snow and rain. The bishop happened to be absent on my arrival, and I therefore took up my lodging in the house of a poor Greek priest, with whose behaviour towards me I had every reason to be satisfied. October 12th.--The village or town of Hasbeya may contain seven hundred houses; half of which belong to Druse families; the other half are inhabited by Christians, principally Greeks, though there are also Catholics and Maronites here. There are only forty Turkish families, and twenty Enzairie. The inhabitants make cotton cloth for shirts and gowns, and have a few dyeing houses. The principal production of their fields is olives. The chief of the village is an Emir of the Druses, who is dependent both on the Pasha of Damascus and the Emir Beshir. He lives in a well-built Serai, which in time of war might serve as a castle. The following villages belong to the territory of Hasbeya: Ain Sharafe, El Kefeir, Ain Annia, Shoueia, Ain Tinte, El Kankabe, El Heberie, Rasheyat el Fukhar, Ferdis, Khereibe, El Merie, Shiba, Banias, Ain Fid, Zoura, Ain Kamed Banias, Djoubeta, Fershouba, Kefaer Hamam, El Waeshdal, El Zouye. The neighbourhood of Hasbeya is interesting to the mineralogist. I was told by the priest that a metal was found near it, of which nobody knew the name, nor made any use. Having procured a labourer, I found after digging in the Wady a few hundred paces to the E. of the village, several small pieces of a metallic substance, which I took to be a native amalgam of mercury. According to the description given me, cinnabar is also found here, but we could discover no specimen of it after half an hour's digging. The ground all around, and the spring near the village, are SOUK EL KAHN. [p.34] strongly impregnated with iron; the rock is sandstone, of a dark red colour. The other mineral curiosities are, a number of wells of bitumen Judaicum, in the Wady at one hour below the village on the west side, after recrossing the bridge; they are situated upon the declivity of a chalky hill; the bitumen is found in large veins at about twenty feet below the surface. The pits are from six to twelve feet in diameter; the workmen descend by a rope and wheel, and in hewing out the bitumen, they leave columns of that substance at different intervals, as a support to the earth above; pieces of several Rotolas in weight each[The Rotola is about five pounds.] are brought up. There are upwards of twenty-five of these pits or wells, but the greater part of them are abandoned and overgrown with shrubs. I saw only one, that appeared to have been recently worked; they work only during the summer months. The bitumen is called Hommar, and the wells, Biar el Hommar [Arabic]. The Emir possesses the monopoly of the bitumen; he alone works the pits, and sells the produce to the merchants of Damascus, Beirout, and Aleppo. It was now at thirty-three paras the Rotola, or about two-pence-halfpenny the pound. I left Hasbeya on the same day, and continued to descend the valley on the side of the river. Half an hour from the bridge, I arrived at Souk el Khan. In the hills to the right is the village Kankabe. Souk el Khan is a large ruined Khan, where the inhabitants, to the distance of one day's journey round, assemble every Tuesday to hold a market. In the summer they exhibit their merchandize in the open air; but in the winter they make use of some large rooms, still remaining within the Khan. The road to Banias leads along the valley, parallel with the course of the river; but as I had heard of some ruins in the mountain, at a village called Hereibe, to the east of the route, I turned in that direction, and reached the HEREIBE. [p.35] village in two hours after quitting Hasbeya. Between Souk el Khan and Hereibe lies the village Ferdous. Hereibe is considerably higher than the river. All this neighbourhood is planted with olive-trees; and olives, from hence to Damascus, are the most common food of the inhabitants, who put them into salt, but they do not thereby entirely remove the bitter taste. At Aleppo and Damascus, olives destined for the table are immersed for a fortnight in water, in which are dissolved one proportion of chalk and two proportions of alkali; this takes away all bitterness, but the fruit is at the same time deprived of a part of its flavour. On the west side of the village of Hereibe stands a ruined temple, quite insulated; it is twenty paces in length, and thirteen in breadth; the entrance is towards the west, and it had a vestibule in front with two columns. On each side of the entrance are two niches one above the other, the upper one has small pilasters, the lower one is ornamented on the top by a shell, like the niches in the temple at Baalbec. The door- way, which has no decoration whatever, opens into a room ten paces square, in which no columns, sculpture, or Ornaments of any kind are visible; three of the walls only are standing. At the back of this chamber is a smaller, four paces and a half in breadth, by ten in length, in one corner of which is a half-ruined staircase, leading to the top of the building; in this smaller room are four pilasters in the four angles; under the large room are two spacious vaults. On the outside of the temple, at the east corners, are badly wrought pilasters of the Ionic order. The roof has fallen in, and fills up the interior. The stone employed is of the same quality as that used at Heusn Nieha and Baalbec. From Hereibe I came to the spring Ain Ferkhan in one hour; and from thence, in three quarters of an hour, to the village BANIAS. [p.36]Rasheyat-el-Fukhar, over mountainous ground. The village stands on a mountain which commands a beautiful view of the lake Houle, its plain, and the interjacent country. It contains about one hundred houses, three-fourths of which are inhabited by Turks and the remainder by Greeks. The inhabitants live by the manufacture of earthen pots, which they sell to the distance of four or five days journey around, especially in the Haouran and Djolan; they mould them in very elegant shapes, and paint them with a red-earth: almost every house has its pottery, and the ovens in which the pots are baked are common to all. The Houle bears from Rasheyat-el-Fukhar, between S. by E. and S.E. by S. Kalaat el Shkif, on the top of the mountain, towards Acre, E. by N. and Banias, though not visible, S. October 13th.--We set out in a rainy morning from Rasheyat-el-Fukhar. I was told that in the mountain to the E. one hour and a half, were considerable ruins. The mountains of Hasbeya, or the chain of the Djebel Essheikh, divide, at five hours N. from the lake, into two branches. The western, a little farther to the south, takes the name of Djebel Safat, the eastern joins the Djebel Heish and its continuations, towards Banias. Between the two lie the lake of the Houle and the Ard el Houle, the latter from three to four hours in breadth. We descended from Rasheyat-el-Fukhar into the plain, in which we continued till we reached Banias, at the end of four hours, thoroughly drenched by a heavy shower of rain. We alighted at the Menzel or Medhaafe; this is a sort of Khan found in almost every village through which there is a frequented route. Strangers sleep in the Medhaafe, and the Sheikh of the village generally sends them their dinner or supper; for this he does not accept of any present, at least not of such as common travellers can offer; but it is custmary to give something to the servant or watchman (Natur) who brings the meal, and takes care that CASTLE OF BANAIS. [p.37]nothing is stolen from the strangers' baggage. The district of Banias is classic ground; it is the ancient Caesarea Philippi; the lake Houle is the Lacus Samachonitis. My money being almost expended, I had no time to lose in gratifying my curiosity in the invirons of Banias. Immediately after my arrival I took a man of the village to shew me the way to the ruined castle of Banias, which bears E. by S. from it. It stands on the top of a mountain, which forms part of the mountain of Heish, at an hour and a quarter from Banias; it is now in complete ruins, but was once a very strong fortress. Its whole circumference is twenty-five minutes. It is surrounded by a wall ten feet thick, flanked with numerous round towers, built with equal blocks of stone, each about two feet square. The keep or citadel seems to have been on the highest summit, on the eastern side, where the walls are stronger than on the lower, or western side. The view from hence over the Houle and a part of its lake, the Djebel Safad, and the barren Heish, is magnificent. On the western side, within the precincts of the castle, are ruins of many private habitations. At both the western corners runs a succession of dark strongly built low apartments, like cells, vaulted, and with small narrow loop holes, as if for musquetry. On this side also is a well more than twenty feet square, walled in, with a vaulted roof at least twenty-five feet high; the well was, even in this dry season, full of water: there are three others in the castle. There are many apartments and recesses in the castle, which could only be exactly described by a plan of the whole building. It seems to have been erected during the period of the crusades, and must certainly have been a very strong hold to those who possessed it. I saw no inscriptions, though I was afterwards told that there are several both in Arabic and in Frank (Greek or Latin). The castle has but one gate, on the south side. I could discover no traces BANIAS. [p.38]of a road or paved way leading up the mountain to it. The valley at its S.E. foot is called Wady Kyb, that on its western side Wady el Kashabe, and on the other side of the latter, Wady el Asal. In winter time the shepherds of the Felahs of the Heish, who encamp upon the mountain, pass the night in the castle with their cattle. Banias is situated at the foot of the Heish, in the plain, which in the immediate vicinity of Banias is not called Ard Houle, but Ard Banias. It contains about one hundred and fifty houses, inhabited mostly by Turks: there are also Greeks, Druses, and Enzairie. It belongs to Hasbeya, whose Emir nominates the Sheikh. On the N.E. side of the village is the source of the river of Banias, which empties itself into the Jordan at the distance of an hour and a half, in the plain below. Over the source is a perpendicular rock, in which several niches have been cut to receive statues. The largest niche is above a spacious cavern, under which the river rises. This niche is six feet broad and as much in depth, and has a smaller niche in the bottom of it. Immediately above it, in the [p.39] perpendicular face of the rock, is another niche, adorned with pilasters, supporting a shell ornament like that of Hereibe. There are two other niches near these, and twenty paces farther two more nearly buried in the ground at the foot of the rock. Each of these niches had an inscription annexed to it, but I could not decipher any thing except the following characters above one of the niches which are nearly covered with earth. [Greek] In the middle niche of the three, which are represented in the engraving, the base of the statue is still visible.[Banias, [Greek text], or Caesareia Philippi, was the Dan of the Jews. The name Paneas was derived from the worship of Pan. The niche in the cavern probably contained a statue of Pan, and the other niches similar dedications to the same or other deities. The cavern and [Greek text], or sanctuary of Pan, are described by Josephus, from whom it appears also that the fountain was considered the source of the Jordan, and at the same time the outlet of a small lake called Phiala, which was situated 120 stades from Caesareia towards Trachonitis, or the north-east. The whole mountain had the name of Paneium. The hewn stones round the spring may have belonged, perhaps, to the temple of Augustus, built here by Herod. Joseph. de Bel. Jud. l.i,c.16. Antiq. Jud. l.3,c.10,-l.15,c.10. Euseb. Hist. Eccl. l.12,c.17. The inscription appears to have been annexed to a dedication by a priest of Pan, who had prefixed the usual pro salute for the reigning Emperors. Ed.] Upon the top of the rock, to the left of the niches, is a mosque dedicated to Nebi Khouder, called by the Christians Mar Georgius, which is a place of devotion for Mohammedan strangers passing this way. Round the source of the river are a number of hewn stones. The stream flows on the north side of the village; where is a well built bridge and some remains of the ancient town, the principal part of which seems, however, to have been on the opposite side of the river, where the ruins extend for a [p.40]quarter of an hour from the bridge. No walls remain, but great quantities of stones and architectural fragments are scattered about. I saw also an entire column, of small dimensions. In the village itself, on the left side of the river, lies a granite column of a light gray colour, one foot and a half in diameter. October 15th.--It being Ramazan, we remained under a large tree before the Menzel, smoking and conversing till very late. The researches which Mr. Seetzen made here four years ago were the principal topic; he continued his tour from hence towards the lake of Tabaria, and the eastern borders of the Dead Sea. The Christians believe that he was sent by the Yellow King (Melek el Aszfar, a title which they give the Emperor of Russia) to examine the country preparatory to an invasion, to deliver it from the Turkish yoke. The Turks, on the contrary, believe, that, like all strangers who enquire after inscriptions, he was in search of treasure. When questioned on this subject at Baalbec, I answered, "The treasures of this country are not beneath the earth; they come from God, and are on the surface of the earth. Work your fields and sow them; and you will find the greatest treasure in an abundant harvest." "By your life (a common oath) truth comes from your lips," ([Arabic] is a common word used in Syria for [Arabic] which signifies "thy mouth."] [Arabic] Wuhiyatak, el hak fi tummak) was the reply. On the south side of the village are the ruins of a strong castle, which, from its appearance and mode of construction, may be conjectured to be of the same age as the castle upon the mountain. It is surrounded by a broad ditch, and had a wall within the ditch. Several of its towers are still standing. A very solid bridge, which crosses the winter torrent, Wady el Kyd, leads to the entrance of the castle, over which is an Arabic inscription; but for want of a ladder, I could make out nothing of it but the date "600 and ... years (.... [Arabic])," taking the era of the Hedjra, BOSTRA. [p.41]it coincides with the epoch of the crusades. There are five or six granite columns built into the walls of the gateway. I went to see the ruins of the ancient city of Bostra, of which the people spoke much, adding that Mousa (the name assumed by Mr. Seetzen) had offered thirty piastres to any one who would accompany him to the place, but that nobody had ventured, through fear of the Arabs. I found a good natured fellow, who for three piastres undertook to lead me to the spot. Bostra must not be confounded with Boszra, in the Haouran; both places are mentioned in the Books of Moses. The way to the ruins lies for an hour and a half in the road by which I came from Rasheyat- el-Fukhar, it then ascends for three quarters of an hour a steep mountain to the right, on the top of which is the city; it is divided into two parts, the largest being upon the very summit, the smaller at ten minutes walk lower down, and resembling a suburb to the upper part. Traces are still visible of a paved way that had connected the two divisions. There is scarcely any thing in the ruins worth notice; they consist of the foundations of private habitations, built of moderate sized square stones. The lower city is about twelve minutes walk in circumference; a part of the four walls of one building only remains entire; in the midst of the ruins was a well, at this time dried up. The circuit of the upper city may be about twenty minutes; in it are the remains of several buildings. In the highest part is a heap of wrought stones of larger dimensions than the rest, which seem to indicate that some public building had once stood on the spot. There are several fragments of columns of one foot and of one foot and a half in diameter. In two different places a short column was standing in the centre of a round paved area of about ten feet in diameter. There is likewise a deep well, walled in, but now dry. The country around these ruins is very capable of cultivation. SOURCES OF THE JORDAN [p.42]Near the lower city are groups of olive trees. Pieces of feldspath of various colours are scattered about in great quantities upon the chalky rock of this mountain. I found in going up a species of locust with six very long legs, and a slender body of about four inches in length. My guide told me that this insect was called [This is the abbreviation of - [Arabic].] [Arabic] Salli al-nabi, i.e. "pray to the Prophet." I descended the mountain in the direction towards the source of the Jordan, and passed, at the foot of it, the miserable village of Kerwaya. Behind the mountain of Bostra is another, still higher, called Djebel Meroura Djoubba. At one hour E. from Kerwaye, in the Houle, is the tomb of a Turkish Sheikh, with a few houses near it, called Kubbet el Arbai- in w-el-Ghadjar [Arabic]. The greater part of the fertile plain of the Houle is uncultivated; the Arabs El Faddel, El Naim, and the Turkmans pasture their cattle here. It is watered by the river of Hasbeya, the Jordan, and the river of Banias, besides several rivulets which descend from the mountains on its eastern side. The source of the Jordan, or as it is here called, Dhan [Arabic], is at an hour and a quarter N.E. from Banias. It is in the plain, near a hill called Tel-el-Kadi. There are two springs near each other, one smaller than the other, whose waters unite immediately below. Both sources are on level ground, amongst rocks of tufwacke. The larger source immediately forms a river twelve or fifteen yards across, which rushes rapidly over a stony bed into the lower plain. There are no ruins of any kind near the springs; but the hill over them seems to have been built upon, though nothing now is visible. At a quarter of an hour to the N. of the spring are ruins of ancient habitations, built of the black tufwacke, the principal rock found in the plain. The few houses at present inhabited on that spot are called Enkeil. BANIAS. [p.43]I was told that the ancient name of the river of Banias was Djour, which added to the name of Dhan, made Jourdan; the more correct etymology is probably Or Dhan, in Hebrew the river of Dhan. Lower down, between the Houle and the lake Tabaria, it is called Orden by the inhabitants; to the southward of the lake of Tabaria it bears the name of Sherya, till it falls into the Dead Sea. October 15th.--My guide returned to Zahle. It was my intention to take a view of the lake and its eastern borders; but a tumour, which threatened to prevent both riding and walking, obliged me to proceed immediately to Damascus. I had reason to congratulate myself on the determination, for if I had staid a day longer, I should have been compelled to await my recovery at some village on the road. Add to this, I had only the value of four shillings left, after paying my guide: this alone, however, should not have prevented me from proceeding, as I knew that two days were sufficient to enable me to gratify my curiosity, and a guide would have thought himself well paid at two shillings a day; as to the other expenses, travelling in the manner of the country people rendered money quite unnecessary. There are two roads from Banias to Damascus: the one lies through the villages of Koneitza and Sasa; the other is more northly; I took the latter, though the former is most frequented, being the route followed by all the pilgrims from Damascus and Aleppo to Jerusalem; but it is less secure for a small caravan, owing to the incursions of the Arabs. The country which I had visited to the westward is perfectly secure to the stranger: I might have safely travelled it alone unarmed, and without a guide. The route through the district of the Houle and Banias, and from thence to Damascus, on the contrary, is very dangerous: the Arabs as well as the Felahs, are often known to attack unprotected strangers, and DJOUBETA. [p.44]a small body of men was stripped at Koneitza during my stay at Banias. As soon as I declared my wish to return to Damascus, I was advised by several people present to take a guard of armed men with me, but knowing that this was merely a pretext to extort money without at all ensuring my safety, I declined the proposal, and said I should wait for a Kaffle. It fortunately happened that the Sheikh of the village had business at Damascus, and we were glad of each other's company. We set out in the afternoon, accompanied by the Sheikh's servant. The direction of the route is E.b.S. up the mountain of the Heish, behind the castle of Banias. We passed several huts of Felahs, who live here the whole summer, and retire in winter to their villages. They make cheese for the Damascus market. At the end of an hour and a half we came to Ain el Hazouri, a spring, with the tomb of Sheikh Othman el Hazouri just over it; to the north of it one hour are the ruins of a city called Hazouri. The mountain here is overgrown with oaks, but contains good pasturage; I was told that in the Wady Kastebe, near the castle, there are oak trees more than sixty feet high. One hour more brought us to the village of Djoubeta, where we remained during the night at the house of some friends of the Sheikh of Banias. This village belongs to Hasbeya; it is inhabited by about fifty Turkish and ten Greek families; they subsist chiefly by the cultivation of olives, and by the rearing of cattle. I was well treated at the house where we alighted, and also at that of the Sheikh of the village, where I went to drink a cup of coffee. It being Ramadan, we passed the greater part of the night in conversation and smoking; the company grew merry, and knowing that I was curious about ruined places, began to enumerate all the villages and ruins in MEDJEL. [p.45]the neighbourhood, of which I subjoin the names.[The ruins of Dara, Bokatha, Bassisa, Alouba, Afkerdouva, Hauratha (this was described as being of great extent, with many walls and arches still remaining,) Enzouby, Hauarit, Kleile, Emteile, Mesherefe, Zar, Katloube in the Wady Asal, Kseire, Kafoua, Beit el Berek. The villages of Kfershouba, Maonyre in the district Kereimat, Ain el Kikan, Mezahlak, Merj el Rahel, Sheba, Zeneble, Zor or Afid, Merdj Zaa. In the Houle, Amerie, Nebi Djahutha, Sheheil.] The neighbouring mountains of the Heish abound in tigers ([Arabic] nimoura); their skins are much esteemed by the Arab Sheikhs as saddle cloths. There are also bears, wolves, and stags; the wild boar is met with in all the mountains which I visited in my tour. October 16th.--The friends of the Sheikh of Banias having dissuaded him from proceeding, on account of the dangers of the road, his servant and myself set out early in the morning. In three quarters of an hour we reached the village of Medjel, inhabited by Druses, with four or five Christian families. The Druses who inhahit the country near Damascus are very punctual in observing the rites of the Mohammedan religion, and fast, or at least pretend to do so, during the Ramadan. In their own country, some profess Christianity, others Mohammedism. The chief, the Emir Beshir, keeps a Latin confessor in his house; yet all of them, when they visit Damascus, go to the mosque. Medjel is situated on a small plain high up in the mountain; half an hour further on is a spring; and at one hour and a quarter beyond, is a spacious plain. The mountain here is in most places capable of cultivation. In one hour more we reached the top. The oak tree is very frequent here as well as the bear's plum [Arabic] (Khoukh eddeb), the berries of which afford a very refreshing nourishment to the traveller. The rock is partly calcareous, and partly of a porous tufa, but softer than that which I saw in the Houle. At one hour and a quarter farther is the Beit el Djanne (the House of Paradise), in a narrow Wady, at a REITIMA. [p.46]spot where the valley widens a little. On its western side are several sepulchral caves hewn in the chalky rock. Another quarter of an hour brought us to the Ain Beit el Djanne, a copious spring, with a mill near it; and from thence, in half an hour, we reached the plain on the eastern side of the mountain. Our route now lay N.E. by E.; to the right was the open country adjoining the Haouran, to the left the chain of the Heish, at the foot of which we continued to travel for the remainder of the day. The villages on the eastern declivity of the Heish, between Beit el Djanne and Kferhauar are, Hyna, Um Esshara, Dourboul, Oerna, and Kalaat el Djendel. At three hours and a half from the point where the Wady Beit el Djanne terminates in the plain is the village Kferhauar. Before we entered it I saw to the left of the road a tomb which attracted my attention by its size. I was told that it was the Kaber Nimroud (the tomb of Nimrod); it consists of a heap of stones about twenty feet in length, two feet high, and three feet broad, with a large stone at both extremities, similar to the tombs in Turkish cemeteries. This is probably the Kalat Nimroud laid down in maps, to the south of Damascus; at least I never heard of any Kalaat Nimroud in that direction. To the right of our road, one hour and a half from Kferhauar, lay Sasa, and near it Ghaptata. Half an hour farther from Kferhauar we alighted at the village Beitima. On a slight eminence near Kferhauar stands a small tower, and there is another of the same size behind Beitima. The principal article of culture here is cotton: the crop was just ripe, and the inhabitants were occupied in collecting it. There are Druses at Kferhauar as well as at Beitima; at the latter village I passed an uncomfortable rainy night, in the court-yard of a Felah's house. October 17th.--We continued to follow the Djebel Heish (which DJOUN. [p.47]however takes a more northern direction than the Damascus road for four hours, when we came to Katana, a considerable village, with good houses, and spacious gardens; the river, whose source is close to the village, empties itself into the Merj of Damascus. Three hours from Katana, passing over the district called Ard el Lauan, we came to Kfersousa. Beyond Katana begins the Djebel el Djoushe, which continues as far as the Djebel Salehie, near Damascus, uniting, on its western side, the lower ridge of mountains of the Djebel Essheikh. Kfersousa lies just within the limits of the gardens of the Merdj of Damascus. In one hour beyond it I re-entered Damascus, greatly fatigued, having suffered great pain. After returning to Damascus from my tour in the Haouran, I was desirous to see the ruins of Rahle and Bourkoush, in the Djebel Essheikh, which I had heard mentioned by several people of Rasheya during my stay at Shohba. On the 12th of December, I took a man with me, and rode to Katana, by a route different from that through the Ard el Lauan, by which I travelled from Katana to Damascus in October. It passes in a more southerly direction through the villages of Deir raye [Arabic], one hour beyond Bonabet Ullah; and another hour Djedeide; one hour and a quarter from Djedeide is Artous [Arabic], in which are many Druse families; in an hour from Artous we reached Katana. This is a very pleasant road, through well cultivated fields and groves. I here saw nurseries of apricot trees, which are transplanted into the gardens at Damascus. To the south of Artous three quarters of an hour, is the village of Kankab, situated upon a hill; below it is the village of Djoun, opposite to which, RAHLE [p.48]and near the village Sahnaya, lies the Megarat Mar Polous, or St. Paul's cavern, where the Apostle is related to have hidden himself from the pursuit of his enemies at Damascus. The monks of Terra Santa, who have a convent at Damascus, had formerly a chapel at Sahnaya, where one of their fraternity resided; but the Roman Catholic Christians of the village having become followers of the Greek church, the former abandoned their establishment. To the N.E. of Djedeide, and half an hour from it, is the village Maddharnie. Katana is one of the chief villages in the neighbourhood of Damascus; it contains about one hundred and eighty Turkish families, and four or five of Christians. The Sheikh, to whom the village belongs, is of a very rich Damascus family, a descendant of a Santon, whose tomb is shewn in the mosque of the village. Adjoining to the tomb is a hole in the rocky ground, over which an apartment has been built for the reception of maniacs; they are put down into the hole, and a stone is placed over its mouth; here they remain for three or four days, after which, as the Turks pretend, they regain their senses. The Christians say that the Santon was a Patriarch of Damascus, who left his flock, and turned hermit, and that he gained great reputation amongst the Turks, because whenever he prostrated himself before the Deity, his sheep imitated his example. Katana has a bath, and near it the Sheikh has a good house. The villagers cultivate mulberry trees to feed their silk worms, and some cotton, besides corn. The day after my arrival I engaged two men to shew me the way to the ruins. We began to cross the lower branches of the Djebel Essheikh, at the foot of which Katana is situated, and after an hour and a quarter came to Bir Karme, likewise called El Redhouan, a spring in a narrow valley. We rode over mountainous ground in the road to Rasheya, passed another well of CASTLE OF BOURKUSH. [p.49]spring water, and at the end of four hours reached Rahle, a miserable Druse village, half an hour to the right of the road from Katana to Rasheia. The ruins are to the north of the village, in the narrow valley of Rahle, and consist principally of a ruined temple, built of large square stones, of the same calcareous rock used in the buildings of Baalbec: little else remains than the foundations, which are twenty paces in breadth, and thirty in length; within the area of the temple are the foundations of a circular building. Many fragments of columns are lying about, and a few extremely well formed capitals of the Ionic order. Upon two larger stones lying near the gate, which probably formed the architrave, is the figure of a bird with expanded wings, not inferior in execution to the bird over the architrave of the great temple at Baalbec; its head is broken off; in its claws is something of the annexed form, bearing no resemblance to the usual figure of the thunderbolt. On the exterior, wall, on the south side of the temple, is a large head, apparently of a female, three feet and a half high, and two feet and a half broad, sculptured upon one of the large square stones which form the wall: its features are perfectly regular, and are enclosed by locks of hair, terminating in thin tresses under the chin. This head seems never to have belonged to a whole length figure, as the stone on which it is sculptured touches the ground. Near the ruins is a deep well. A few hundred paces to the south, upon an eminence, are the ruins of another edifice, of which there remain the foundations of the walls, and a great quantity of broken columns of small size. Around these edifices are the remains of numerous private habitations; a short column is found standing in most of them, in the centre of the foundations of the building. In the neighbouring rocks about a dozen small cells are excavated, in some of which are cavities for bodies. I found no inscriptions. KATANA. [p.50]S.W. from Rahle, one hour and a half, are the ruins of the castle of Bourkush [Arabic]. We passed the spring called Ain Ward (the rose spring), near a plain in the midst of the mountains called Merdj Bourkush. The ruins stand upon a mountain, which appeared to me to be one of the highest of the lower chain of the Djebel Essherk. At the foot of the steep ascent leading up to the castle, on the N.W. side, is a copious spring, and another to the W. midway in the ascent. These ruins consist of the outer walls of the castle, built with large stones, some of which are eight feet long, and five broad. A part only of the walls are standing. In the interior are several apartments which have more the appearance of dungeons than of habitations. The rock, upon which the whole structure is erected, has been levelled so as to form an area within, round which ran a wall; a part of this wall is formed by the solid rock, upwards of eight feet high, and as many broad, the rock having been cut down on both sides. To the E. of this castle are the ruins of a temple built much in the same style as that of Rahle, but of somewhat smaller dimensions, and constructed of smaller stones. The architrave of the door is supported by two Corinthian pilasters. A few Druse families reside at Bourkush, who cultivate the plain below. On the S.E. side of the ascent to the castle are small caverns cut in the rock. From this point Katana bore S.E. We returned from Bourkush to Katana by Ain Embery, a rivulet whose source is hard by in the Wady, with some ruined habitations near it. The distance from Bourkush to Katana is two hours and a half brisk walking of a horse. The summit of the mountain was covered with snow. I heard of several other ruins, but had no time to visit them. There are several villages of Enzairie in the mountain. On the third day from my departure I returned to Damascus. [p.51]JOURNAL OF AN EXCURSION INTO THE HAOURAN IN THE AUTUMN AND WINTER OF 1810. November 8th.--On returning from the preceding tour, I was detained at Damascus for more than a fortnight by indisposition. As soon as I had recovered my health I began to prepare for a journey into the plain of the Haouran, and the mountains of the Druses of the Haouran, a country which, as well from the reports of natives, as from what I heard that Mr. Seetzen had said of it, on his return from visiting a part of it four years ago, I had reason to think was in many respects highly interesting. I requested of the Pasha the favour of a Bouyourdi, or general passport to his officers in the Haouran, which he readily granted, and on receiving it I found that I was recommended in very strong terms. Knowing that there were many Christians, chiefly of the Greek church, I thought it might be equally useful to procure from the Greek Patriarch of Damascus, with whom I was well acquainted, a letter to his flock in the Haouran. On communicating my wishes, he caused a circular letter to be written to all the priest, which I found of greater DEPARTURE FROM DAMASCUS. [p.52]weight among the Greeks than the Bouyourdi was among the Turks. Being thus furnished with what I considered most necessary, I assumed the dress of the Haouran people, with a Keffie, and a large sheep-skin over my shoulders: in my saddle bag I put one spare shirt, one pound of coffee beans, two pounds of tobacco, and a day's provender of barley for my horse. I then joined a few Felahs of Ezra, of one of whom I hired an ass, though I had nothing to load it with but my small saddle-bag; but I knew this to be the best method of recommending myself to the protection of my fellow travellers; as the owner of the ass necessarily becomes the companion and protector of him who hires it. Had I offered to pay him before setting out merely for his company on the way, he would have asked triple the sum I gave him, without my deriving the smallest advantage from this increase, while he would have considered my conduct as extraordinary and suspicious. In my girdle I had eighty piastres, (about £4. sterling) and a few more in my pocket, together with a watch, a compass, a journal book, a pencil, a knife, and a tobacco purse. The coffee I knew would be very acceptable in the houses where I might alight; and throughout the journey I was enabled to treat all the company present with coffee. My companions intending to leave Damascus very early the next morning, I quitted my lodgings in the evening, and went with them to sleep in a small Khan in the suburb of Damascus, at which the Haouaerne, or people of Haouran, generally alight. November 9th.--We departed through this gate of the Meidhan, three hours before sun-rise, and took the road by which the Hadj annually commences its laborious journey; this gate is called Bab Ullah, the Gate of God, but might, with more propriety be named Bab-el-Maut, the Gate of Death; for scarcely a third ever KESSOUE. [p.53]returns of those whom a devout adherence to their religion, or the hope of gain impel to this journey. The approach to Damascus on this side is very grand: being formed by a road above one hundred and fifty paces broad, which is bordered on each side by a grove of olive trees, and continues in a straight line for upwards of an hour. A quarter of an hour from Bab Ullah, to the left, stands a mosque with a Kiosk, called Kubbet el Hadj, where the Pasha who conducts the Hadj passes the first night of his journey, which is invariably the fifteenth of the month Shauwal. On the other side of the road, and opposite to it, lies the village El Kadem (the foot), where Mohammed is said to have stopped, without entering Damascus, when coming from Mekka. Half an hour farther is a bridge over a small rivulet: to the left are the villages Zebeine and Zebeinat; to the right the village Deir raye. In another half hour we came to a slight ascent, called Mefakhar; at its foot is a bridge over the rivulet El Berde; to the right is the village El Sherafie: to the left, parallel with the road, extends a stony district called War- ed-djamous [Arabic] the Buffaloes War, War being an appellation given to all stony soils whether upon plains or mountains. Here the ground is very uneven; in traversing it we passed the Megharat el Haramie [Arabic] or Thief's Cavern, the nightly refuge of disorderly persons. On the other side of the War is a descent called Ard Shoket el Haik, which leads into the plain, and in half an hour to the village El Kessoue; distant from Damascus three hours and a quarter in a S.S.E. direction. El Kessoue is a considerable village, situated on the river Aawadj [Arabic], or the crooked, which flows from the neighbourhood of Hasbeya, and waters the plain of Djolan; in front of the village a well paved bridge crosses the river, on each side of which, to the W. and E. appears a chain of low mountains; those to the east are called Djebel Manai [Arabic], and contain large caverns; the GHABARIB. [p.54]summits of the two chains nearest the village are called by a collective name Mettall el Kessoue [Arabic]. I stopped for half an hour at Kessoue, at a coffee house by the road side. The village has a small castle, or fortified building, over the bridge. From Kessoue a slight ascent leads up to a vast plain, called Ard Khiara, from a village named Khiara. In three quarters of an hour from Kessoue we reached Khan Danoun, a ruined building. Here, or at Kessoue, the pilgrim caravan passes the second night. Near Khan Danoun, a rivulet flows to the left. This Khan, which is now in ruins, was built in the usual style of all the large Khans in this country: consisting of an open square, surrounded with arcades, beneath which are small apartments for the accommodation of travellers; the beasts occupy the open square in the centre. From Khan Danoun the road continues over the plain, where few cultivated spots appear, for two hours and a quarter; we then reached a Tel, or high hill, the highest summit of the Djebel Khiara, a low mountain chain which commences here, and runs in a direction parallel with the Djebel Manai for about twenty miles. The mountains Khiara and Manai are sometimes comprised under the name of Djebel Kessoue, and so I find them laid down in D'Anville's map. The summit of Djebel Khiara is called Soubbet Faraoun. From thence begins a stony district, which extends to the village Ghabarib [Arabic], one hour and a quarter from the Soubbet. Upon a hill to the W. of the road, stands a small building crowned with a cupola, to which the Turks resort, from a persuasion that the prayers there offered up are peculiarly acceptable to the deity. This building is called Meziar Eliasha [Arabic], or the Meziar of Elisha. The Hadj route has been paved in several places for the distance of a hundred yards or more, in order to facilitate the passage of the pilgrims in years when the Hadj takes place during the rainy season. SZANAMEIN. [p.55]Ghabarib has a ruined castle, and on the side of the road is a Birket or reservoir, with a copious spring. These cisterns are met with at every station on the Hadj route as far as Mekka; some of them are filled by rain water; others by small streams, which if they were not thus collected into one body would be absorbed in the earth, and could not possibly afford water for the thousands of camels which pass, nor for the filling of the water-skins. At one hour beyond Ghabarib is the village Didy, to the left of the road: one hour from Didy, Es-szanamein [Arabic], the Two Idols; the bearing of the road from Kessoue is S.b.E.[The variation of the compass is not computed in any of the bearings of this journal.] Szanamein is a considerable village, with several ancientbuildings and towers; but as my companions were unwilling to stop, I could not examine them closely. I expected to revisit them on my return to Damascus, but I subsequently preferred taking the route of the Loehf. I was informed afterwards that many Greek inscriptions are to be found at Szanamein. From Szanamein the Hadj route continues in the same direction as before to Tafar and Mezerib; we left it and took a route more easterly. That which we had hitherto travelled being the high road from the Haouran to Damascus, is perfectly secure, and we met with numerous parties of peasants going to and from the city; but we had scarcely passed Szanamein when we were apprised by some Felahs that a troop of Arabs Serdie had been for several days past plundering the passengers and villages in the neighbourhood. Afraid of being surprised, my companions halted and sewed their purses up in a camel's pack saddle; I followed their example. I was informed that these flying parties of Arabs very rarely drive away the cattle of the Haouran people, but are satisfied with stripping them of cash, or any new piece of dress EZRA. [p.56]which they may have purchased at Damascus, always however giving them a piece of old clothing of the same kind in return. The country from Szanamein to one hour's distance along our road is stony, and is thence called War Szanamein. After passing it, we met some other Haouran people, whose reports concerning the Arabs so terrified my companions, that they resolved to give up their intention of reaching Ezra the same day, and proceeded to seek shelter in a neighbouring village, there to wait for fresh news. We turned off a little to our left, and alighted at a village called Tebne [Arabic], distant one hour and a half from Szanamein. We left our beasts in the court-yard of our host's house, and went to sup with the Sheikh, a Druse, at whose house strangers are freely admitted to partake of a plate of Burgoul. Tebne stands upon a low hill, on the limits of the stony district called the Ledja, of which I shall have occasion to speak hereafter. The village has no water but what it derives from its cisterns, which were at this time nearly dry. It consists wholly of ancient habitations, built of stone, of a kind which I shall describe in speaking of Ezra. November 10th.--We quitted Tebne early in the morning, and passing the villages Medjidel [Arabic], Mehadjer [Arabic], Shekara [Arabic], and Keratha [Arabic], all on the left of the route, arrived, at the end of three hours and a quarter, at Ezra [Arabic]. Here commences the plain of the Haouran, which is interrupted by numerous insulated hills, on the declivities, or at the foot of which, most of the villages of the Haouran are seated. From Tebne the soil begins to be better cultivated, yet many parts of it are overgrown with weeds. On a hill opposite Manhadje, on the west side of the road, stands a Turkish Meziar, called Mekdad. In approaching Ezra we met a troop of about eighty of the Pasha's cavalry; they had, the preceding night, surprised the above- mentioned [p.57]party of Arabs Serdie in the village of Walgha, and had killed Aerar, their chief, and six others, whose heads they were carrying with them in a sack. They had also taken thirty-one mares, of which the greater number were of the best Arabian breeds. Afraid of being pursued by the friends of the slain they were hastening back to Damascus, where, as I afterwards heard, the Pasha presented them with the captured mares, and distributed eight purses, or about £200. amongst them. On reaching Ezra I went to the house of the Greek priest of the village, whom I had already seen at the Patriarch's at Damascus, and with whom I had partly concerted my tour in the Haouran. He had been the conductor of M. Seetzen, and seemed to be very ready to attend me also, for a trifling daily allowance, which he stipulated. Ezra is one of the principal villages of the Haouran; it contains about one hundred and fifty Turkish and Druse families, and about fifty of Greek Christians. It lies within the precincts of the Ledja, at half an hour from the arable ground: it has no spring water, but numerous cisterns. Its inhabitants make cotton stuffs, and a great number of millstones, the blocks for forming which, are brought from the interior of the Ledja; the stones are exported from hence, as well as from other villages in the Loehf, over the greater part of Syria, as far as Aleppo and Jerusalem. They vary in price, according to their size, from fifteen to sixty piastres, and are preferred to all others on account of the hardness of the stone, which is the black tufa rock spread over the whole of the Haouran, and the only species met with in this country. Ezra was once a flourishing city; its ruins are between three and four miles in circumference. The present inhabitants continue to live in the ancient buildings, which, in consequence of the strength and solidity of their walls, are for the greater part in complete preservation [p.58]They are built of stone, as are all the houses of the villages in the Haouran and Djebel Haouran from Ghabarib to Boszra, as well as of those in the desert beyond the latter. In general each dwelling has a small entrance leading into a court-yard, round which are the apartments; of these the doors are usually very low. The interior of the rooms is constructed of large square stones; across the centre is a single arch, generally between two and three feet in breadth, which supports the roof; this arch springs from very low pilasters on each side of the room, and in some instances rises immediately from the floor: upon the arch is laid the roof, consisting of stone slabs one foot broad, two inches thick, and about half the length of the room, one end resting upon short projecting stones in the walls, and the other upon the top of the arch. The slabs are in general laid close to each other; but in some houses I observed that the roof was formed of two layers, the one next the arch having small intervals between each slab, and a second layer of similar dimensions was laid close together at right angles with the first. The rooms are seldom higher than nine or ten feet, and have no other opening than a low door, with sometimes a small window over it. In many places I saw two or three of these arched chambers one above the other, forming so many stories. This substantial mode of building prevails also in most of the ancient public edifices remaining in the Haouran, except that in the latter the arch, instead of springing from the walls or floor, rests upon two short columns. During the whole of my tour, I saw but one or two arches, whose curve was lofty; the generality of them, including those in the public buildings, are oppressively low. To complete the durability of these structures, most of the doors were anciently of stone, and of these many are still remaining; sometimes they are of one piece and sometimes they are folding doors; they turn upon hinges worked out of the stone, and are about four [p.59]inches thick, and seldom higher than about four feet, though I met with some upwards of nine feet in height. I remained at Ezra, in the priest's house, this and the following day, occupied in examining the antiquities of the village. The most considerable ruins stand to the S.E. of the present habitations; but few of the buildings on that side have resisted the destructive hand of time. The walls, however, of most of them yet remain, and there are the remains of a range of houses which, to judge from their size and solidity, seem to have been palaces. The Ezra people have given them the appellation of Seraye Malek el Aszfar, or the Palace of the Yellow King, a term given over all Syria, as I have observed in another place, to the Emperor of Russia. The aspect of these ruins, and of the surrounding rocky country of the Ledja, is far from being pleasing: the Ledja presents a level tract covered with heaps of black stones, and small irregular shaped rocks, without a single agreeable object for the eye to repose upon. On the west and north sides of the village are several public edifices, temples, churches, &c. The church of St. Elias [Arabic], in which the Greeks celebrate divine service, is a round building, of which the roof is fallen in, and only the outer wall standing. On its S. side is a vestibule supported by three arches, the entrance to which is through a short arched dark passage. Over the entrance is the following inscription: [Greek] Over a small side gate I observed the following words: [Greek] [p.60] On the arch of the entrance alley, [Greek] On the outer wall, on the north side of the rotunda; [Greek] On the south side of the village stands an edifice, dedicated to St. Georgius, or El Khouder [Arabic], as the Mohammedans, and sometimes the Christians, call that Saint. It is a square building of about eighty- five feet the side, with a semicircular projection on the E. side; the roof is vaulted, and is supported by eight square columns, which stand in a circle in the centre of the square, and are united to one another by arches. They are about two feet thick, and sixteen high, with a single groove on each side. Between the columns and the nearest part of the wall is a space of twelve feet. The niche on the east side contains the altar. The vaulted roof is of modern construction. The building had two entrances; of which the southern is entirely walled up; the western also is closed at the top, leaving a space below for a stone door of six feet high, over which is a broad stone with the following inscription upon it: [Greek] [p.61] [Greek] [A.D. 410. This was the third year of the Emperor Theodosius the younger, in whose reign the final decrees were issued against the Pagan worship. It appears from the inscription that the building upon which it is written was an ancient temple, converted into a church of St. George. Editor.] Before the temple is a small paved yard, now used as the exclusive burial ground of the Greek priests of Ezra. In the midst of the present inhabited part of the village stand the ruins of another large edifice; it was formerly applied to Christian worship, and subsequently converted into a mosque: but it has long since been abandoned. It consists of a quadrangle, with two vaulted colonnades at the northern and southern ends, each consisting of a double row of five columns. In the middle of the area stood a parallel double range of columns of a larger size, forming a colonnade across the middle of the building; the columns are of the Doric order, and about sixteen feet high. The side arcades are still standing to half their height; those of the middle area are lying about in fragments; the E. and W. walls of the building are also in ruins. Over the entrance gate are three inscribed tablets, only one of which, built upside down in the wall, is legible; it is as follows: [Greek] Over an inner gate I saw an inscription, much defaced, which seemed to be in Syrian characters. Adjoining this building stands a square tower, about fifty feet high; its base is somewhat broader than its top. I frequently saw [p.62]similar structures in the Druse villages; and in Szannamein are two of the same form as the above: they all have windows near the summit; in some, there is one window on each side, in others there are two, as in this at Ezra. They have generally several stories of vaulted chambers, with a staircase to ascend into them. To the E. of the village is the gateway of another public building, the interior of which has been converted into private dwellings; this building is in a better style than those above described, and has some trifling sculptured ornaments on its gate. On the wall on the right side of the gate is this inscription. [Greek] There are many private habitations, principally at the S. end of the town, with inscriptions over the doors; most of which are illegible. The following I found in different parts of the village, on stones lying on the ground, or built into the walls of houses. Over the entrance of a sepulchral apartment, [Greek] [p.63]I observed a great difference in the characters in which all the above inscriptions were engraved. That of S. Georgius is the best written. In the evening I went to water my horse with the priest's cattle at the spring of Geratha, one hour distant from Ezra, N. by E. I met there a number of shepherds with theyr flocks; the rule is, that the first who arrives at the well, waters his cattle before the others; several were therefore obliged to wait till after sunset. There are always some stone basins round the wells, out of which the camels drink, the water being drawn up by leathern buckets, and poured into them: disputes frequent1y happen on these occasions. The well has a broad staircase leading down to it; just by it lies a stone with an inscription, of which I could make out only the following letters [Greek] This well is called Rauad. November 12th.--I left Ezra with the Greek priest, to visit the villages towards the mountain of the Haouran. I had agreed to pay him by the day, but I soon had reason to repent of this arrangement. In order to protract my journey, and augment the number of days, KERATHA. [p.64]he loaded his horse with all his church furniture, and at almost every village where we alighted he fitted up a room, and said mass; I was, in consequence, seldom able to leave my night's quarters before mid-day, and as the days were now short our day's journey was not more than four or five hours. His description of me to the natives varied with circumstances; sometimes I was a Greek lay brother, sent to him by the Patriarch, a deception which could not be detected by my dress, as the priesthood is not distinguished by any particular dress, unless it be the blue turban, which they generally wear; sometimes he described me as a physician who was in search of herbs; and occasionally he owned that my real object was to examine the country. Our road lay S.E. upon the borders of the stony district called Ledja; and at the end of two hours we passed the village of Bousser [Arabic] on our left, which is principally inhabited by Druses; it lies in the War, and contains the Turkish place of pilgrimage, called Meziar Eliashaa. Near it, to the S. is the small village Kherbet Hariri. In one hour we passed Baara, a village under the control of the Sheikh of Ezra; and at half an hour farther to our right, the village Eddour [Arabic]. The Wady Kanouat, a torrent which takes its rise in the mountain, passes Baara, where it turns several mills in the winter season; towards the end of May it is generally dried up. At one hour from Baara is the Ain Keratha, or Geratha, according to Bedouin and Haouran pronunciation [Arabic]. At the foot of a hill in the War are several wells; this hill is covered with the ruins of the ancient city of Keratha, of which the foundations only remain: there had been such a scarcity of water this year, that the people of Bousser were obliged to fetch it from these wells. A quarter of an hour E. of them is the village Nedjran [Arabic], in the Ledja, in which are several ancient buildings inhabited by Druses. In the Ledja, in the neighbourhood of Keratha, MEDJEL. [p.65]are many spots of arable ground. Upon a low hill, in our route, at an hour and a quarter from the Ain or well, is Deir el Khouat [Arabic], i.e. the Brothers' Monastery, a heap of ruins. From thence we travelled to the south-eastward for three quarters of an hour, to the village Sedjen [Arabic], where we alighted, at the house of the only Christian family remaining among the Druses of the place. Sedjen is built, like all these ancient towns, entirely of the black stone peculiar to these mountains. November 13th.--We left Sedjen about noon; and in half an hour came to the spring Mezra [Arabic], the water of which is conducted near to Sedjen by an ancient canal, which empties itself in the summer time into a large pond; in the winter the stream is joined by a number of small torrents, which descend from the Djebel Haouran between Kanouat and Soueida; it empties itself farther to the west into the Wady Kanouat. Above the spring is a ruined castle, and near it several other large buildings, of which the walls only are standing; the castle was most probably built to protect the water. There is a tradition that Tamerlane filled up the well; and a similar story is repeated in many parts of the Haouran: it is said that he threw quick-silver into the springs, which prevented the water from rising to the surface; and that the water collecting under ground from several sources near Mezerib, at length burst forth, and formed the copious spring at that place, called Bushe. From Mezra to Medjel we travelled E.N.E. one hour. It rained the whole day. On arriving at Medjel I alighted to copy some inscriptions, when the Druse Sheikh immediately sent for me, to know what I was about. It is a general opinion with these people that inscriptions indicate hidden treasure; and that by reading or copying them a knowledge is obtained where the treasure lies. I often combated this opinion with success, by simply asking them, [p.66]whether, if they chose to hide their money under ground, they would be so imprudent as to inform strangers where it lay? The opinion, however, is too strongly rooted in the minds of many of the country people, to yield to argument; and this was the case with the Sheikh of Medjel. Having asked me very rudely what business I had, I presented to him the Pasha's Bouyourdi; but of twenty people present no one could read it; and when I had read it to them, they refused to believe that it was genuine. While coffee was roasting I left the room, finished copying some inscriptions, and rode off in a torrent of rain. On the left side of a vaulted gate-way leading into a room in which are three receptacles for the dead is this inscription: [Greek]. And opposite to it, on the right side of the gate-way, in large characters, [Greek] Over the eastern church, or mosque gate, [Greek] KAFER EL LOEHHA. [p.67]On the northern church gate, [Greek]. On two stones built into the wall of a house on the side of the road, beyond the village, [Greek] There are two other buildings in the town, which I suppose to have been sepulchral. In one of them is a long inscription, but the rain had made it illegible. We rode on for three quarters of an hour farther to the village Kafer el Loehha [Arabic], situated in the Wady Kanouat, on the borders of the Ledja. I here passed a comfortable evening, in the company of some Druses, who conversed freely with me, on their relations with their own Sheikhs, and with the surrounding Arabs. November 14th.--The principal building of Kafer el Loehha is RIMA EL LOEHF. [p.68]a church, whose roof is supported by three arches, which, like those in the private dwellings, spring from the floor of the building. Upon a stone lying near it I read [Greek]. Not far from the church, on its west side, is another large edifice, with a rotunda, and a paved terrace before it. Over the gateway, which is half buried, is the following inscription: [Greek] From Kafer el Loehha we rode N. forty minutes, to a village called Rima el Loehf, [Arabic] inhabited by only three or four Druse families. At the entrance of the village stands a building eight feet square and about twenty feet high, with a flat roof, and three receptacles for the dead; it has no windows; at its four corners are pilasters. Over the door is this inscription: [Greek] The walls of this apartment are hollow, as appears by several DOUBBA. [p.69] holes which have been made in them, in search of hidden treasure. Beneath it is a subterraneous apartment, in which is a double row of receptacles for the dead, three in each row, one above the other; each receptacle is two feet high, and five feet and a half long. The door is so low as hardly to allow a person to creep in. I copied the following from a stone in an adjoining wall: [Greek] This village has two Birkets, or reservoirs for water, which are filled in winter time by a branch of the Wady Kanouat; they were completely dried up this summer, a circumstance which rarely happens. Near both the Birkets are remains of strong walls. Upon an insulated hill three quarters of an hour S.E. from Rima, is Deir el Leben [Aarabic], i.e. Monastery of Milk; Rima is on the limits of the Ledja; Deir in the plain between it and the mountain Haouran. The Deir consists of the ruins of a square building seventy paces long, with small cells, each of which has a door; it contained also several larger apartments, of which the arches only remain. The roof of the whole building has fallen in. Over the door of one of the cells I read the following inscription: [Greek] [Hence it appears that Rima has preserved its ancient name. Ed.] Half an hour E. of Deir el Leben lies a ruined, uninhabited village upon a Tel, called Doubba [Arabic] it has a Birket and a SHOHBA. [p.70]spring. To the N.E. of it is the inhabited Druse village Bereike [Arabic]. We advanced half an hour E. to the village Mourdouk [Arabic] on the declivity of the Djebel Haouran; it has a spring, from whence the Druses of Rima and Bereike obtain their daily supply of water. From the spring we proceeded to the eastward on the side of the mountain. At our feet extended the Ledja from between N.E.b.N. where it terminates, near Tel Beidhan, to N.W. by N. its furthest western point, on the Haouran side. Between the mountain and the Ledja is an intermediate plain of about one hour in breadth, and for the greater part uncultivated. Before us lay three insulated hills, called Tel Shiehhan, Tel Esszoub, which is the highest, and Tel Shohba; they are distant from each other half an hour, the second in the middle. One hour and a half to the S.E. of Tel Shohba is one of the projecting summits of the mountain called Tel Abou Tomeir. From Mourdouk our road lay for an hour and a half over stony ground, to Shohba [Arabic] the seat of the principal Druse Sheikhs, and containing also some Turkish and Christian families. It lies near the foot of Tel Shohba, between the latter and the mountain; it was formerly one of the chief cities in these districts, as is attested by its remaining town walls, and the loftiness of its public edifices. The walls may be traced all round the city, and are perfect in many places; there are eight gates, with a paved causeway leading from each into the town. Each gate is formed of two arches, with a post in the centre. The eastern gate seems to have been the principal one, and the street into which it opens leads in a straight line through the town; like the other streets facing the gates, it is paved with oblong flat stones, laid obliquely across it with great regularity. Following this street through a heap of ruined habitations on each side of it, where are many fragments of columns, I came to a place where four massy cubical structures [p.71]formed a sort of square, through which the street runs; they are built with square stones, are twelve feet long by nine high, and, as appears by one of them, which is partly broken down, are quite solid, the centre being filled up with stones. Farther on to the right, upon a terrace, stand five Corinthian columns, two feet and a quarter in diameter, all quite entire. After passing these columns I came to the principal building in this part of the town; it is in the form of a crescent, fronting towards the east, without any exterior ornaments, but with several niches in the front. I did not venture to enter it, as I had a bad opinion of its present possessor, the chief of Shohba, who some years ago compelled M. Seetzen to turn back from hence towards Soueida. I remained unknown to the Druses during my stay at Shohba. Before the above mentioned building is a deep and large reservoir, lined with small stones. To the right of it stands another large edifice of a square shape, built of massy stones, with a spacious gate; its interior consists of a double range of vaults, one above the other, of which the lower one is choaked up as high as the capitals of the columns which support the arches. I found the following inscription upon an arch in the upper story: [Greek]. Beyond and to the left of this last mentioned building, in the same street, is a vaulted passage with several niches on both sides of it, and dark apartments, destined probably for the reception of the bodies of the governors of the city. Farther on are the remaining walls of a large building. Upon two stones, close to each other, and projecting from the wall, I read the following inscriptions: [p.72] On the first, [Greek]. On the second, [Greek]. To the west of the five Corinthian columns stands a small building, which has been converted into a mosque; it contains two columns about ten inches in diameter, and eight feet in height, of the same kind of fine grained gray granite, of which I had seen several columns at Banias in the Syrian mountains. To the south of the crescent formed building, and its adjoining edifice, stands the principal curiosity of Shohba, a theatre, in good preservation. It is built on a sloping site, and the semicircle is enclosed by a wall nearly ten feet in thickness, in which are nine vaulted entrances into the interior. Between the wall and the seats runs a double row of vaulted chambers one over the other. Of these the upper chambers are boxes, opening towards the seats, and communicating behind with a passage which separates them from the outer wall. The lower chambers open into each other, those at the extremities of the semi- circle excepted, which have openings towards the area of the theatre. The entrance into the area is by three gates, one larger, with a smaller on either side; [p.73] on each side of the two latter are niches for statues. The diameter of the area, near the entrance, is thirty paces; the circle round the upper row of seats is sixty-four paces; there are ten rows of seats. Outside the principal entrance is a wall, running parallel with it, close to which are several small apartments. To the S.E. of Shohba are the remains of an aqueduct, which conveyed water into the town from a spring in the neighbouring mountain, now filled up. About six arches are left, some of which are at least forty feet in height. At the termination of this aqueduct, near the town, is a spacious building divided into several apartments, of which that nearest to the aqueduct is enclosed by a wall twelve feet thick, and about twenty-five feet high; with a vaulted roof, which has fallen in. It has two high vaulted entrances opposite to each other, with niches on each side. In the walls are several channels from the roof to the floor, down which the water from the aqueduct probably flowed. On one side of this room is an entrance into a circular chamber fourteen feet in diameter; and on the other is a similar apartment but of smaller dimensions, also with channels in its walls; adjoining to this is a room without any other opening than a very small door; its roof, which is still entire, is formed of small stones cemented together with mortar; all the walls are built of large square stones. The building seems evidently to have been a bath. On a stone built in the wall over the door of a private dwelling in the town, I copied the following: [Greek]. [p.74] SHAKKA. [Greek] [Legionis Decimæ Flavianae Fortis. Ed.] To the margin of the third line the following letters are annexed: [Greek]. The inhabitants of Shohba fabricate cotton cloth for shirts and gowns. They grow cotton, but it is not reckoned of good quality. There are only three Christian families in the village. There are three large Birkets or wells, in two of which there was still some water. There is no spring near. Most of the doors of the houses, are formed of a single slab of stone, with stone hinges. November 15th.--Our way lay over the fertile and cultivated plain at the foot of the Jebel Haouran, in a north-easterly direction. At a quarter of an hour from the town we passed the Wady Nimri w-el Heif [Arabic], a torrent coming from the mountain to the S.E. In the winter it furnishes water to a great part of the Ledja, where it is collected in cisterns. There is a great number of ruined mills higher up the Wady. Three or four hours distant, we saw a high hill in the Djebel, called Um Zebeib [Arabic]. Three quarters of an hour from Shohba we passed the village Asalie [Arabic], inhabited by a few families; near it is a small Birket. In one hour and three quarters we came to the village Shakka [Arabic]; on its eastern side stands an insulated building, consisting of a tower with two wings: it contains throughout a double row of arches and the tower has two stories, each of which forms a single chamber, without any opening but the door. Upon the capital of a column is: [Greek]. [p.75]Adjoining the village, on the eastern side, are the ruins of a handsome edifice; it consists of an apartment fourteen paces square opening into an arcade, which leads into another apartment similar to the first. In the first, whose roof has fallen down, there are pedestals for statues all round the walls. On one side are three dark apartments, of which that in the centre is the largest; on the opposite side is a niche. The entrance is towards the east. To the south of these ruins stood another building, of which the front wall only is standing; upon a stone, lying on the ground before the wall, and which was probably the architrave of the door, I found the following inscription: [Greek]. Opposite to these ruins I copied the following from a stone built in the wall of one of the private dwellings: [Greek] and this from a stone in the court-yard of a peasant's house: [Greek]. [p.76]On the north side of the village are the ruins also of what was once an elegant structure; but nothing now remains except a part of the front, and some arches in the interior. It is thirty paces in length, with a flight of steps, of the whole length of the building, leading up to it. The entrance is through a large door whose sides and architrave are richly sculptured. On each side is a smaller door, between which and the great door are two niches supported by Ionic pilasters, the whole finely worked. Within are three aisles or rows of arches, of which the central is much the largest; they rest upon short thick columns of the worst taste. At some distance to the north of the village stands a small insulated tower; over its entrance are three inscriptions, of which I copied the two following; the third I was unable to read, as the sun was setting before I had finished the others: 1. [Greek]. [p.77] 2. [Greek] EL HAIT There are several similar towers in the village, but without inscriptions. The inhabitants of Shakka grow cotton; they are all Druses, except a single Greek family. To the S.E. of the village is the spring Aebenni [Arabic] with the ruined village Tefkha, about three quarters of an hour distant from Shakka. E.b.N. from Shakka one hour lies Djeneine [Arabic], the last inhabited village on this side towards the desert. Its inhabitants are the shepherds of the people of El Hait. Half an hour to the north of Djeneine is Tel-Maaz [Arabic], a hill on which is a ruined village. This is the N.E. limit of the mountain, which here turns off towards the S. behind Djeneine. At three quarters of an hour from Shakka, N.N.W. is El Hait, inhabited entirely by Catholic Christians. Here we slept. I copied the following inscriptions at El Hait: From a stone in one of the streets of the village: [Greek] From a stone over the door of a private dwelling: [Greek]. TEL SHOHBA. [p.78]Upon a stone in the wall of another house, I found the figure of a quadruped rudely sculptured in relief. On the wall of a solid building are the two following inscriptions: [Greek] On the wall of another building: [Greek] East of El Hait three quarters of an hour lies the village Heitt [Arabic]. November 16th.--We returned from Hait, directing our route towards Tel Shiehhan. In one hour we passed the village of Ammera. From Ammera our way lay direct towards Tel Shiehhan. The village Um Ezzeitoun lay in the plain below, one hour distant, in the borders of the Ledja. Upon the top of Tel Shiehhan is a Meziar. Tel Szomeit [Arabic], a hill in the Ledja, was seen to the N.W. about three hours distant; Tel Aahere [Arabic], also in the Ledja, to the west, about four hours distant. The Tel Shiehhan is completely barren up to its top: near its eastern foot we passed the Wady Nimri w-el Heif, close to a mill which works in the winter SOUEIDA. [p.79]time. From hence we passed between the Tel Shiehhan and Tel Es- Szoub; the ground is here covered with heaps of porous tufa and pumice stone. The western side of the Tel Shohba seems to have been the crater of a volcano, as well from the nature of the minerals which lie collected on that side of the hill, as from the form of a part of the hill itself, resembling a crater, while the neighbouring mountains have rounded tops, without any sharp angles. We repassed Ain Mourdouk, and continued our way on the sloping side of the mountain to Saleim, a village one hour from the spring; it has been abandoned by its former inhabitants, and is now occupied only by a few poor Druses, who take refuge in such deserted places to avoid the oppressive taxes; and thus sometimes escape the Miri for one year. They here grow a little tobacco. In the village is a deep Birket. At the entrance of Saleim are the ruins of a handsome oblong building, with a rich entablature: its area is almost entirely filled up by its own ruins. Just by is a range of subterraneous vaults. The Wady Kanouat passes near the village. The day was now far gone, and as my priest was afraid of travelling by night, we quickened our pace, in order to reach Soueida before dark. From Saleim the road lies through a wood of stunted oaks, which continues till within one hour of Soueida. We had rode three quarters of an hour when I was shewn, E. from our road, up in the mountain, half an hour distant, the ruins of Aatin [Arabic], with a Wady of the same name descending into the plain below. In the plain, to the westward, upon a hillock one hour distant, was the village Rima el Khalkhal, or Rima el Hezam [Arabic] (Hezam means girdle, and Khalkhal, the silver or glass rings which the children wear round their ankles.) Our road from Saleim lay S. by E. over a stony uncultivated ground, till within one hour of Soueida, where the wood of oaks terminates, and the fields begins, which extend up [p.80]the slope of the mountain for half an hour to the left of the road. From Saleim to Soueida is a distance of two hours and three quarters. Soueida is situated upon high ground, on a declivity of the Djebel Haouran; the Kelb Haouran, or highest summit of the mountain, bearing S.E. from it. It is considered as the first Druse village, and is the residence of the chief Sheikh. To the north, and close to it, descends the deep Wady Essoueida, coming from the mountain, where several other Wadys unite with it; it is crossed by a strong well built bridge, and it turns five or six mills near the village. Here, as in all their villages, the Druses grow a great deal of cotton, and the cultivation of tobacco is general all over the mountain. Soueida has no springs, but there are in and near it several Birkets, one of which, in the village, is more than three hundred paces in circuit, and at least thirty feet deep: a staircase leads down to the bottom, and it is entirely lined with squared stones. To the S. of the village is another of still larger circumference, but not so deep, also lined with stone, called Birket el Hadj, from the circumstance of its having, till within the last century, been a watering place for the Hadj, which used to pass here. To the west of Soueida, on the other side of the Wady, stands a ruined building, which the country people call Doubeise: it is a perfect square of thirteen paces, with walls two feet thick, and ornamented on each side with six Doric pilasters, sixteen spans high, and reaching to within two feet of the roof, which has fallen down, and fills up the interior. No door or opening of any kind is visible. On the wall between the pilasters are some ornaments in bas-relief. On the N. wall is the following inscription, in handsome characters; [p.81] [Greek]. Soueida was formerly one of the largest cities of the Haouran; the circuit of its ruins is at least four miles: amongst them is a street running in a straight line, in which the houses on both sides are still standing; I was twelve minutes in walking from one end to other. Like the streets of modern cities in the East, this is so very narrow as to allow space only for one person or beast to pass. On both sides is a narrow pavement. The great variety seen in the the mode of construction of the houses seems to prove that the town has been inhabited by people of different nations. In several places, on both sides of the street, are small arched open rooms, which I supposed to have been shops. The street commences in the upper part of the town, at a large arched gate built across it; descending from thence I came to an elegant building, in the shape of a crescent, the whole of whose front forms a kind of niche, within which are three smaller niches; round the flat roof is written in large characters: [Greek]. On a stone lying upon the roof [Greek]. Continuing along the street I entered, on the left, an edifice with four rows of arches, built with very low pillars in the ugly style already described. Upon a stone, built upside down in one of the interior walls, was this; [Greek]. [p.82] [Greek] [The fourteenth Legion was surnamed Gemina. See several inscriptions in Gruter. Ed.] At the lower end of the street is a tower about thirty feet high, and eighteen square. Turning from the beginning of the street, to the south, I met with a large building in ruins, with many broken pillars; it seems to have been a church; and it is joined to another building which has the appearance of having once been a monastery. In the paved area to the S. of it lies a water trough, formed of a single stone, two feet and a half in breadth, and seven feet in length, ornamented with four busts in relief, whose heads have been knocked off. In a stony field about three hundred yards S. of the Sheikh's house, I found engraved upon a rock: [Greek]. KANOUAT. [p.83]Round a pedestal, which now serves to support one of the columns in the front of the Sheikh's house, is the following: [Greek]. On the side of the pedestal is a figure of a bird with expanded wings, about one foot high, and below it is a man's hand grasping at something. Near the Sheikh's house stands a colonnade of Corinthian columns, which surrounded a building, now entirely in ruins, but which appears to have been destined for sepulchres, as there are some small arched doors, quite choaked up, leading to subterraneous apartments. November 17th.--We rode to the ruined city called Kanouat [Arabic], two hours to the N.E. of Soueida; the road lying through a forest of stunted oaks and Zarour trees, with a few cultivated fields among them. Kanouat is situated upon a declivity, on the banks of the deep Wady Kanouat, which flows through the midst of the town, and whose steep banks are supported by walls in several places. To the S.W. of the town is a copious spring. On approaching Kanouat from the side of Soueida, the first object that struck my attention was a number of high columns, upon a terrace, at some distance from the town; they enclosed an oblong square fifteen paces in breadth, by twenty-nine in length. There were originally six columns on one side, and seven on the other, including the corner columns in both numbers; at present six only remain, and the bases of two others; they are formed of six pieces of stone, and measure from the top of the pedestal to the base of the capital twenty-six feet; the height of the pedestal is five feet; the circumference of the column six feet. The capitals are elegant, and well finished. On the northern side was an [p.84]inner row of columns of somewhat smaller dimensions than the outer row; of these one only is standing. Within the square of columns is a row of subterraneous apartments. These ruins stand upon a terrace ten feet high, on the N. side of which is a broad flight of steps. The pedestals of all the columns had inscriptions upon them; but nothing can now be clearly distinguished except [Greek] upon one of them. Two divisions of the town may be distinguished, the upper, or principal, and the lower. The whole ground upon which the ruined habitations stand is overgrown with oak trees, which hide the ruins. In the lower town, over the door of an edifice which has some arches in its interior, and which has been converted in modern times into a Greek church, is an inscription, in which the words [Greek] only, were distinguishable. A street leads up to this building, paved with oblong flat stones placed obliquely across the road in the same manner which I have described at Shohba. Here are several other buildings with pillars and arches: the principal of them has four small columns in front of the entrance and an anti-room leading to an inner apartment, which is supported by five arches. The door of the anti-room is of one stone, as usual in this country, but it is distinguished by its sculptured ornaments. A stone in this building, lying on the ground, is thus inscribed: [xxxxx]. [p.85]The principal building of Kanouat is in the upper part of the town, on the banks of the Wady. The street leading up to it lies along the deep bed of the Wady, and is paved throughout; on the side opposite to the precipice are several small vaulted apartments with doors. The entrance of the building is on the east side, through a wide door covered with a profusion of sculptured ornaments. In front of this door is a vestibule supported by five columns, whose capitals are of the annexed form. This vestibule joins, towards the north, several other apartments; their roofs, some of which were supported by pillars, have now all fallen down. The abovementioned wide door opens into the principal apartment of the edifice, which is twenty-two paces in breadth by twenty-five in length. From each side of the entrance, through the middle of the room, runs a row of seven pillars, like those described above; at the further end, this colonnade is terminated by two Corinthian columns. All the sixteen columns are twenty spans high, with pedestals two feet and a half high. In the wall on the left side of this saloon are three niches, supported by short pillars. To the west is another vestibule, which was supported by five Corinthian columns, but four of them only are now standing. This vestibule communicates through an arched gate with an area, on the W. side of which are two Corinthian pillars with projecting bases for statues. On the S. side of the area is a large door, with a smaller one on each side. That in the centre is covered with sculptured vines and grapes, and over the entrance is the figure of the cross in the midst of a bunch of grapes. I observed similar ornaments on the great gate at Shakka, and I have often seen them since, over the entrances of public edifices. In the interior of the area, on the E. side, is a niche sixteen feet deep, arched at the bottom, with small vaulted rooms on both its sides, in which there is no other opening than the low door. KANOUAT. [p.86]On the S. and W. sides, the building is enclosed by a large paved area. At a short distance from thence is another building, whose entrance is through a portico consisting of four columns in front and of two others behind, between two wings; on the inner sides of which are two niches above each other. The columns are about thirty-five feet high, and three feet and a half in diameter. Part of the walls only of the building are standing. In the wall opposite the entrance are two niches, one above the other. Not far from this building, toward its western side, I found, lying upon the ground, the trunk of a female statue of very inelegant form and coarse execution; my companion the priest spat upon it, when I told him that such idols were anciently objects of adoration; by its side lay a well executed female foot. I may here mention for the information of future travellers in these parts, that on my return to Soueida, I was told that there was a place near the source of spring water, where a great number of figures of men, women, beasts, and men riding naked on horses, &c. were lying upon the ground. Besides the buildings just mentioned, there are several towers with two stories upon arches, standing insulated in different parts of the town; in one of them I observed a peculiarity in the structure of its walls, which I had already seen at Hait, and which I afterwards met with in several other places; the stones are cut so as to dovetail, and fit very closely. The circuit of this ancient city may be about two miles and a half or three miles. From the spring there is a beautiful view into the plain of the Haouran, bounded on the opposite side by the mountain of the Heish, now covered with snow. There were only EZZEHOUE. [p.87]two Druse families at Kanouat, who were occupied in cultivating a few tobacco fields. I returned to Soueida by the same road which I had come. November 18th.--After having made the tour of the city, I took coffee at the house of the Sheikh, whose brother and sons received me very politely, and I visited some sick people in the village,--for I was continually pressed, wherever I went, to write receipts for the sick,--I then left Soueida, with the intention of sleeping the following night in some Arab tent in the mountain, where I wished to see some ruined villages. The priest's fear of catching cold prevented me from proceeding according to my wishes. Passing the Birket el Hadj, we arrived in an hour and a quarter at a miserable village called Erraha [Arabic]; twenty minutes farther we passed the Wady el Thaleth [Arabic], so called from three Wadys which, higher up, in the mountain unite into one. Here were pointed out to me, at half an hour to the N.E. on the side of the Wady in the mountain, the spring called Ain Kerashe, and at half an hour's distance, in the plain, the Druse village Resas. In a quarter of an hour from Thaleth, we reached Kherbet Rishe, a ruined village, and in one hour more Ezzehhoue [Arabic], where my companion insisted upon taking shelter from the rain. November 19th.--A rivulet passes Ezzehhoue, called Ain Ettouahein [Arabic]; i.e. the Source of the Mills, which comes down from Ain Mousa, the spring near Kuffer, and flows towards Aaere. Ezzehhoue is a Druse village, with a single Christian family. I was not well received by the Druse Sheikh, a boy of sixteen years, although he invited me to breakfast with him; but I was well treated by the poor Christian family. When I left the village there was a rumor amongst the Druses, that I should not be permitted to depart, or if I was, that I should be waylaid on the road, but neither happened. The people of the village make coffee mortars out of AAERE. [p.88]the trunks of oak trees, which they sell at twenty and twenty-five piastres each, and export them over the whole of the Haouran. At three quarters of an hour from Ezzehhoue, to the left of our route, is the Tel Ettouahein, an insulated hill in the plain, into which the road descends at a short distance from the village. Near the hill passes the Wady Ezzehhoue, a winter torrent which descends from the mountain. Two hours from Ezzehhoue is Aaere [Arabic], a village standing upon a Tel in the plain. Aaere is the seat of the second chief of the Druses in the Haouran: he is one of the most amiable men I have met with in the East, and what is still more extraordinary, he is extremely desirous to acquire knowledge. In the conversations I had with him during my repeated visits at Aaere, he was always most anxious to obtain information concerning European manners and institutions. He begged me one day to write down for him the Greek, English, and German alphabets, with the corresponding sound in Arabic beneath each letter; and on the following day he shewed me the copy he had taken of them. His kindness towards me was the more remarkable, as he could not expect the smallest return for it. He admired my lead pencils, of which I had two, but refused to accept one of them, on my offering it to him. These Druses, as well as those of Kesrouan, firmly believe that there are a number of Druses in England; a belief originating in the declaration of the Christians in these countries, that the English are neither Greeks, nor Catholics, and therefore not Christians. Upon a stone in the village I copied the following; [xxxxx]. November 20th.--Being desirous of visiting the parts of the Haouran bordering upon the desert, of crossing the Djebel Haouran, or mountainous part of the district, and of exploring several ruined HEBRAN. [p.89]cities which I had heard of in the desert, I engaged, with the Sheikh's permission, two Druses and a Christian, to act as guides. As there was considerable risque of meeting with some hostile tribe of Arabs on the road, I gave my purse to the Greek priest, who promised to wait for my return; he did not keep his word, however, for he quitted Aaere, taking my money with him, no doubt in the view of compelling me to follow him to his village, from whence he might again have a chance of obtaining a daily allowance, by accompanying me, though he well knew that it was my intention to return to Damascus by a more western route; nor was this all, he took twenty piastres out of my purse to buy straw for his camels. On his repeatedly confessing to me, afterwards, his secret wishes that some Frank nation would invade and take possession of the country, I told him that he would by no means be a gainer by such an event, as a trick such as that he had played me would expose him to be turned out of his living and thrown into a prison. "You must imprison all the people of the country then," was his reply; and he spoke the truth. I have often reflected that if the English penal laws were suddenly promulgated in this country, there is scarcely any man in business, or who, has money-dealings with others, who would not be found liable to transportation before the end of the first six months. Our road lay over the plain, E.N.E. for three quarters of an hour; we then began to mount by a slight ascent. In an hour and a quarter we came to two hills, with the ruins of a village called Medjmar [Arabic], on the right of the road. At a quarter of an hour from thence is the village Afine [Arabic], in which are about twenty-five Druse families; it has a fine spring. Here the ascent becomes more steep. At one hour from Afine, E.b.S. upon the summit of the lower mountain, stands Hebran [Arabic]. Here is a spring and a ruined church, with the foundations KUFFER. [p.90]of another building near it. Withinside the gate is the following inscription: [Greek]. On the eastern outer wall: [Greek]. In a ruined building, with arches, in the lower town; [xxxxx]. Upon a stone over a door, in a private house: [Greek]. The mountain upon which Hebran stands is stony, but has places fit for pasturage. The plain to the S. is called Amman, in which is a spring. That to the E. is called Zauarat, and that to the S.W. Merdj el Daulet; all these plains are level grounds, with several hillocks, and are surrounded by mountains. There are a few families at Hebran. Proceeding from Hebran towards the Kelb (dog), or, as the Arabs here call it, Kelab Haouran, in one houre we came to Kuffer [Arabic], once a considerable town. It is built in the usual style of this country, entirely of stone; most of the houses are still entire; the doors are uniformly of stone, and even the gates of the town, between nine and ten feet high, are of a single piece of stone. On each side [p.91]of the streets is a foot pavement two feet and a half broad, and raised one foot above the level of the street itself, which is seldom more than one yard in width. The town is three quarters of an hour in circumference, and being built upon a declivity, a person may walk over it upon the flat roofs of the houses; in the court-yards of the houses are many mulberry trees. Amongst several arched edifices is one of somewhat larger dimensions, with a steeple, resembling that at Ezra; in the paved court-yard lies an urn of stone. In later times this building had been a mosque, as is indicated by several Arabic inscriptions. In the wall within the arched colonnade is a niche elegantly adorned with sculptured oak-leaves. We dined in the church, upon the Kattas [Arabic] which my guides had killed. These birds, which resemble pigeons, are in immense numbers here; but I found none of them in the eastern parts of the Djebel Haouran. To the N.E. of Kutfer is the copious spring already mentioned, called Ain Mousa, the stream from which, we had passed at Ezzehhoue. There is a small building over it, on which are these letters: [Greek]. We arrived, after sunset, in one hour from Kuffer, at an encampment of Arabs Rawafie, immediately at the foot of the Kelab; and there took up our quarters for the night. The tent of our host was very neat, being formed with alternate white and black Shoukes, or cloth made of goat's hair. I here found the Meharem to the right of the man's apartment. We were treated as usual with coffee and Feita. I had been rather feverish during the whole day, and in the evening the symptoms increased, but, cold as the night was, and more especially on the approach of morning Wady Awairid. [p.92]when the fire which is kept up till midnight gradually dies out, I found myself completely recovered the next day. This encampment consisted of ten or twelve tents, in the midst of the forest which surrounds the Kelab. November 21st.--The Kelab is a cone rising from the lower ridge of the mountains; it is barren on the S. and E. sides, but covered on the N. and W. with the trees common to these mountains. I was told that in clear weather the sea is visible from its top, the ascent to which, from the encampment, was said to be one hour. The morning was beautiful but very cold, the whole mountain being covered with hoar frost. We set off at sun-rise, and rode through the forest one hour, when we breakfasted at an encampment of Arabs Shennebele, in the midst of the wood. From thence I took two Arabs, who volunteered their services, to guide me over the mountains into the eastern plain. We soon reached the termination of the forest, and in half an hour passed the Merdj el Kenttare [Arabic], a fine meadow (where the young grass had already made its appearance), in the midst of the rocky mountain, which has no wood here. A rivulet called El Keine [Arabic], whose source is a little higher up in the mountain, flows through the meadow. Three quarters of an hour farther, and to the right of the road, upon a hill distant half an hour, are the ruins of the village El Djefne; to the left, at the same distance, is Tel Akrabe. We passed many excellent pasturing places, where the Arabs of the mountain feed their cattle in the spring; but the mountain is otherwise quite barren. Half an hour farther, descending the mountain, we passed Wady Awairid [Arabic], whose torrent, in winter, flows as far as Rohba, a district so called, where is a ruined city of the same name, on the eastern limits of the Szaffa.[The Szaffa [Arabic] is a stony district, much resembling the Ledja, with this difference, that the rocks with which it is covered are considerably larger, although the whole may be said to be even ground. It is two or three days in circumference, and is the place of refuge of the Arabs who fly from the Pasha's troops, or from their enemies in the desert. The Szaffa has no springs; the rain water is collected in cisterns. The only entrance is through a narrow pass, called Bab el Szaffa, a cleft, between high perpendicular rocks, not more than two yards in breadth, which one ever dared to enter as an enemy. If a tribe of Arabs intend to remain a whole year in the Szaffa, they sow wheat and barley on the spots fit for cultivation on its precincts. On its E. limits are the ruined villages of Boreisie, Oedesie, and El Koneyse. On its western side this district is called El Harra, a term applied by the Arabs to all tracts which are covered with small stones, being derived from Harr, i.e. heat (reflected from the ground.)] Our route lay to the north-east; we ZAELE. [p.93]descended by the banks of the Wady into the plain, and at a short distance from where the Wady enters it, arrived at Zaele [Arabic] in two hours and three quarters from the Arab encampment where we had breakfasted. Zaele owes its origin to the copious spring which rises there, and which renders it, in summer time, a much frequented watering place of the Arabs. The ruined city which stands near the spring is half an hour in circuit; it is built like all those of the mountain, but I observed that the stone doors were particularly low, scarcely permitting one even to creep in. A cupola once stood over the spring, and its basin was paved. I found the following inscription upon a stone lying there: [Greek]. And another above the spring, upon a terrace adjoining the ruins of a church: [Greek]. The spring of Zaele flows to the S.E. and loses itself in the plain. [p.94]One hour and a half to the eastward of Zaele stands Tel Shaaf [Arabic], with a ruined city. E. four hours, Melleh [Arabic], a ruined city in the plain; and upon a Tel near it, Deir el Nuzrany. The plain, for two hours from Zaele, is called El Haoui. Towards the E. and S.E. of Zaele are the following ruined places: Boussan [Arabic], at the foot of the mountain; Khadera [Arabic]; Aans [Arabic], Om Ezzeneine [Arabic]; Kherbet Bousrek [Arabic]; Habake [Arabic]. The great desert extends to the N.E.E., and S.E. of Zaele; to the distance of three days journey eastward, there is still a good arable soil, intersected by numerous Tels, and covered with the ruins of so many cities and villages, that, as I was informed, in whatever direction it is crossed, the traveller is sure to pass, in every day, five or six of these ruined places. They are all built of the same black rock of which the Djebel consists. The name of the desert changes in every district; and the whole is sometimes called Telloul, from its Tels or hillocks. Springs are no where met with in it, but water is easily found on digging to the depth of three or four feet. At the point where this desert terminates, begins the sandy desert called El Hammad [Arabic], which extends on one side to the banks of the Euphrates, and on the other to the N. of Wady Serethan, as far as the Djof. I wished to proceed to Melleh, but my Druse companions were not to be prevailed upon, through fear of the Arabs Sheraka, a tribe of the Arabs Djelaes, who were said to be in that neighbourhood. We herefore recrossed the mountain from Zaele, and passed its south-eastern corner, on which there are no trees, but many spots of excellent pasture. In two hours from Zaele we came to a spring called Ras el Beder [Arabic], i.e. the Moon's Head, whose waters flow down into the plain as far as Boszra. From the spring we redescended, and reached Zahouet el Khudher [Arabic], a ruined city, standing in a Wady, at a short distance from the ZAHOUET EL KHUDHER. [p.95]plain. One hour from these ruins a rivulet called Moiet Maaz [Arabic] passes through the valley, whose source is to the N.W. up in the mountain, one hour distant, near a ruined place called Maaz. This is a very romantic, secluded spot; immediately behind the town the valley closes, and a row of willows, skirting both banks of the rivulet in its descent, agreeably surprise the traveller, who rarely meets in these districts with trees raised by the labour of man; but it is probable that these willows will not long withstand the destroying hands of the Arabs: fifteen years ago there was a larger plantation here, which was cut down for fire wood; and every summer many of the trees share the same fate. Zahouet el Khudher was formerly visited by the Christians of the Haouran, for the purpose of offering up their prayers to the Khudher, or St. George, to whom a church in the bottom of the valley is dedicated. The Turks also pay great veneration to this Saint, so much so that a few goats-hair mats, worth five or six piastres, which are left on the floor of the sanctuary of the church, are safe from the robbers. My Druse guides carried them to a house in the town, to sleep upon; but returned them carefully on the following morning. The Arabs give the name of Abd Maaz to St. George. The church has a ruined cupola. On the outer door is this inscription: [Greek]. On an arch in the vestibule [xxxxx]. ARD AASZAF. [p.96] Within the church: [Greek]. Upon elevated ground on the W. side of the Wady stands the small ruined town of Zahouet, with a castle on the summit of the hill. I could find no legible inscriptions there. We had reached Zahouet after sunset; and the dread of Arabs, who very frequently visit this place, made us seek for a night's shelter in the upper part of the town, where we found a comfortable room, and lighted a still more comfortable fire. We had tasted nothing since our breakfast; and my guides, in the full confidence of meeting with plenty of Kattas and partridges on our road, had laid in a very small provision of bread on setting out, but had brought a sack of flour mixed with salt, after the Arab fashion. Unluckily, we had killed only two partridges during the day, and seen no Kattas; we therefore had but a scanty supper. Towards midnight we were alarmed by the sound of persons breaking up wood to make a fire, and we kept upon our guard till near sun-rise, when we proceeded, and saw upon the wet ground the traces of men and dogs, who had passed the night in the church, probably as much in fear of strangers as we were ourselves. November 22d.--I took a view of the town, after which we descended into the plain, called here Ard Aaszaf [Arabic], from a Tel named Aazaf, at half an hour from the Khudher. The abundant rains had already covered the plain with rich verdure. Our way lay S. At the end of an hour and a quarter we saw to our left, one mile distant from the road, a ruined castle upon a Tel called Keres [Arabic]; close to our road was a low Birket. To the AYOUN. [p.97]right, three or four miles off, upon another Tel, stands the ruined castle El Koueires [Arabic]. From Keres to Ayoun [Arabic], two hours distant from Zahouet el Khudher, the ground is covered with walls, which probably once enclosed orchards and well cultivated fields. At Ayoun are about four hundred houses without any inhabitants. On its west side are two walled-in springs, from whence the name is derived. It stands at the eastern foot of the Szfeikh [Arabic] a hill so called, one hour and a half in length. I saw in the town four public edifices, with arches in their interior; one of them is distinguished by the height and fine curve of the arches, as well as by the complete state of the whole building. Its stone roof has lost its original black colour, and now presents a variety of hues, which on my entering surprised me much, as I at first supposed it to be painted. The door is ornamented with grapes and vine leaves. There is another large building, in which are three doors, only three feet high; over one of them are these letters: [xxxxx]. Over an arch in its interior is this: [Greek]. From Ayoun ruined walls of the same kind as those we met with in approaching Ayoun extend as far as Oerman [Arabic], distant one hour and a half, in the open plain. Oerman is an ancient city, somewhat larger than Ayoun. In it are three towers, or steeples, built in the usual mode, which I have described at Kuffer. On the walls of a miserable building adjoining the S. side of the town are the following six inscribed tablets, built into the wall; the second is inverted, a proof that they have been placed in this situation by modern barbarians as ornaments: OERMAN. [p.98] 1. [Greek]. 2. [Greek]. 3. [Greek]. 4. [Greek]. 5. [Greek]. [p.99] [Greek]. Between the first and second inscriptions is a niche in the wall, about four feet high; resembling the annexed figure: [xxxxx]. Over a door in the western part of the town is the following: [Greek]. Oerman has a spring; but my guides, afraid of prolonging our stay in these desert parts, denied its existence when I enquired for it. I was informed afterwards that a large stone, on which is an inscription, lies near it. There are also several Birkets. From Oerman we proceeded one hour and a quarter, to the town and castle called Szalkhat [Arabic]: the intermediate country is full of ruined walls. The soil of the desert, as well here SZALKHAT. [p.100]as between Zahouet and Oerman, is black; and, notwithstanding the abundant rains, the ground was intersected in every direction by large fissures caused by the summer heat. The castle of Szalkhat is situated upon a hill at the southern foot of the Szfeikh. The town, which occupies the south and west foot of the castle hill, is now uninhabited; but fifteen years since a few Druse and Christian families were established here, as well as at Oerman: the latter retired to Khabeb, where I afterwards saw them, and where they are still called Szalkhalie. The town contains upwards of eight hundred houses, but presents nothing worthy of observation except a large mosque, with a handsome Madene or Minaret; the mosque was built in the year 620 of the Hedjra, or A.D. 1224, as appears from an inscription upon it; the Minaret is only two hundred years old. But even the mosque seems to have been nothing more than a repaired temple or church, as there are several well wrought niches in its outer walls: and the interior is vaulted, with arches supported by low pillars similar to those which have been before described. Several stones are lying about, with Greek inscriptions; but all so much defaced as to be no longer legible. Within the mosque lies a large stone with a fleur-de-lis cut upon it. In the court-yards of the houses of the town are a great number of fig and pomegranate trees; the former were covered with ripe fruit, and as we had tasted nothing this day but dry flour, we made a hearty dinner of the figs. There is no spring either in the castle or town of Szalkhat, but every house has a deep cistern lined with stone; there is also a large Birket. The castle stands upon the very summit of the hill, and forms a complete circle; it is a very commanding position, and of the first importance as a defence of the Haouran against the Arabs. It is surrounded by a deep ditch, which separates the top of the hill [p.101]from the part immediately below it. I walked round the outside of the ditch in twelve minutes. The upper hill, except in places where the rock is firm, is paved with large flat stones, similar to those of the castle of Aleppo: a number of these stones, as well as parts of the wall, have fallen down, and in many places have filled up the ditch to half its depth. I estimated the height of the paved upper hill to be sixty yards. A high arched bridge leads over the ditch into the castle. The wall of the castle is of moderate thickness, flanked all round by towers and turrets pierced with numerous loop holes, and is constructed of small square stones, like some of the eastern walls of Damascus. Most of the interior apartments of the castle are in complete ruins; in several of them are deep wells. On entering I observed over the gate a well sculptured eagle with expanded wings; hard by, on the left of the entrance, are two capitals of columns, placed one upon the other, each adorned with four busts in relief projecting from a cluster of palm leaves. The heads of the busts are wanting; the sculpture is indifferent. A covered way leads from the inside of the gateway into the interior; of this I took a very cursory view, as the day was near closing, and my companions pressed me very much to depart, that we might reach a village three hours distant; there being no water here for my horse, I the more readily complied with their wishes. Over the entrance of a tower in the interior I read these two lines: [Arabic]. "In the name of God, the merciful and the munificent. During the reign of the equitable king Saad-eddin Abou-takmar, the Emir--- ordered the building of this castle;" which makes it probable that it was erected for the defence ABD MAAZ. [p.102]of the country against the Crusaders. In one of the apartments I found, just appearing above the earth, the upper part of a door built of calcareous stone, a material which I have not met with in any part of the Haouran: over it is the following inscription, in well engraved characters: [Greek]. Upon the architrave of the door, on both sides of the inscription, are masques in bas-relief. In an apartment where I saw several small entrances to sepulchres, and where there are several columns lying about, is this: [Greek]. And, on a stone in the wall of the same apartment: [Greek]. The hill upon which the castle stands consists of alternate layers of the common black tufwacke of the country, and of a very porous deep red, and often rose-cloured, pumice-stone: in some caverns formed in the latter, salt-petre collects in great quantities. I met with the same substance at Shohba. S.W. of Szalkhat one hour and a half, stands the high Tel Abd Maaz, with a ruined city of the same name; there still remain large plantations of vines and figs, the fruit of which is KEREYE. [p.103]collected by the Arabs in autumn. Near Abd Maaz is another ruin called Deffen. S. one hour is Tel Mashkouk [Arabic], towards which are the ruins Tehhoule [Arabic], Kfer ezzeit [Arabic], and Khererribe [Arabic]. We left Szalkhat towards sunset, on a rainy evening, in order to reach Kereye, a village three good hours distant. In one hour we passed the ruined village Meneidhere [Arabic], with a copious spring near it. Our route lay through a stony plain, and the night now becoming very dark, with incessant rain, my guides lost their way, and we continued for three hours uncertain whether we should not be obliged to take up our night's quarters in the open plain. At length, however, we came to the bed of a Wady called Hameka, which we ascended for a short distance, and in half an hour after crossing it reached Kereye, about ten at night; here we found a comfortable Fellah's house, and a copious dish of Bourgul. November 23d.--Kereye is a city containing about five hundred houses, of which four only were at this time inhabited. It has several ancient towers, and public buildings; of the latter the principal has a portico consisting of a triple row of six columns in each, supporting a flat roof; seven steps, extending the whole breadth of the portico, lead from the first row up to the third; the capitals of the columns are of the annexed form; their base is like the capital inverted. Behind the colonnade is a Birket surrounded with a strong wall. Upon a stone lying upon the upper step, in the midst of which is an excavation, is this inscription: [Greek]. HOUSHHOUSH. [p.104]To the S. and E. of Kereye are the ruins called Ai-in [Arabic], Barade [Arabic], Nimri [Arabic], Bakke [Arabic], Hout [Arabic], Souhab [Arabic], Rumman [Arabic], Szemad [Arabic], and Rafka [Arabic]. Kelab Haouran bears from Kereye N.&.E. Kereye is three hours distance from Boszra [Arabic], the principal town in the Haouran, remarkable for the antiquity of its castle, and the ancient ruins and inscriptions to be found there. I wished very much to visit it, and might have done so in perfect safety, and without expense; but I knew that there was a garrison of between three and four hundred Moggrebyns in the town; a class of men which, from the circumstance of their passing from one service to another, I was particularly desirous of avoiding. It was very probable that I might afterwards meet with some of the individuals of this garrison in Egypt, where they would not have failed to recognize my person, in consequence of the remarkable circumstance of my visit to Boszra; but as I did not think proper to state these reasons to my guides, who of course expected me to examine the greatest curiosity in the Haouran, I told them that I had had a dream, which made it advisable for me not to visit this place. They greatly applauded my prudent determination, accustomed as they had been to look upon me as a person who had a secret to insure his safety, when travelling about in such dangerous places. We therefore left Kereye in the morning, and proceeding N.E. reached in three quarters of an hour Houshhoush [Arabic], after having crossed the Wady Djaar [Arabic], which descends from the mountain. Houshhoush is a heap of ruins, upon a Tel in the plain, and is famed over all the Haouran for the immense treasures said to be buried there. Whenever I was asked by the Fellahs where I had been, they never failed to enquire particularly whether I had seen Houshhoush. The small ancient village contains nothing remarkable except a church, supported by a single arch which rests on pillars much higher than those generally seen in this country. At the SHMERRIN. [p.105]foot of the hill are several wells. We found here a great number of mushrooms; we had met with some at Szalkhat; my guides taught me to eat them raw, with a morsel of bread. The quantity of Kattas here was beyond description; the whole plain seemed sometimes to rise; and far off in the air they were seen like large moving clouds. W. of Houshhoush half an hour, in the plain, are Tel Zakak and Deir Aboud; the latter is a building sixty feet square, of which the walls only are standing; they are built with small stones, and have a single low door. From this place W.S.W. three quarters of an hour is Tahoun el Abiad [Arabic] i.e. the White Mill, the ruins of a mill on the banks of the Wady Ras el Beder, which I noticed in speaking of Zahouet el Khuder. S.W. from Tahoun, three quarters of an hour, is the ruined village Kourd [Arabic], and W. from it one hour, the village Tellafe [Arabic]. Our way from Deir Aboud lay W.S.W.; at one hour and a half from it is the considerable ruined village Keires [Arabic], on the Wady Zedi, the largest of all the Wadys which descend from the mountain into the plain. The soil of this uncultivated district is of a red colour, and appears to be very fertile. From hence I proceeded towards Boszra, which I observed at the distance of half an hour, from the high ground above Keires. The castle of Boszra bore W.S.W. that of Szalkhat E.S.S., and the Kelab Haouran N.E.; I was near enough to distinguish the castle, and the mosque which is called by the Mohammedans El Mebrek, from the lying down of the Caliph Othman's camel. Turning from hence, in a N.W. direction, we came to the ruined village Shmerrin [Arabic], about three quarters of an hour from Keires. Over a door in the village I read: [xxxxx]. Near the village stands an insulated tower, with an Arabic inscription, AAERE. [p.106]but so high that I could not copy it; above it in large characters is [Greek] [of Felix. Ed]. The Wady Zedi passes close to this village, where a bridge of three arches is built over it; I was told that in winter the waters often rise over the bridge. Farther to the west this Wady joins that of Ghazale. From Shmerrin we travelled to the northward; about an hour and a half to our left was the village Kharaba. We were now upon the Hadj route formerly pursued by the pilgrims from Damascus through the Ledja to Soueida and Boszra. The road is still marked by stones scattered over it, the remains, probably, of its pavement. Thee quarters of an hour from Shmerrin, close to the right of the road, stands Deir Esszebeir [Arabic], a ruined village with a building like a monastery. At sunset we reached Aaere, two hours and a quarter from Shmerrin. November 24th and 25th.--I remained at Aaere these two days, during which the Sheikh continued his friendly behaviour towards me. It was my wish to make an excursion towards the western parts of the plain of the Haouran, in order to visit Draa, and the ruins of Om Edjemal and Om Ezzeroub, distant one day's journey from Draa, which, judging from all the information I had received, seemed to be well worth seeing. I offered to any person, or company of men, who would undertake to guide me to the spot, thirty piastres, a large sum in these parts, but nobody was to be found. The fact was that the road from Aaere to Draa, as well as that from thence to Om Edjemal, was infested by a party of Arabs Serdie, the brother of whose chief had recently been killed by the Pasha's troops; and besides these, it was known that numerous parties of Arabs Sheraka made incursions in the same direction I THAALE. [p.107]was therefore obliged to give up my project, but with the intention of executing it at a future period. November 28th.--I left Aaere in the company of a Druse; at parting the Sheikh made me promise that I would again visit his village. The direction of our route was to the N.W. In an hour and a quarter, over a plain, in most parts cultivated, we reached El Kenneker [Arabic], a solid building upon a hill, with a few habitations round it; all the villages in this part are inhabited; we saw the traces of the Wahabi in a burnt field. E. from hence one hour is Deir Ettereife [Arabic]. N.E. half an hour, the village Hadid [Arabic]; half an hour farther passed Ousserha [Arabic], a village with a copious spring. One hour and a half E. we saw Walgha [Arabic]. Just before we reached Ousserha we passed the Wady El Thaleth, which I have mentioned between Soueida and Zahouet. Continuing on the side of the Wady for three quarters of an hour, we came to Thaale [Arabic], where there is a Birket: here we stopped to breakfast. It is inhabited by Mohammedans only. In a building now used as a mosque, within which are four arches, and three short pillars in the vestibule, I copied the two following inscriptions placed opposite each other. [Greek][A.D. 683, the twenty-third year of the Emperor Heraclius.]. On a long wall of a building entirely in ruins: [Greek]. From Thaale one hour S.W. is Tel Sheikh Houssein, with the village Deir Ibn Kheleif; to the W. of which is El Kerak. We NAHITA. [p.108]proceeded from Thaale in a W. direction, half an hour, to Daara [Arabic], a village with a Birket. On the wall of the mosque I read as follows: [Greek]. One hour to the W. of the village is Rakham. Travelling from Daara N.W. we reached in one hour and a quarter the village Melihat Ali, to the S. of which, half an hour, stands Melihat el Ghazale. In one hour and a quarter from Melihat Ali we reached Nahita [Arabic], where we slept. On the S. side of the village, near a well, now filled up, stands a small square tower, built with large stones; there is a long inscription over its entrance, but illegible. November 27th.--In a ruined arched building I copied the following: [Greek]. and over a door as follows: [Greek]. This village has a large Birket, and contains a ruined tower, with vaulted buildings adjoining. We proceeded one hour to Melihat el Hariri, so named from KHABEB. [p.109]its Sheikh being generally of the family of Hariri; the proper name of the village is Melihat el Atash. I there copied the following, over a door: [Greek]. From thence, in one hour and a quarter, I reached Ezra, and alighted at the house of the priest. I again endeavoured to visit Draa, but no body would undertake to act as my guide except a peasant, in whose company I did not think that I should be sufficiently secure; for it had been a constant rule with me, during this tour, not to expose myself to any hazard, well knowing that this was not the place, where duty and honour obliged me to do so; on the contrary, I felt that I should not be justified in risking my life, in this quarter, destined as I am to other, and it is hoped, more important pursuits. November 28th.--I left Ezra this morning with the priest, to visit some villages in the northern Loehf, and if possible to enter the Ledja. We rode one hour to Keratha, close to which is a spring. From Keratha, in an hour and a quarter, we came to Mehadje, whence I saw Tel Shiehhan bearing E.S.E. To the east of the road from Ezra to Mehadje on the Ledja are the ruins of Sour and Aazim. From Mehadje we entered the Ledja, and continued in it, at half an hour's distance from the cultivated plain, in the direction N.E., till we reached Khabeb [Arabic] at the end of two hours. Between Tebne and Khabeb lies the village Bossir. From Khabeb the Kelab Haouran bears S.S.E. This is a considerable village, inhabited for the greater part by Catholic Christians, who, as I have mentioned above, emigrated from Szalkhat. The Sheikh is a Druse. I met here a poor Arab, a native of the country three days journey from Mekka; he told me that the DHAMI. [p.110]Wahabi had killed four of his brothers; that he fled from home, and established himself at Dael, a village in the Haouran, which was ransacked last summer by the same enemies, when he lost the whole of his property. This man corroborated what I have repeatedly been told, that a single person may travel over the Wahabi dominions with perfect safety. November 29th.--I here took two Druses to conduct me into the interior of the Ledja. The Arabs who inhabit that district pay some deference to the Druses, but none whatever to the Turks or Christians of the neighbouring villages. In one hour we passed the two ruined cities Zebair [Arabic] and Zebir [Arabic], close to each other. At the end of two hours and a quarter, our road lying in the direction of the Kelab Haouran, we came to the ruined village Djedel [Arabic]. Thus far the Ledja is a level country with a stony soil covered with heaps of rocks, amongst which are a number of small patches of meadow, which afford excellent pasture for the cattle of the Arabs who inhabit these parts. From Djedel the ground becomes uneven, the pasturing places less frequent, the rocks higher, and the road more difficult. I had intended to proceed to Aahere, where there is a fine spring; but evening coming on we stopped near Dhami [Arabic], three hours and three quarters from Khabeb, and two hours distant from Aahere. It appears strange that a city should have been built by any people in a spot where there is neither water nor arable ground, and nothing but a little grass amidst the stones. Dhami may contain three hundred houses, most of which are still in good preservation. There is a large building whose gate is ornamented with sculptured vine leaves and grapes, like those at Kanouat. Every house appears to have had its cistern; there are many also in the immediate vicinity of the town: they are formed by excavations in the rock, the surface of which is supported by props DEIR DHAMI. [p.111]of loose stones. Some of them are arched and have narrow canals to conduct the water into them from the higher grounds. S.E. of Dhami half an hour is Deir Dhami [Arabic], another ruined place, smaller than the former, and situated in a most dreary part of the Ledja, near which we found, after a good deal of search, an encampment of Arabs Medledj, where we passed the night. November 30th.--These Arabs being of a doubtful character, and rendered independent by the very difficult access of their rocky abode, we did not think it prudent to tell them that I had come to look at their country; they were told, therefore, that I was a manufacturer of gunpowder, in search of saltpetre, for at Dhami, and in most of the ruined villages in the Ledja, the earth which is dug up in the court- yards of the houses, as well as in the immediate vicinity of them, contains saltpetre, or as it is called in Arabic, Melh Baroud, i.e. gunpowder salt. The Ledja, which is from two to three days journey in length, by one in breadth, is inhabited by several tribes of Arabs; viz. Selman [Arabic], Medledj [Arabic], Szolout [Arabic], Dhouhere [Arabic], and Siale [Arabic]; of these the Szolout may have about one hundred tents, the Medledj one hundred and twenty, and the others fifty or sixty. They breed a vast number of goats, which easily find pasturage amongst the rocks; a few of them also keep sheep and cows, and cultivate the soil in some parts of the Ledja, where they sow wheat and barley. They possess few horses; the Medledj have about twenty, and the Szolout and Dhouhere each a dozen. But I shall have occasion to speak of these Arabs again in describing the people of the country. The tent in which we slept was remarkably large, although it could not easily be perceived amidst the labyrinth of rocks where it was pitched; yet our host was kept awake the whole night by THE LEDJA. [p.112]the fear of robbers, and the dogs barked incessantly. He told me next morning that the Szolout had lately been very successful in their nightly depredations upon the Medledj. Our host having no barley, gave my horse a part of some wheat which he had just brought from the plain, to bake into bread for his family. December lst.--We departed at sunrise, the night having been so cold that none of us was able to sleep. We found our way with great difficulty out of the labyrinth of rocks which form the inner Ledja, and through which the Arabs alone have the clue. Some of the rocks are twenty feet high, and the country is full of hills and Wadys. In the outer Ledja trees are less frequent than here, where they grow in great numbers among the rocks; the most common are the oak, the Malloula, and the Bouttan; the latter is the bitter almond, from the fruit of which an oil is extracted used by the people of the country to anoint their temples and forehead as a cure for colds; its branches are in great demand for pipe tubes. There are no springs in any part of this stony district, but water collects, in winter time, in great quantities in the Wadys, and in the cisterns and Birkets which are every where met with; in some of these it is kept the whole summer; when they are dried up the Arabs approach the borders of the Ledja, called the Loehf, to water their cattle at the springs in that district. The camel is met with throughout the Ledja, and walks with a firm step over the rocky surface. In summer he feeds on the flowers or dry grass of the pasturing places. In the interior parts of the Ledja the rocks are in many places cleft asunder, so that the whole hill appears shivered and in the act of falling down: the layers are generally horizontal, from six to eight feet, or more, in thickness, sometimes covering the hills, and inclining to their curve, as appears from the fissures, which often traverse the rock from top to bottom. In [p.113] many places are ruined walls; from whence it may be conjectured that a stratum of soil of sufficient depth for cultivation had in ancient times covered the rock. We had lost our road, when we met with a travelling encampment of Medledj, who guided us into a more open place, where their companions were pitching their tents. We breakfasted with them, and I was present during an interesting conversation between one of my Druse companions and an Arab. The wife of the latter, it appeared, had been carried off by another Arab, who fearing the vengeance of the injured husband, had gone to the Druse Sheikh of Khabeb, and having secured his Dakhil [Arabic], or protection, returned to the woman in the Ledja. The Sheikh sent word to the husband, cautioning him against taking any violent measures against his enemy. The husband, whom we here met with, wished to persuade the Druses that the Dakhil of the Sheikh was unjust, and that the adulterer ought to be left to his punishment. The Druse not agreeing with him, he swore that nothing should prevent him from shedding the blood of the man who had bereft him of his own blood; but I was persuaded that he would not venture to carry his threat into effect; for should he kill his enemy, the Druses would not fail to be revenged upon the slayer or his family. The outer Ledja is to be distinguished from the inner, on this side as well as on that by which we entered it, the former being much less rocky, and more fit for pasturage than the latter. On the borders of the inner Ledja we passed several places where the mill-stones are made, which I have mentioned in a former part of my journal. The stones are cut horizontally out of the rocks, leaving holes of four or five feet in depth, and as many in circumference; fifty or sixty of these excavations are often met with in the circumference of a mile. The stones are carried to be finished at Ezra, Mehadje, Aeib, Khabeb, and Shaara. SHAARA. [p.114] In one hour and a half from the borders of the Ledja, we came to Kastal Kereim, a ruined village, with a Birket; half an hour from it, Kereim, a Druse village. Between Kereim and Khabeb in the Loehf, is Aeib [Arabic], a Druse village, in which is a powder manufactory; there is another at Khabeb. Half an hour from Kereim is Kalaat Szamma [Arabic], a ruined village, with several towers. One hour and a half, Shaara, a village inhabited by about one hundred Druse and Christian families. We travelled this day about eight hours and a half. Shaara was once a considerable city; it is built on both sides of a Wady, half an hour from the cultivated plain, and is surrounded by a most dreary barren War. It has several large solidly built structures, now in ruins, and amongst others a tower that must have been about forty-five feet high. In the upper town is an ancient edifice with arches, converted into a mosque: over its door is this inscription: [Greek]. There is a salt-petre manufactory in the town; the earth in which the salt-petre is found, is collected in great quantities in the ruined houses, and thrown into large wooden vessels perforated with small holes on one side near the bottom. Water is then poured in, which drains through the holes, into a lower vessel, from whence it is taken, and poured into large copper kettles; after boiling for twenty-four hours, it is left in the open air; the sides of the kettles then become covered with crystals, which are afterwards washed to free them from all impurities. One hundred Rotolas of saline earth give from one to one and a half Rotola of salt-petre. I was told by the Sheikh of the village, who is the manufacturer MISSEMA. [p.115]on his own account, that he sends yearly to Damascus as much as one hundred Kantars. Here is also a gunpowder manufactory. December 2d.--The Greek priest, who had not ventured to accompany me into the Ledja, I found again at Shaara. I wished to see some parts of the northern Loehf, and particularly the ruins of Missema, of which I heard much from the country people. I therefore engaged a man at Shaara, to conduct me to the place, and from thence to Damascus. We set out in the morning, proceeded along the limits of the War, in an easterly direction, and in three quarters of an hour came to the sources of water called Sheraya [Arabic]; they are five or six in number, are situated just on the borders of the War, and extend as far as Missema, watering all the plain before them. Here, in the spring, the people of Shaara grow vegetables and water melons, and in summer the Arabs of the Ledja sometimes sow the neighbouring fields with wheat; but the frequent passage of the Bedouins renders the collection of the harvest somewhat precarious. Missemi, or Missema, is situated in the Ledja, at one hour and a half from Shaara; it is a ruined town of three miles in circuit. Over the door of a low vaulted building I read the following inscription in well executed characters: [Greek]. [Helvius] The principal ruin in the town is a temple, in tolerable preservation; it is one of the most elegant buildings which I have seen in the Haouran. The approach to it is over a broad paved area, which has once been surrounded by a row of short pillars; a flight of six steps, the whole length of the façade, [p.116] leads up to the portico, which consists of seven Doric columns, but of which three only are now standing. The entrance to the temple is through a large door in the centre, on each side of which is a smaller door; over the latter are niches. There are no sculptured ornaments on any part of the great door: the temple is sixteen paces square within. Four Corinthian columns standing in a square in the centre of the chamber support the roof. About two feet and a half under their capitals is a ring; their pedestals are three feet and a half high. Opposite the entrance is a large semicircular niche, the top of which is elegantly sculptured so as to resemble a shell. On either side of the niche is a pilaster, standing opposite to one of the columns. At the door are two pilasters similarly placed, and two others upon each of the side walls. Projecting from the bottom of each of these side walls, are four pedestals for busts or statues. The roof is formed of several arches, which, like the walls, are constructed with large stones. On either side of the interior niche is a small dark room. The door of the temple faces the south, and is almost completely walled up with small stones. Over the pedestals of two of the remaining columns of the portico are the following inscriptions: [Greek]. Over the great door: [Greek] MISSEMA. [p.117] [Greek]. In larger characters immediately under the former. [Greek] [Legionis tertiae Gallicae. Ed.]. On one of the jambs of the door; [Greek]. Upon a broken stone in the portico: [Greek]. [p.118] [Greek]. On the pedestal of a statue in the temple: [Greek]. On another pedestal: [Greek][Tribunum ([Greek]) Legionis Flaviae firmae. This was the 16th legion, as appears from the two following inscriptions. The 16th has the same title in an inscription in Gruter (p. 427). Ed.]. Under the niche to the left of the great door: [Greek]. Under that to the right: [Greek]. There are several other public buildings at Missema; but in no way remarkable for their architecture. I had been told that in one of these buildings was a large stone covered with small Greek characters. I sought for it in vain. Missema has no inhabitants; we met with only a few workmen, digging the saline earth: there are no springs here, but a number of cisterns. E. of Missema are no inhabited villages, but the Loehf contains several in ruins. MERDJAN. [p.119]From Missema our way lay N.N.W. over the desert plain, towards Djebel Kessoue. This route is much frequented in the summer time by the Aeneze, who pass this way to and from the Haouran. The plain is intersected in every direction by paths formed by camels, called Daroub el aarb [Arabic]. At the end of two hours we saw to the left, in the mountains, the ruined village Om el Kezour; and one hour eastward from thence, in the plain, an insulated pillar called Amoud Esszoubh [Arabic], i.e. the Column of the Morning, on which, as I was afterwards told, are several inscriptions. Our road now turned N. and we reached, after sunset, in three hours and a quarter from Missema, the ruined village Merdjan, where we found some men who had come to sow a few acres of ground, and partook of a frugal supper with them. December 3d.--The small village of Merdjan is picturesquely situated on a gentle declivity near the foot of the mountain, and is surrounded by orchards, and poplar trees, which have escaped the rapacious hands of the Arabs: hard by flows a rivulet, which irrigates the adjacent grounds. We left Merdjan early in the morning. Twenty minutes north is Ain Toby [Arabic], or the spring of the gazelle, consisting of several wells, round one of which are the remains of a well built wall. At one hour and a half is Soghba [Arabic], a few houses surrounded by a wall; three quarters of an hour from thence is Deir Ali [Arabic], a village at the western foot of Djebel Mane; before we came to the village we crossed the Moiet Deir Ali, a rivulet whose source is in the neighbourhood. Half an hour from Deir Ali is Meshdie [Arabic], a small village, in the valley between Djebel Mane and Djebel Khiara, which is about three hours in breadth. The ground is here for the greater part cultivated. Our route was N.N.W. from Deir Ali, from whence, in two hours, we reached El Kessoue, and towards sunset we entered Damascus. [p.121] JOURNAL OF A TOUR FROM ALEPPO TO DAMASCUS, THROUGH THE VALLEY OF THE ORONTES AND MOUNT LIBANUS, IN FEBRUARY AND MARCH, 1812. February 14th.--I LEFT Aleppo at mid-day; and in half an hour came to the miserable village Sheikh Anszary [Arabic], where I took leave of my Worthy friends Messieurs Barker and Van Masseyk, the English and Dutch Consuls, two men who do honour to their respective countries. I passed the two large cisterns called Djob Mehawad [Arabic], and Djob Emballat [Arabic], and reached, at the end of two hours and a half, the Khan called Touman [Arabic], near a village of the same name, situated on the Koeyk, or river of Aleppo. The Khan is in a bad state; Pashas no longer think of repairing public edifices. February 15th--After a march of ten hours and a half, I arrived at Sermein, having had some difficulty in crossing the muddy plain. The neighbourhood of Sermein is remarkable for great numbers of cisterns and wells hewn in the rock: in the town every house has a similar cistern; those in the plain serve to water the peasants' cattle in the summer, for there are no springs in these parts. On the S.E. side of Sermein is a large subterraneous vault, cut in the solid rock, divided into several apartments, and EDLIP. [p.122]supported in various places by round pillars with coarsely wrought capitals; near this are several other excavations, all inhabited by the poor peasants. Sermein belongs to the family of Khodsy Effendy of Aleppo. February 16th.--Half an hour to the left, near our road, is an insulated hill, with the tomb of a saint, called Kubbet Denneit [Arabic]; the plain is here well cultivated, but nothing is sown at present between Khan Touman and Sermein. To the right of the road, on a similar hill, stands Mezar Kubbet Menebya [Arabic]; and one hour to the right, also upon a Tel, Mezar Tar [Arabic]. Half an hour S.E. from Denneit is the village Gemanas. In two hours and a half from Sermein we reached the town of Edlip [Arabic], the approach to which is very picturesque; it lies round the foot of a hill, which divides it into two parts; there is a smaller hill on the N. side: the town is surrounded by olive plantations, and the whole landscape put my companion, an English traveller, in mind of Athens and its vicinity. Here again are many wells cut in the rocky soil round the town. This place is called Little Edlip [Arabic]. Of Great Edlip [Arabic], the name only remains: it stood at half an hour's distance from the present town, which is of modern date, or about the middle of the seventeenth century. I reckoned the number of its houses at about one thousand. The inhabitants are for the most part Turks; there are only eighty Greek Christian families, and three of Armenian Greeks. They have a church, and three priests, and are under the immediate jurisdiction of the Greek Patriarch of Damascus. The principal trade of Edlip is in soap; there are some manufactories of cotton stuffs, and a few dyeing-houses. The Bazars are well built, some of them of stone. In the town are several Khans, two of which are destined for the reception of strangers; [p.123]but the best edifice is the soap manufactory (El Meszbane), a large building. Edlip has no gardens, because there is no water but from wells and cisterns; there are a few orchards of pomegranate and fig trees, and some vine plantations. The place is supplied with vegetables from Rieha, and from Aere, a village two hours distant, lying between Darkoush and Djissr Shogher. There is a single spring in the town of brackish water, which is never used but in seasons of great drought; a man who had cleansed the bottom of the deep well in which the spring issues, told me that he found two openings in the rock, near each other, from the one of which flows sweet water, while that from the other is brackish. I made the tour of the town in thirty-seven minutes; the rocky ground is full of caverns, wells, and pits. Edlip is held by the family of Kuperly Zaade of Constantinople; but a part of its revenue is a Wakf to the Harameyn, that is to say, it contributes to defray the expenses of the two holy cities Mekka and Medina. The town pays annually to the above family, twenty purses for themselves, and fifteen for the holy cities; the latter sum was formerly sent to Mekka every year with the pilgrim caravan; but it is now paid into the hands of the Kuperlys. The town of Djissr Shogher [Arabic], distant six hours from Edlip, on the road to Ladikia, belongs to the same family, and is likewise a Wakf attached to the holy cities; it pays fifteen purses to the Kuperlys, and seven to the Harameyn. The revenue arising from thirteen or fourteen villages in the neighbourhood of Djissr Shogher has been assigned to the support of several hospitals which the Kuperlys have built in that town, where a number of poor people are fed daily gratis. Neither Edlip nor Shogher pays any land-tax or Miri, in consequence of their being attached to Mekka; but there is a custom-house at Edlip, where duties are levied on all kinds of provisions, as rice, coffee, oil, raisins, tobacco, &c. [p.124]the proceeds of which amount to nearly one hundred purses; besides a house tax, which yields twenty purses. The duties levied on provisions at Djissr Shogher amount to twenty purses. The government of Edlip is in the hands of a Mutsellim, named by the Porte; the real power had been for many years in the rich family of Ayash [Arabic], till the present chief of that family, Mahmoud Ibn Ayash, a man famous for his hospitality and upright character, had the misfortune to lose all his influence. In 1810 his house became involved in a deadly quarrel with that of Djahya, in consequence of a game of Jerid, which took a serious turn, and in which much blood was shed. Djahya left Edlip, and went to Rieha and Djissr Shogher, where he succeeded in engaging in his interest Seyd Aga and Topal Aly, the rebel chiefs of those towns, who only wanted a pretext to fall upon Edlip; they accordingly stirred up the inhabitants against Mahmoud, who was obliged to fly to Aleppo, and having sent the Mutsellim, Moury Aga, back to Constantinople, they put Abou Shah, the brother-in-law of Topal Aly, in his place, and brought Djahya back to Edlip. After some months the two rebels came to a compromise with Mahmoud, who returned to Edlip, and Djahya, in turn, fled to Aleppo; Mahmoud's power, however, was now at an end: the two chiefs are at present masters of the town, and share its spoils; but its wealth has much decreased since these events took place. In eighteen months it has paid upwards of six hundred purses; and on the day before our arrival a new contribution of two hundred had spread despair among the inhabitants. A Kadhi is sent here early from Constantinople. Sermein bears from hence S.E. by E. There are no dependent villages in the territory of Edlip. February 17th.--We left Edlip after mid-day. Our road lay through a wood of olive trees, in a fertile uneven plain of red argillaceous soil. In one hour we reached Sheikh Hassan, the tomb of RIEHA. [p.125]a saint; in an hour and a quarter the insulated hill Tel Stommak [Arabic], with the village Stommak on its west side. The direction from Edlip S. by W.: this hill seems to be an artificial mound of earth. The Wood of olive trees here terminates. In two hours and forty minutes we arrived at Rieha [Arabic], which we did not enter, through fear of the rebel Seyd Aga, who occupies it. It contains about four or five hundred houses, is a much frequented market, and has two large soap manufactories. Rieha is situated on the northern declivity of the Djebel Erbayn [Arabic], or the Mountain of the Forty; and belongs to the government of Aleppo; but since the expulsion of Mohammed Pasha, Seyd Aga has been in the possession of it, and governs also the whole mountain of Rieha, of which Djebel Erbayn forms a part. This man is a chief of that kind of cavalry which the Turks call Dehlys. He has about three hundred of them in his service, together with about one hundred Arnaouts; common interests have closely connected him with Topal Aly, the chief of the Dehlys at Djissr Shogher, who has about six hundred under his command, and with Milly Ismayl, another chief, who commands at Kalaat el Medyk. Unless the Porte finds means to disunite these three rebels, there is little probability of its reducing them. They at present tyrannize over the whole country from Edlip to Hamah. About two hours to the S.E. of Rieha lies the village of Marszaf [Arabic], and S. of the latter about one hour, the ruined town Benin. We ascended the mountain from Rieha, turned round its eastern corner, and in one hour from Rieha, reached the village of Kefr Lata [Arabic]. We were hospitably received at the house of the Sheikh of Kefr Lata, although his women only were at home. A wondering story-teller amused us in the evening with chanting the Bedouin history of the Beni Helal. Kefr Lata belongs to Ibn Szeyaf, one of the first families of Aleppo. February 18th.--Kefr Lata is situated upon the mountain of KEFR LATA. [p.126]Rieha, on the S. side of a narrow valley watered by a rivulet; it contains forty or fifty houses, all well built of square stones, which have been taken from the buildings of a town of the lower empire, which occupied the same site. The remains deserve notice, on account of the vast quantity of stone coffins and sepulchres. The mountain is a barren calcareous rock, of no great hardness. In some places are a few spots of arable ground, where the inhabitants of the village grow barley and Dhourra. On the side of the rivulet are some fruit trees. We were occupied the whole morning in visiting the neighbourhood of the village, which must have been anciently the burying place of all the great families of this district; the number of tombs being too considerable for so small a town as Kefr Lata appears to have been; no such sepulchres, or at least very few, are met with among the ruins of the large cities which we saw afterwards in the same mountain. Beginning on the west side of the village, I counted sixteen coffins and seven caves; the coffins are all excavated in the rock; the largest are nine feet long, and three feet and a half in breadth; the smaller seven feet long, and three feet broad; their depth is generally about five feet. In the greater part of them there is on one side a curved recess, cut in the rock, about four feet in length, and two feet in breadth. All these coffins had originally stone lids of a single block of stone, exactly covering the aperture of the coffin. Only a small proportion of these now remain entire, but there are some quite uninjured. I saw only two or three in which a sculptured frieze or cornice was carried along the whole length of the cover; the generality have only a few ornaments on the two ends; they are all of the annexed shape. The apertures of the coffins are invariably even with the surface of the ground, and the lids only are seen from without, as if lying upon the surface. [p.127]The sepulchral caves vary in their sizes and construction; the entrance is generally through a low door, sometimes ornamented by short pilasters, into a vaulted room cut in the rock, the size of which varies from six to fifteen feet in length, and from four to ten feet in breadth; the height of the vault is about six feet; but sometimes the cave terminates in a flat roof. They all contain coffins, or receptacles for the dead; in the smaller chambers there is a coffin in each of the three sides: the larger contain four or six coffins, two opposite the entrance, and one on each side, or two on each of the three sides: the coffins in general are very rudely formed. Some of the natural caverns contain also artificial receptacles for the dead, similar to those already described; I have seen many of these caverns in different parts of Syria. The south side of the village being less rocky, there are neither caves nor coffins on that side. On the east side I counted twenty-one coffins, and five sepulchral caves; of the former, fourteen are within a very small space; the greater part of them are single, but in same places they have been formed in pairs, upon the same level, and almost touching each other. Crossing to the N. side of the valley of Kefr Lata, I met with a long wall built with large blocks of stone; to the north of it is an oblong square, thirty-seven paces in length, and twenty-seven in breadth, cut out of the rock; in its walls are several niches. In the middle of it is a large coffin, with the remains of a wall which had enclosed it. To the E. of this is a similar square, but of smaller dimensions. I counted in this neighbourhood twenty coffins and four sepulchral caves, besides several open niches very neatly wrought in the side of the mountain, containing recesses for the dead. Returning towards the village I passed the source of the rivulet which waters the valley. Over it stands an ancient building, which consists of a vaulted roof supported by four short columns, in a very bad heavy style; it is about thirieen feet in height. A DJEBEL ERBAYN. [p.128] few letters of a Greek in scription are visible on the lower part of the roof: [Greek]. We left the village about mid-day, and crossed the mountain in a northerly direction, by the short foot way to Rieha; in half an hour we reached the point of the mountain directly over Rieha. It is this part of the Djebel Rieha which is properly called Djebel Erbayn. In the last century a summer residence was built here just above the town; but it is now abandoned, although a most beautiful spot, surrounded by fruit trees of all sorts, with a copious spring, and presenting a magnificent view over the plains of Aleppo and Edlip. A spring, which here issues from under the rock, collects in front of the building into a large basin, from whence it flows down to Rieha. I here took the following bearings; Edlip N. by E.; Sermein N.E.b.N.; Mount St. Simon N.N.E.; Khan Touman E.N.E.; Djebel el Ala N.; Djebel Akra W.N.W. About one hour N.E. of Rieha lies the village Haleya. From Djebel Erbayn we continued our road in a S.S.W. direction, on the declivity of the mountain of Rieha. In half an hour EL BARA. [p.129] we passed a copious spring, enclosed by a square building, called El Monboaa [Arabic]. In the plain to the right we saw the village Kefrzebou [Arabic], and half an hour to the west of it another, called Ourim [Arabic]. We met with several sepulchral caves on our road. Wherever, in these parts, the soil admits of culture, wheat and barley are sown among the rocks. If such spots are distant from a village, the cultivators pitch a few tents for the purpose of watching the seed and crop; such encampments are called Mezraa [Arabic]. In an hour and ten minutes we reached Nahle; two hours and forty minutes the village Meghara [Arabic], with many remains of ancient buildings. Here I saw a neat sepulchral cave with a vaulted portico supported by two pillars. In three hours we reached the village Merayan [Arabic]; the direction of our route sometimes S.W. sometimes S.S.W. Just by Merayan is a large coffin, cut in the rocky ground, like those of Kefr Lata; and near it a spring, with ancient walls. In three hours and twenty minutes we came to Ahsin [Arabic], half an hour to the west of which is the village Eblim [Arabic]. The principal produce of all these villages is grapes, which are carried to the Aleppo market, and there sold, in ordinary years, at about nine shillings per quintal; or else they are boiled to form the sweet glutinous extract called Debs, which is a substitute for sugar all over the East. At the end of four hours and a half we reached the village El Bara [Arabic], where we finished our day's journey; but we met with a very cold reception, although I had taken the precaution of obtaining a letter of recommendation to the Sheikh of the village from the proprietor of it, Taleb Effendi, of the family Tcheleby Effendi Toha Zade, the first house of Aleppo. Half an hour N.W. of Bara lies the village Belyoum. A high hill, contiguous to the Djebel Rieha, called Neby Ayoub [Arabic], bears N.W. from El Bara, distant about an hour and three [p.130]quarters. On its summit is a Turkish chapel sacred to the memory of the prophet Ayoub (Job). Two hours distant from El Bara, S. by W. lies the village Kefr Nebyl. February 20th.--The mountain of Rieha, of which El Bara forms a part, is full of the ruins of cities, which flourished in the times of the lower empire;[The following are the names of other villages and ruined towns, situated upon the mountain of Rieha from the information of a man or El Bara: viz. Medjellye [Arabic], Betersa [Arabic], Baouza [Arabic], Has [Arabic], El Rebeya [Arabic], Serdjelle [Arabic], El Djerada [Arabic], Moarrat Houl [Arabic], Moarrat Menhas [Arabic], Beshelle [Arabic], Babouza [Arabic], El Deir [Arabic], El Roweyha [Arabic], with extensive ruins; Zer Szabber [Arabic], Zer Louza [Arabic], Moar Bellyt [Arabic], Moar Szaf [Arabic], Serdjeb Mantef [Arabic], Nahle [Arabic], El Rama [Arabic], Kefr Rouma [Arabic], Shennan [Arabic], Ferkya [Arabic], Belshou [Arabic], Ahsarein [Arabic], Moarrat Maater [Arabic], Djebale [Arabic], Kefrneba [Arabic], Beskala [Arabic], Moarrata [Arabic], Djousef [Arabic], El Fetteyry [Arabic], El Ahmeyry [Arabic], Erneba [Arabic], El Arous [Arabic], Kon Szafra [Arabic], El Mezra [Arabic], Aweyt [Arabic], Kefr Shelaye [Arabic], Szakhrein [Arabic], Benames [Arabic], Kefr Djennab [Arabic], Szankoul [Arabic].] those of El Bara are the most considerable of the whole, and as I had often heard the people of the country mention them, I thought it worth while to take this circuitous road to Hamah. The ruins are about ten minutes walk to the west of the village. Directing our researches to that side we met with a sepulchral cave in the immediate vicinity of the town; a broad staircase leads down to the entrance of it, over which I copied this inscription: [Greek]. The following figure, in relief, was over it. We saw the same figure, with variations, over the gates of several buildings in these ruins; the episcopal staff is found in all [p.131]of them. The best executed one that I saw was of this form. On the outside of the town are several sepulchral caves, and a few coffins. The town walls on the E. side are yet standing; they are very neatly built with small stones, with a square pillar at every six or seven paces, about nine feet high. The ruins extend for about half an hour from south to north, and consist of a number of public buildings, churches, and private habitations, the walls and roofs of some of which are still standing. I found no inscriptions here. The stone with which the buildings are constructed is a soft calcareous rock, that speedily decays wherever it is exposed to the air; it is of the same description as that found in the buildings of the towns about the mountain of St. Simon, and in the ruins of St. Simon, where not a single legible inscription remains, though, as at Bara, traces of them are seen in many places. We surveyed the town in all directions, but saw no building worth noticing, except three tombs, which are plain square structures surmounted with pyramids. The pyramidal summit of one of them has fallen. The interior of these tombs is a square of six paces; on the side opposite the door is a stone coffin; and two others in each of the other two walls; the pyramidal roof is well constructed, being hollow to the top, with rounded angles, and without any interior support. On the outside the pyramid is covered with thin slabs, on each of which is a kind of knob, which gives the whole a very singular appearance. The height of the whole building may be about twenty-four feet. In one of the tombs is a window, the other is quite dark. Two of them stand near together; a third is in a different part of the town. The sides of one of the coffins is carved with a cross in the middle. [p.132]The mode of construction in all the private habitations is similar to that which I noticed in the ancient towns of the Haouran, and which, in fact, is still in use in most of the Arab villages in Syria, with this difference, that the latter build with timber and mud instead of stone. On the N. side of El Bara stands a castle, built in the Saracen or Crusade style, with a spring near it, called Bir Alloun [Arabic], the only one in the neighbourhood of the ancient town, and which apparently was insufficient to the inhabitants, as we found many cisterns cut very deep in the rock. Turning from the spring towards the present village, we passed the tomb of a Turkish saint, called Kubbet Ibn Imaum Abou Beker, where the son of Abou Beker is reported to have been killed: near it is a cave, with eight receptacles for the dead. I saw there some rocks of the same basaltic tufwacke which I met with in the Djebel el Hasz and in ome of the districts of Haouran. The greater part of the villages of Djebel Rieha belong to the Dehly Bashi, at Rieha. Feteyry belongs to the district of Marra; its inhabitants have often been punished for their rebellious conduct, and their predatory incursions into the neighbouring districts; their spirit, however, is unbroken, and they still follow the same practices. The frontiers of the Pashaliks of Damascus and Aleppo run across the mountain of Rieha, which commences above Rieha, and extends to Kalaat el Medyk, varying in breadth from two to five hours: it is a low but very rocky chain, little fit for culture, except in the valleys; but it abounds in game, especially wild boars; and ounces have sometimes been killed in it. We left the inhospitable Bara at mid-day, with two armed men, to escort us over the mountain into the valley of the Orontes. In half an hour we passed a ruined stone bridge across a narrow Wady; it rests upon piers, which are formed of immense blocks EL GHAB. [p.133]of stone piled upon one another. In one hour and twenty minutes we came to Kon Szafra, in a fertile valley on the top of the mountain, where a few families live in wretched huts amidst the ruins of an ancient town. N.W. about three quarters of an hour is the village of Mezraa. In an hour and forty minutes we reached the ruined town Djerada, and at the end of two hours and a half, Kefr Aweyt, a small village; Kefr, in the vulgar dialect, means ruins. Here the mountain is much less rocky, and more fit for culture. Our road lay S.W. b. S. The village of Feteyry, lies about one hour and a half south of Aweyt. After travelling three hours we came in sight of the Orontes, and then began to descend. The mountain on this side is rather steep, and its side is overgrown with herbs which afford an excellent pasturage. The plant asphodel (Siris [Arabic]) is very common; the inhabitants of Syria, by pulverising its dried roots, and mixing the powder with water, make a good glue, which is superior to that made with flour, as it is not attacked by worms. In the summer the inhabitants of the valley pasture their cattle in these mountains, as do likewise a few tribes of Arabs; among these are the Akeydat, of whom we passed a small encampment. The part of Djebel Rieha which, beginning at Kon Szafra, extends to the valley of the Orontes, on the one side towards Kalaat el Medyk, on the other towards Djissr Shogher, bears the appellation of Djebel Shaehsabou [Arabic]. The continuation of the same mountain towards Rieha, besides its general name of Djebel Rieha, is likewise called Djebel Zaouy [Arabic]. In four hours and a quarter we reached the plain below, near an insulated hill, called Tel Aankye [Arabic], which seems to be artificial. The valley bordered on the E. side by Djebel Shaehsabou, and on the W. side by the mountains of the Anzeyry, is called El Ghab [Arabic]. It extends almost due north from three hours S. of HOWASH. [p.134]Kalaat el Medyk to near Djissr Shogher: its breadth is about two hours, but becomes narrower towards the north; it is watered by the Aaszy [Arabic], or Orontes, which flows near the foot of the western mountain, where it forms numerous marshes. The inhabitants of El Ghab are a mongrel race of Arabs and Fellahs, and are called Arab el Ghab. They live in winter time in a few villages dispersed over the valley, of which they cultivate only the land adjacent to their villages; on the approach of hot weather they retire with their cattle to the eastern mountains, in search of pasture, and in order to escape the immense swarms of flies and gnats [Arabic], which infest the Ghab in that season. In the winter the Aaszy inundates a part of the low grounds through which it flows, and leaves many small lakes and ponds; the valley is watered also by numerous springs and by rivulets, which descend from the mountains, especially from those on the east. To the N. of Tel Aankye, on the E. side towards Djissr Shogher, which is eight hours distant from Aankye, are the springs Ayn Bet Lyakhom [Arabic], Ayn Keleydyn [Arabic], Shaouryt [Arabic], Kastal Hadj Assaf [Arabic], Djob Soleyman [Arabic], Djob el Nassouh [Arabic], Djob Tel el Tyn [Arabic]. Having passed to the left of Aankye, where is a small village, we continued our road up the valley due south; we passed near the spring Ayn el Aankye; in a quarter of an hour farther Ayn el Kherbe, and at the same distance farther south, the copious spring Ayn el Howash [Arabic], from whence we turned to the right into the plain, and at the end of four hours and three quarters from El Bara, reached the village Howash, where we alighted at the Sheikh's house. February 21st--Howash is the principal village of the Ghab; it is situated on the borders of a small lake, formed by the rivulet of Ayn el Howash. The surrounding country was at this time for [p.135]the greater part inundated, and the Arabs passed in small boats from one village to another; in summer the inundation subsides, but the lakes remain, and to the quantity of stagnant water thus formed is owing the pest of flies and gnats abovementioned. There are about one hundred and forty huts at Howash, the walls of which are built of mud; the roofs are composed of the reeds which grow on the banks of the Orontes; the huts in which these people live in the mountain during the summer are formed also of reeds, which are tied together in bundles, and thus transported to the mountain, where they are put up so as to form a line of huts, in which the families within are separated from each other only by a thin partition of reeds. The Arabs of Howash cultivate Dhourra and wheat, and, like all the Arabs of the Ghab, rear large herds of buffaloes, which are of a small kind, and much less spirited than those I saw in the plains of Tarsous. It is a common saying and belief among the Turks, that all the animal kingdom was converted by their Prophet to the true faith, except the wild boar and buffalo, which remained unbelievers; it is on this account that both these animals are often called Christians. We are not surprised that the boar should be so denominated; but as the flesh of the buffalo, as well as its Leben or sour milk, is much esteemed by the Turks, it is difficult to account for the disgrace into which that animal has fallen among them; the only reason I could learn for it, is that the buffalo, like the hog, has a habit of rolling in the mud, and of plunging into the muddy ponds in the summer time, up to the very nose, which alone remains visible above the surface. The territory of Djissr Shogher extends as far as Howash; from thence, southward, begins the district of Kalaat el Medyk. The Sheikh of Howash, called Mohammed el Omar, is noted in the adjoining districts for his hospitality; but within bthese few years he AYN UKTOL. [p.136]has been reduced from great wealth to poverty by the extortions of Topal Aly of Djissr Shogher, and of Milly Ismayl of Kalaat el Medyk; the troops which are continually passing from one place to another are consuming the last remains of his property. The night we slept at his house, there were at least fifty people at supper, of whom about thirty were poor Arabs of his village; the others were all strangers. We left Howash early in the morning, and rode along the eastern mountains, in this beautiful valley, which I can compare only to the valley of the Bekaa between the two Libani; the Ghab, however, has this great advantage over the Bekaa, that it is copiously watered by a large river and many rivulets, while the latter, in summer time, has little or no water. At half an hour from Howash we met with several fragments of shafts of columns, on the side of an ancient paved causeway. We followed this causeway for upwards of an hour, although in some places no remains of it were visible; at the distance of a quarter of an hour (at the rate of about three miles and a half an hour), from the first heap of fragments of columns, we met with a similar heap; then at an equal interval a third, and again a fourth; not more than four columns seemed to have stood together in any of these places. We conjectured that this had been a Roman road, and the columns its milliaria. The causeway was traced here and there farther to the south, but without any appearance of stations; it probably followed the whole length of the valley from Apamea to Djissr Shogher. One hour and a quarter from Howash is Ayn Houyeth [Arabic], a copious spring. The Roman road is here about sixteen feet in breadth. To the right, in the plain, is the village of Houyeth, and near it another village, called Ain Uktol [Arabic]. On our right was a perpendicular rock, upon which were patches of rich verdure. Two hours and a quarter is Ayn el Taka [Arabic], a large spring, issuing LAKE EL TAKA. [p.137]from near the foot of the mountain, and forming a small lake which communicates with the Orontes. Here are the remains of some ancient walls. The temperature of this spring, as well as of those which we passed on the way from Aankye, is like that of water which has been heated by the sun in the midst of summer: it is probably owing to this temperature, that we observed such vast numbers of fish in the lake, and that they resort here in the winter from the Orontes; it is principally the species called by the Arabs the Black Fish, on account of its ash- coloured flesh; its length varies from five to eight feet. The fishery is at present in the hands of the governor of Kalaat el Medyk, who carries it on, on his own account; the period is from November till the beginning of January. The fishermen, who are inhabitants of the village Sherya [Arabic], situated on the borders of the lake, at half an hour's distance from Ayn el Taka, enjoy a partial exemption from the Miri, or land-tax; they fish with harpoons during the night, in small boats, which carry five or six men; and so numerous are the fish, that by throwing the harpoons at random, they fill their boats in the course of the night. The quantity taken might be doubled, if there were a ready market for them. The Kantar, of five hundred and eighty pounds weight, is sold at about four pounds sterling. The fish are salted on the spot, and carried all over Syria, and to Cyprus, for the use of the Christians during their long and rigid fasts. The income derived from this fishery by the governor of Kalaat el Medyk amounts to about one hundred and twenty purses, or three thousand pounds sterling. Besides the black fish, carp are also taken with nets, and carried to Hamah and Homs, where the Turks are very fond of them. The depth of the lake is about ten feet; its breadth is quite irregular, being seldom more than half an hour; its length is about one hour and a half. One hour from Ayn el Taka, and the lake El Taka, we arrived at KALAAT EL MEDYK. [p.138]the foot of the hill upon which stands Kalaat el Medyk [Arabic], or the castle of Medyk. It probably occupies the site of Apamea: for there can be little doubt that travellers have been wrong in placing that city at Hamah, the ancient Epiphania, or at some ruins situated at four hours distance from Hamah. Notwithstanding our desire to enter the castle, we could not venture to do so. The governor, Milly Ismayl, a man eighty-five years of age, and whose name has been well known in Syria for the last twenty years, was last year, when governor of Hamah, ordered by the Pasha of Damascus to march with his corps of Dehlys towards Ladakie, to join the Tripoli army, then fighting against the Anzeyrys, who inhabit the mountains between Ladakie and Antioch; in passing by Kalaat el Medyk, on his way to Djissr Shogher, he found the castle without a garrison, and took possession of it, thereby declaring himself a rebel. Orders have in consequence been given to strike off his head. Although his strong fortress enables him to defy these orders, his dread of being surprised induces him to try every means in his power to obtain his pardon from the Porte, and he has even sent considerable sums of money to Constantinople. [Damascus. April 28, 1812.--In the latter end of March, Milly Ismayl went to Hamah on some private business, and during his absence with his troops Topal Aly quietly seized upon the castle. The former now lives in retirement at Hamah, while the power and reputation of Topal have been thus considerably increased in the northern parts of Syria.] Under these circumstances my companion and myself were afraid that he might lay hold of us, in order to make our deliverance subservient to his purposes; we therefore passed by the foot of the hill, while we sent in our attendants to buy some provisions. The castle is built upon an almost insulated hill, communicating on its eastern side only with the mountain called Djebel VALLEY OF THE ORONTES. [p.139]Oerimy [Arabic], the southernmost point of Djebel Shaehsabou, which turns off here towards the east, and continues for about three hours in an easterly direction. To the south of Oerimy the undulations of the mountain continue for about three hours, and terminate in the plain of Terimsy, of which I shall speak presently. The castle of Medyk is built of small stones, with several turrets, and is evidently of modern construction. On the E. side, close to the gate, are ruined habitations; and to the S. on the declivity of the hill, is a mosque enclosed by a wall, which forms a kind of out-work to the castle. Within the castle wall are thirty or forty houses, inhabited by Turks and Greek Christians. I was told that the only relic of antiquity is a wall in the governor's palace, built with large blocks of stone. At the western foot of the hill is a warm sulphureous spring, the water from which forms a pond; on the edge of the pond I found a fragment of a fine fluted Doric column. Near the spring is a large Khan for the accommodation of travellers. On the N. side of the hill are several columns scattered about. As we wished to follow the valley of the Orontes as far as possible, we continued in the direction S. by W. along the plain, instead of taking the straight road towards Hamah. Half an hour from Kalaat el Medyk is Ayn Djoufar [Arabic], a rivulet flowing down the eastern hills through Wady Djoufar; it runs towards the castle, and empties itself into the pond at the castle spring. Up in the hills, in the direction of Wady Djoufar, are the villages of Keframbouda [Arabic], Kournas [Arabic], Sheikh Hadid [Arabic], and Djournye [Arabic], a little beyond Ayn Djoufar we passed the spring Ayn Abou Attouf [Arabic]. In three quarters of an hour, another rivulet called Ayn el Sheikh Djouban [Arabic], whose source is up in the hills. The valley El Ghab continues here of the same breadth as below. In the plain, about three quarters of SEKEYLEBYE. [p.140]an hour from Kalaat el Medyk, is a broad ditch, about fifteen feet deep, and forty in breadth, which may be traced for an hour and a half, towards the Orontes; near it is the village El Khandak (or the Ditch.) This ditch is not paved, and may formerly have served for the irrigation of the plain. After proceeding for two hours from the castle, our two guides refused to go any farther, insisting that it would be impossible to continue longer in the valley; to say the truth, it was in many parts covered with water, or deep mud, for the rains had been incessant during several months, and the road we had already come, from the castle, was with difficulty passable; we were therefore obliged to yield, and turning to our left a little way up the hill, rested at the village of Sekeylebye [Arabic], situated on one of the low hills, near a rivulet called Wady Sekeylebye. I may here observe that the springs coming from the eastern mountains of the Ghab never dry up, and scarcely even diminish during the height of summer. From a point over the village, which belongs to Hamah, I took the following bearings: Tel Zeyn Abdein, near Hamah, S.E. Djebel Erbayn, between Hamah and Homs, S.S.E. The gap which separates the Anti-Libanus from the northern chain, to the W. of Homs and Hamah, S.by E. The highest point of Djebel Szoleyb, to the W. of Hamah and Homs, S. Tel Aasheyrne, in the plain, S. by W., Djebel Maszyad S.W. The eastern termination of Djebel Shaehsabou N.E. by E. To the S. and E. of Sekeylebye open the great plains which extend to the desert. To the S. distant one hour, near the borders of the hills which enclose the valley of the Ghab on this side, lies the Anzeyry village of Sherrar [Arabic], a quarter of an hour from whence is an insulated hill called Tel Amouryn. Two hours southward of Sekeylebye is Tel Aasheyrne, and half an hour farther, Tel el Shehryh. In the valley, [p.141]about one hour and a half S.W. of Sekeylebye, lies the village El Haourat [Arabic], with a ford over the Orontes, where there is a great carp [Arabic] fishery. On the other side of the river is the insulated hillock Tel el Kottra [Arabic]. The highest point of the mountain of the Anzeyrys, on the W. side of the Orontes, appears to be opposite to Kalaat el Medyk; it is called Kubbet Neby Metta [Arabic], and has a chapel upon it, dedicated to the saint Metta, who is held in great veneration by the Anzeyrys. The principal villages in this mountain, belonging to the Anzeyrys, who live there upon the produce of their excellent tobacco plantations, are the following: to the W. of Howash, El Shattha [Arabic], to the S. of it, Merdadj [Arabic], farther S. Aanab [Arabic]. To the W. of Kalaat el Medyk, Ayn el Keroum [Arabic], a village whose inhabitants are rebels. To the W. of Ayn Djoban, Fakrou [Arabic]; above Tel el Kottra, Kalaat el Kebeys [Arabic]. The mountain belongs to the government of Ladakie, but is immediately under the Anzeyry chief, El Fakker [Arabic], who resides in the castle of Szaffytta. The inhabitants of the Ghab hold the Anzeyrys in contempt for their religion, and fear them, because they often descend from the mountains in the night, cross the Aaszy, and steal, or carry off by force, the cattle of the valley. [A peasant of Sekeylebye enumerated to me the following villages belonging to the government of Hamah, and situated to the N. and W. of that town. Beginning east-wards of his own village, he first mentioned El Sohhrye, then Setouhh, El Deyr, Kfer Djebein, Um Kaszr, Kassabye, Um el Aamed, Kferambouda, Kornas, El Djeleyme, El Mogheyer, El Habyt, Kefer Sedjen, Maar Zeyt, Maart Maater, Kefr Ayn, Kadhyb el Ban, Tel Aas, Kefr Zeyty, El Lattame [Arabic], the principal village of the district of Hamah, Khan Shiehoun, Maryk, Howeyr, Tel Berran, Wady Edjfar, Wady Daurat, Maszyn Latmein, Tel Faes, Besseleya, Meskyn, Tayebe, Um Tennoura, El Hammamye, El Seyh, Seidjar, Khattab, Meharabe, Helfeya, Bellata, Kefr Behon, Zauran, Mardys, Maar Shour, El Djadjye, Zeyn Abdein, El Oesher. East and south-east of Hamah are the ruined villages: Kefr Houn, Ekfer Tab, Um Sedjra, Altouny, Kefr Eydoun, Sahyan, Marhatal, Heish, Moaka, Wady el Fathh, [Arabic], Kefr Baesein, El Tahh, El Djofer Djerdjenaes, El Ghatfa, Mart Arab, Aar [Arabic], Seker, Turky, Etleyl el Szauan, El Temaanaa, El Taamy, El Sheteyb, El Beleyl, Um Harteyn, El Zekeyat, El Hamra, Kfer Dadein, Maar Zelem, Naszab, Tel Faes, El Medjdel, Howeyr, Aatshan el Gebeybat, Sydy Aaly, Djaafar, Berdj el Abyadh, Berdj el Assuad, Kalaat el Ans, Stabelt Antar, Deh lubby.] LAKE EL TERIMSY. [p.142]We passed the night in a half ruined house, without being able to get any refreshments, although the village belonged to a particular friend of mine at Hamah; indeed these peasants have scarcely any thing left to keep themselves from starving. February 22d--Early this morning we set off in the direction of Hamah, and after a march of an hour and a half over the plain, reached Tel Szabba [Arabic], an insulated hillock in the plain; half an hour from it lies a lake called Behirat Terimsy [Arabic], or, simply El Terimsy. Its extent is from S.W. to N.E. about five to six miles long by two or three in breadth; its waters are scarcely any where deeper than five feet; but the depth of mud at the bottom is so great as to render it fatal for any one to enter the lake, at least so I was informed by several peasants who joined us. The water of the lake diminishes considerably in the summer time, but very seldom dries up entirely; the only instance upon record was during the great drought in 1810, when it is asserted that springs were discovered in the bed of the lake. I am not quite certain whether it communicates on the western side with the Orontes; our guides were not unanimous in their answers; the river, however, must at least pass very close to the lake. On the southern borders of the lake are the Tels or mounds of earth, called Telloul el Fedjera [Arabic]; on the E. side is the Tel Waoyat [Arabic]. The soil in the vicinity of the lake is a soft clay; and I had great SEIDJAR. [p.143]difficulty in extricating my mare from the swamp as I approached to reconnoitre the lake, which our company had left to the right of the road. In the spring the earth hardens and is then covered with most luxuriant pasturage. In March the peasants and Arabs of all the neighbouring districts and villages, as well as the inhabitants of Hamah, send their horses and mules here to graze under the care of herdsmen, who regularly pitch their tents near the Waoyat, and each of whom receives a piastre a head from the owners. The cattle remain here till April. The best pasture seems to be on the S. and E. sides, the banks of the lake being there lower than on the opposite sides. It was here, perhaps, that the Seleucidae fed their herds of elephants. Two hours and a half from Sekeylebye, to the left of the road, is a ruined mosque, called El Djelame; two hours and a half, Tel el Mellah, a hillock in the plain. Our road continued through fertile but uncultivated fields. E. of Tel Mellah about two hours is Tel Szeyad. Af ter three hours and a half slow march we reached the Orontes, near a spot where a large wheel, of the same construction as those at Hamah, raises the water from the river, and empties it into a stone canal, by means of which the neighbouring fields are irrigated. At the end of four hours we came to a bridge over the river, on the other side of which the castle of Seidjar is [Arabic] situated. If I recollect rightly, the bridge rests upon thirteen arches; it is well built, but of modern construction. It is placed at the point where the Aaszy issues from between rugged mountains. On the summit of the range on the left bank stands the castle. To the S.E. of the castle, on the right bank of the river, is the tomb of a Sheikh called Aba Aabeyda el Djerrah [Arabic], and to the S.E. of the latter, the Turkish chapel El Khudher. The windings of the river in the narrow rocky valley, where no space intervenes between the water and the base of the mountains, resemble KALAAT SEIDJAR. [p.144]those of the Wye in Monmouthshire. At the bridge of Seidjar, it is nearly as large as the Wye at Chepstow. Just by the bridge is a Khan of ancient construction; probably of the period of the crusades. A paved way leads up to the castle, which is at present inhabited by a few hundred families of peasants. It appears from the style of construction that the castle as it now stands, is of the time of the latter Califes; the walls, towers, and turrets, which surround it on the N., W. and S. sides, are evidently Saracen; but it should seem, from the many remains of Grecian architecture found in the castle, that a Greek town formerly stood here. Fragments of columns and elegant Corinthian and Doric capitals lie dispersed about it: amongst them is a coffin of fine marble, nine feet long, but I could find no remains of any ancient building. On the east side the river runs at the foot of a deep precipice. In the south wall a strong well built tower is still in perfect preservation; near it is a deep well, and a subterraneous passage, which, we were informed, leads down to the river side. We searched in vain for Greek inscriptions; on the above mentioned tower is a fine Arabic inscription, but too high to be copied by such short- sighted people as we both happened to be. On the gate of the castle, which leads through an arched passage into the interior, I copied the following, in which many foreign words are mixed with the Arabic: [Arabic]. Part of the declivity of the hill upon which the castle is built is paved with flat stones, like the castle hills of Aleppo, El Hossn, PLAIN OF HAMAH. [p.145]and Szalkhat. In the plain to the S. and S.W. of the castle are the remains of ancient buildings, which indicate the site of a town; several fragments of columns, wrought stones, and a great deal of rubbish, are lying about. We dug up an altar about four feet and a half high, and one foot and an half square; on one of its four sides was this inscription: [Greek]. To the S.W. of the bridge is the tomb of a saint named Sheikh Mahmoud, which is to the W. of a small village called Haourein [Arabic]. The rock of the hills, in the neighbourhood of Seidjar, is calcareous, of considerable hardness, and of a reddish yellow colour; on the S. side of the castle the rock seems to have been cut perpendicularly down almost as low as the river, either for the purpose of adding to the defence of the fortress on this side, or to facilitate the drawing up of water from the river. We now crossed the low hills to the south of Seidjar, and entered the plain of Hamah, which is very little cultivated here. We proceeded in a south-easterly direction. In one hour and a half from Seidjar we passed a number of wells cut close to each other in the rocky ground. At one hour and three quarters is a small bridge over a torrent called El Saroudj [Arabic], which empties itself into the Orontes. In two hours we saw to our left, about half an hour distant, the village Hedjam, on the right bank of the river; in two hours and three quarters, a small village HAMAH. [p.146]called El Shyhy [Arabic], was to our right; at three hours, we passed the village El Djadjye [Arabic], distant from the left of the road a quarter of an hour; and near it the village El Kasa. The fertile soil now begins to be well cultivated. In four hours we reached Hamah, where we alighted, at the house of Selym Keblan, one of the Mutsellim's secretaries, the most gentlemanly Levantine I had yet known. Hamah is situated on both sides of the Orontes; a part of it is built on the declivity of a hill, and a part in the plain; the quarters in the plain are called Hadher [Arabic] and El Djissr; those higher up El Aleyat [Arabic], and El Medine. Medine is the abode of the Christians. The town is of considerable extent, and must contain at least thirty thousand inhabitants, of whom the Greek families, according to the Bishop's information, are about three hundred. In the middle of the city is a square mound of earth, upon which the castle formerly stood; the materials, as well as the stones with which it is probable that the hill was faced, have been carried away and used in the erection of modern buildings. There are four bridges over the Orontes in the town. The river supplies the upper town with water by means of buckets fixed to high wheels (Naoura) [Arabic], which empty themselves into stone canals, supported by lofty arches on a level with the upper parts of the town. There are about a dozen of the wheels; the largest of them, called Naoura el Mohammedye, is at least seventy feet in diameter. The town, for the greater part, is well built, although the walls of the dwellings, a few palaces excepted, are of mud; but their interior makes amends for the roughness of their external appearance. The Mutsellim resides in a seraglio, on the banks of the river. I enquired in vain for a piece of marble, with figures in relief, which La Roque saw; but in the corner of a house in the Bazar is a stone with a number [p.147]of small figures and signs, which appears to be a kind of hieroglyphical writing, though it does not resemble that of Egypt. I counted thirteen mosques in the town, the largest of which has a very ancient Minaret. The principal trade of Hamah is with the Arabs, who buy here their tent furniture and clothes. The Abbas, or woollen mantles made here, are much esteemed. Hamah forms a part of the province of Damascus, and is usually the station of three or four hundred horsemen, kept here by the Pasha to check the Arabs, who inundate the country in spring and summer. Few rich merchants are found in the town; but it is the residence of many opulent Turkish gentlemen, who find in it all the luxuries of the large towns, at the same time that they are in some measure removed from the extortions of the government. Naszyf Pasha, of the family of Adein, who has an annual income of about £8000. sterling, has built a very handsome house here. He is well known for his travels in Europe, and Barbary, and for his brave defence of Cairo, after the defeat of the Grand Vizir by General Kleber near Heliopolis. Being curious to see him, I waited upon him, notwithstanding the rule I had prescribed to myself of mixing as little as possible with Turkish grandees, and presented him a letter of recommendation. We conversed for about half an hour; he was very civil for a Pasha, and made many enquiries concerning Prince Augustus (the Duke of Sussex), whom he had known in Italy. The government of Hamah comprises about one hundred and twenty inhabited villages, and seventy or eighty which have been abandoned. The western part of its territory is the granary of northern Syria, though the harvest never yields more than ten for one, chiefly in consequence of the immense numbers of mice, [p.148]which sometimes wholly destroy the crops. I did not see any of these animals. From a point on the cliff above the Orontes, called El Sherafe, the traveller enjoys a beautiful view over the town. At one hour and a half from it lies the Djebel Zeyn Aabdein [Arabic] in the direction N. by E.; this mountain has two prominent summits, called the Horns of Zeyn Aabdein [Arabic]; its continuation southward is called Djebel Keysoun, the highest point of which bears E. 1/2 N.; still farther south it protrudes in a point in the neighbourhood of Salamie, which bears S.E. and is called Djebel el Aala, upon which stands the castle called Kalaat Shemmasye [Arabic]. To the S. of Hamah, two hours distant, lies an insulated chalky mountain, two or three hours in length, from west to east, called Djebel Erbayn; its highest point bearing from Hamah S. 1/2 E. The Orontes flows on its E. side. The Aaszy irrigates a great number of gardens belonging to Hamah, which in winter time are generally inundated. Whereever the gardens lie higher than the river, wheels like those already mentioned are met with in the narrow valley, for the purpose of raising up water to them. In summer the water of the river is quite clear. February 27th.--We remained five days in the hospitable house of Selym, where a large company of Turks and Arabs assembled every evening; and it was with difficulty that we could prevail upon him to let us depart. The distance between Hamah and Tripoli, by the direct road, is four days, or three days by performing on the first a thirteen hours journey from Hamah to Hossn; but we wished to visit the castle of Maszyad, the seat of the Ismaylys, which is laid down upon most of the maps of Syria, but has rarely been visited by any travellers. We set out about mid-day, and travelling in a S.W. SHYGHATA. [p.149]direction came in an hour and a half to the Christian village Kefrbehoun Arabic]; and in two hours, to a hillock in the plain called Tel Afyoun [Arabic], i.e. the opium-hill, with an ancient well. The number of these insulated mounds of earth in the eastern plain of Syria is very remarkable; their shape is sometimes so regular, that there can be no doubt of their being artificial; in several places there are two standing close together. It is a general remark that wherever there is such a mound, a village is found near it, and a spring, or at least an ancient well. At two hours and a half from Hamah is El Dobbe, a small village near the road: here the ground begins to be uneven, covered with rocks, and little fit for cultivation. At three hours and three quarters is Tel Mowah [Arabic] upon elevated ground, with the ruins of a considerable village; from hence Tel Afyoun bears W. 1/2 S., Hamah E.N.E., Homs S.S.E. In four hours and a half we came to considerable heaps of large hewn stones, and ruined habitations, called El Feiryouny [Arabic], where a few families of Kurdines had pitched their tents. On the side of the road is a large and very neatly cut ancient well. The face of the country is hilly with a rocky soil, here and there cultivated. At the end of five hours and a half we reached Byszyn [Arabic], a village inhabited by Anzeyrys, where we slept. February 28th.--One hour and a half from Byszyn is the village of Shyghata [Arabic] The road ascends, through a rocky country, overgrown with shrubs and low trees. At two hours and a half is a ruined bridge over the winter torrent El Saroudj, which we had passed in the plain below, between Seidjar and Hamah; it was now so much swelled by the heavy rains, that we were trying in vain to cross it in different places, when a shepherd came to our assistance, and shewed us a ford. Considerable as the stream was, it is dried up in summer. We proceeded from the bridge in a W.N.W. direction, and, after a march of an hour and three quarters, during [p.150]which we crossed several torrents, we reached the castle of Maszyad [Arabic], or, as it is written in the books of the Miri, Meszyaf [Arabic]. The approach to the castle on two sides is across a large moor; to the N. of it are the highest points of the mountain of Maszyad, at the foot of which it stands, upon a high and almost perpendicular rock, commanding the wild moor in every direction, and presenting a gloomy romantic landscape. On the W. side is a valley, where the inhabitants cultivate wheat and barley. The town of Maszyad is built between the castle and the mountain, on the declivity of the mountain; it is upwards of half an hour in circumference, but the houses are in ruins, and there is not a single well built dwelling in the town, although stone is the only material used. The town is surrounded by a modern wall, and has three stone gates, of more ancient construction; on one of them I saw the following inscription: [Arabic]. The last line, as I was told by a man of Tripoli, contains the names of some of the deities of the Ismaylys. The mosque is now in ruins. There are several Arabic inscriptions in different parts of the town, which are all of the time of El Melek el Dhaher [Arabic]. The castle is surrounded by a wall of moderate thickness; and contains a few private habitations. Near the entrance, which is arched, stands a Corinthian capital, of indifferent workmanship, the only remain of Grecian architecture that I saw here. Within this gate is an arched passage, through which the road ascends to the inner and highest parts of the castle. Upon the vault I read the following inscription in large characters:--[Arabic] MASZYAD. [p.151]"The deed (or fabric) of the Mamlouk Kosta." On the top of the rock are some apartments belonging to the castle; which appear to have had several floors. From a Kyosk, which the present governor has built here, there is a beautiful view down into the western valley. Maszyad is remarkable from being the chief seat of the religious sect called Ismayly [Arabic]. Enquiries have often been made concerning the religious doctrines of this sect, as well as those of the Anzeyrys and Druses. Not only European travellers, and Europeans resident in Syria, but many natives of influence, have endeavoured to penetrate the mysteries of these idolaters, without success, and several causes combine to make it probable, that their doctrines will long remain unknown. The principal reason is, that few individuals among them become acquainted with the most important and secret tenets of their faith; the generality contenting themselves with the observance of some exterior practices, while the arcana are possessed by the select few. It will be asked, perhaps, whether their religious books would not unveil the mystery? It is true that all the different sects possess books, which they regard as sacred, but they are intelligible only to the initiated. A sacred book of the Anzeyrys fell into the hands of a chief of the army of Youssef Pasha, which plundered the castles of that sect in 1808; it came afterwards into the possession of my friend Selym of Hamah, who had destined it as a present to me; but he was prevailed upon to part with it to a travelling physician, and the book is now in the possession of M. Rousseau, the French consul at Aleppo, who has had it translated into French, and means to publish it; but it will probably throw little light upon the question. Another difficulty arises from the extreme caution of the Ismaylys upon this subject whenever they are obliged to visit any part of the country under the Turkish government, they assume the character of Mussulmans; being [p.152]well aware that if they should be detected in the practice of any rite contrary to the Turkish religion, their hypocrisy, in affecting to follow the latter, would no longer be toleraled; and their being once clearly known to be pagans, which they are only suspected to be at present, would expose them to the heaviest exactions, and might even be followed by their total expulsion or extirpation. Christians and Jews are tolerated because Mohammed and his immediate successors granted them protection, and because the Turks acknowledge Christ and the prophets; but there is no instance whatever of pagans being tolerated. The Ismaylys are generally reported to adore the pudendum muliebre, and to mix on certain days of the year in promiscuous debauchery. When they go to Hamah they pray in the mosque, which they never do at Kalaat Maszyad. This castle has been from ancient times their chief seat. One of them asserted that his religion descended from Ismayl, the son of Abraham, and that the Ismaylys had been possessed of the castle since the time of El Melek el Dhaher, as acknowledged by the Firmahns of the Porte. A few years since they were driven out of it by the Anzeyrys, in consequence of a most daring act of treachery. The Anzeyrys and Ismaylys have always been at enmity, the consequence, perhaps, of some religious differences. In 1807, a tribe of the former having quarrelled with their chief, quitted their abode in their mountains, and applied to the Emir of Maszyad for an asylum. The latter, glad of an opportunity to divide the strength of his enemies, readily granted the request, and about three hundred, with their Sheikh Mahmoud, settled at Maszyad, the Emir carrying his hospitality so far as to order several families to quit the place, for the purpose of affording room for the new settlers. For several months all was tranquil, till one day, when the greater part of the people were at work in the fields, the Anzeyrys, at a given signal, [p.153]killed the Emir and his son in the castle, and then fell upon the Ismaylys who had remained in their houses, sparing no one they could find, and plundering at the same time the whole town. On the following day the Anzeyrys were joined by great numbers of their countrymen, which proved that their pretended emigration had been a deep-laid plot; and the circumstance of its being kept secret for three months by so great a number of them, serves to shew the character of the people. About three hundred Ismaylys perished on this occasion; the families who had escaped in the sack of the town, fled to Hamah, Homs, and Tripoli, and their treacherous enemies successfully attacked three other Ismayly castles in the mountain. The Ismaylys then implored the protection of Youssef Pasha, at that time governor of Damascus, who marched with four or five thousand men against the Anzeyrys, retook the castles which had belonged to the Ismaylys, but kept the whole of the plunder of the Anzeyrys to himself. This castle of Maszyad, with a garrison of forty men, resisted his whole army for three months. In 1810, after Youssef Pasha had been exiled by the Porte, the Ismaylys who had fled to Hamah, Homs, and Tripoli returned, and Maszyad is now inhabited by about two hundred and fifty Ismayly families, and by thirty of Christians. The chief, who resides in the castle, is styled Emir; his name is Zogheby [Arabic], of the family of Soleiman; he informed me that his family had been possessors of the Emirship from remote times, and that they are recognised as such by express Firmahns from the Porte; Zogherby is a nephew of Mustafa, the Emir who was slain by the Anzeyrys. Some of his relations command in the Ismayly castles of El Kadmous, El Kohf, El Aleyka, and El Merkah, in the mountains towards Ladakie. After what has lately taken place, it [p.154]extreme: they are, apparently, at peace, but many secret murders are committed: "Do you suppose," said a handsome young man to me, while his eyes flashed with anger, "that these whiskers shall turn gray before I shall have taken my revenge for a slaughtered wife and two infant children?" But the Ismaylys are weak; I do not think that they can muster eight hundred fire-locks, while the Anzeyrys are triple that number. The principal produce of the neighbourhood of Maszyad is silk. They have large plantations of mulberry trees, which are watered by numerous rivulets descending on all sides from the mountain into the valley; and as few of them dry up in summer, this must be a delightful residence during the hot season. There are three or four Ismayly villages in the neighbourhood of Maszyad. From the castle the ruins called Deir Szoleib bear W. distant about two hours and a half. I was told that there are large buildings at that place constructed with immense blocks of stone, and bearing infidel inscriptions; but the natives of these countries are unable to distinguish sculptured ornaments from letters in unknown languages, and travellers are often deceived by reports of long inscriptions, which prove to be nothing more than a few decorations of architecture. February 29th.--Having been disappointed in our hopes of finding any thing remarkable at Kalaat el Maszyad, we directed our course to Tripoli. We began to fear that the incessant rains would make the torrents impassable, particularly the Saroudj, which we crossed yesterday. The Emir gave us one of his men to guide and protect us through his territories. After travelling for an hour and a half across the moor, along the side of the upper ridge of the mountains of Maszyad, we arrived at the village Soeida, near to which is the Mezar Sheikh Mohammed, with some plantations of mulberry trees. E. of it half an hour is NYSZAF. [p.155]Kherbet Maynye, a ruined village, with some ancient buildings; and in the mountain above it, the ruined castles Reszafa [Arabic], and Kalaat el Kaher [Arabic]. There are several other ruined castles in this district, which appear to have been all built about the twelfth century. At two hours and a half is Beyadhein [Arabic] a village inhabited by Turkmans; to the E. of it, about half an hour, is a Tel in the plain, with an arched building upon it called Kubbet el Aadera, or the dome of the Virgin Mary, reported to be the work of the Empress Helena. On the summit of a mountain S. of the village, one hour, is the ruined castle Barein [Arabic]. Near Beyadhein we crossed the torrent Saroudj a second time; its different branches inundated the whole plain. Two hours and a half is the village Kortouman [Arabic], inhabited by Turkmans, from whence Maszyad bears N. by W. Here we passed another torrent, near a mill, and in a storm of heavy rain and thunder reached Nyszaf, three hours and three quarters from Maszyad, the road from Kortouman lying S. by W. for the greater part in the plain. Nyszaf is a considerable village, with large plantations of mulberry trees. It is inhabited by Turks and Anzeyrys. The mountain to the eastward, on the declivity of which it is built, is peopled by Turkmans, the greater part of whom do not speak Arabic. We dried our clothes at a fire in the Sheikh's house, and took some refreshment; we then ascended the mountain to the S. of the village, and my guides, who were afraid of the road through the upper part of the mountain, refusing to proceed, we halted for the night at Shennyn [Arabic], an Anzeyry village halfway up the mountain. The declivity of the mountain is covered with vineyards, growing upon narrow terraces, constructed to prevent the rain from washing away the soil. From the grapes is extracted the Debs, which they sell at Hamah; three quintals of grapes are SHENNYN. [p.156]necessary to make one quintal of Debs, which was sold last year at the rate of £1. per quintal. As our hosts appeared to be good natured people, I entered, after supper, into conversation with them, with a view to obtain some information upon their religious tenets; but they were extremely reserved upon this head. I had heard that the Anzeyrys maintained from time to time some communication with the East Indies, and that there was a temple there belonging to their sect, to which they occasionally sent messengers. In the course of our conversation I said that I knew there were some Anzeyrys in the East Indies; they were greatly amazed at this, and enquired how I had obtained my information: and their countenances seemed to indicate that there was some truth in my assertion. They are divided into different sects, of which nothing is known except the names, viz. Kelbye, Shamsye, and Mokladjye. Some are said to adore the sun and the stars, and others the pudendum muliebre. The Mokledjye wear in their girdle a small iron hook, which they use when making water; it is also said that they prostrate themselves every morning before their naked mothers, saying [Arabic], and it is asserted that they have a promiscuous intercourse with their females in a dark apartment every Friday night; but these are mere reports. It is a fact, however, that they entertain the curious belief that the soul ought to quit the dying person's body by the mouth. And they are extremely cautious against any accident which they imagine may prevent it from taking that road. For this reason, whenever the government of Ladakie or Tripoli condemns an Anzeyry to death, his relations offer considerable sums, that he may be empaled instead of hanged. I can vouch for the truth of this belief, which proves at least that they have some idea of a future state. It appears that WADY ROWYD. [p.157]there are Anzeyrys in Anatolia and at Constantinople. Some years since a great man of this sect died in the mountain of Antioch, and the water with which his corpse had been washed was carefully put into bottles and sent to Constantinople and Asia Minor. March lst.--The weather having cleared up a little, we set out early, and in an hour and a half reached the top of the mountain, from whence we enjoyed a beautiful view to the east over the whole plain, and to the W. and S. towards Hossn and the Libanus. Hamah bore E.N.E. and Kalaat Maszyad N. by E. The castle of Hossn bore S.S.W. This part of the mountain is called Merdj el Dolb [Arabic] or Dhaheret Hadsour [Arabic]. On the top there is fine pasturage, with several springs. To the left, half an hour, is the high point called Dhaheret Koszeir, where is a ruined castle; this summit appears to be the highest point of the chain. The summit, on the western declivity, is the copious spring called Near Ayn Kydrih [Arabic]. In two hours we came to the village Hadsour, on the western side of the mountain, with the Mezar Sheikh Naszer. The country to the west of the summit belongs to the government of the district of Hossn. We now descended into the romantic valley Rowyd [Arabic], full of mulberry and other fruit trees, with a torrent rolling in the bottom of it. At the end of two hours and three quarters is the village Doueyrellin [Arabic], on the E. side of the Wady; on its W. side, in a higher situation, stands the village El Keyme; and one hour farther, to the S. of the latter, on the same side, is the village El Daghle [Arabic]. We crossed the Wady at the foot of the mountain, and continued along its right bank, on the slope of the mountain, through orchards and fields, till we arrived at the foot of the mountain upon which Kalaat el Hossn is built. Our horses being rather fatigued, we sent them on to Deir Djordjos, (the convent of St. George), where we intended LALAAT EL HOSSN. [p.158]to sleep, and walked up to the castle, which is distant six hours and a half from Shennyn. It is built upon the top of an insulated hill, which communicates on its western side only, with the chain of mountains we had passed. Below the walls of the castle, on the east side, is the town of Hossn, consisting of about one hundred and fifty houses. The castle is one of the finest buildings of the middle age I ever saw. It is evidently of European construction; the lions, which are carved over the gate, were the armorial bearings of the Counts of Thoulouse, whose name is often mentioned in the history of the crusades. It is surrounded by a deep paved ditch, on the outside of which runs a wall flanked with bastions and towers. The walls of the castle itself are very regularly constructed, and are ornamented in many places with high gothic arches, projecting several feet from the wall. The inner castle, which is seventy paces in breadth, and one hundred and twenty in length, is defended by bastions. A broad staircase, under a lofty arched passage, leads up from the gate into the castle, and was accessible to horsemen. In the interior we particularly admired a large saloon, of the best Gothic architecture, with arches intersecting each on the roof. In the middle of a court-yard we noticed a round pavement of stones elevated about a foot and a half above the ground, and eighteen paces in diameter; we could not account for its use; it is now called El Sofra, or the table. There are many smaller apartments in the castle, and several gothic chambers, most of which are in perfect preservation; outside the castle an aqueduct is still standing, into which the rain water from the neighbouring hills was conducted by various channels, and conveyed by the aqueduct into the castle ditch, which must have served as a reservoir for the use of the garrison, while it added at the same time to the strength of the fortress. Figures of lions are seen in various places on the outer wall, as well as Arabic inscriptions, MAR DJORDJOS. [p.159]which were too high to be legible from below. In other places, amidst half effaced inscriptions, the name of El Melek el Dhaher is distinguished. I saw no Greek inscriptions, nor any remains of Grecian architecture. The following is upon a stone at the entrance of one of the peasants' huts, of which there are about fifty within the castle and on the parapets: [Latin]. There are roses sculptured over the entrance of several apartments. If Syria should ever again become the theatre of European warfare, this castle would be an important position; in its neighbourhood the Libanus terminates and the mountains of northern Syria begin; it therefore commands the communication from the eastern plains to the sea shore. El Hossn is the chief place of a district belonging to the government of Hamah; the Miri is rented of the Pasha of Damascus, by the Greek family of El Deib, who are the leading persons here. There is an Aga in the castle, with a few men for its defence. Having examined Hossn, we descended to the convent of Mar Djordjos (St. George), which lies half an hour to the N.W. and there passed the night. In the Wady towards the convent chestnut trees grow wild; I believe they are found in no other part of Syria. The Arabs call them Abou Feroue [Arabic], i.e. "possessing a fur." March 2d.--The Greek convent of St. George is famous throughout Syria, for the miracles which the saint is said to perform there. It is inhabited by a prior and three monks, who live in a state of SZAFFYTTA. [p.160]affluence; the income of the convent being very considerable, passengers of all descriptions are fed gratis, and as it stands in the great road from Hamah to Tripoli, guests are never wanting. The common entertainment is Bourgul, with bread and olives; to Christians of respectability wine is added. The convent has large vine and olive plantations in its neighbourhood; it collects alms all over Syria, Anatolia, and the Greek islands, and by a Firmahn of the Porte, is declared to be free from all duties to the Pasha. Youssef Pasha of Damascus, however, made them pay forty thousand piastres, on the pretence that they had built a Khan for poor passengers without his permission. The prior, who is chosen by the brotherhood of the convent, is elected for life, and is under the immediate direction of the Patriarch of Damascus. Caravans generally stop at the Khan, while respectable travellers sleep in the convent itself. A spring near the convent is said to flow only at intervals of two or three days. The prior told me that the convent was built at the same time with the castle of Hossn. We left Mar Djordjos in a heavy rain, descended into the Wady Mar Djordjos, and after two hours slight descent reached the plain near a spring called Neba el Khalife [Arabic], round which are some ancient walls. A vast plain now opened before us, bordered on the west by the sea, which, however, was not yet distinguishable; on the N. by the mountains of Tartous, on the E. by the Anzeyrys mountains, and on the south by the Djebel Shara [Arabic], which is the lower northern continuation of the Djebel Libnan and Djebel Akkar. To the right, distant about three hours, we saw the castle of Szaffytta [Arabic], the principal seat of the Anzeyry, where their chief El Fakker resides. It is situated on the declivity of the Anzeyry mountains; near it stands an ancient tower, called Berdj Mar Mykhael, or St. Michael's Tower. About seven hours from Szaffytta, towards Kalaat Maszyadt, [p.161]are the ruins of a temple now called Hassn Soleiman, which, according to all reports, is very deserving of the traveller's notice; as indeed are all the mountains of Szaffytta, and the whole Anzeyry territory, where are the castles of Merkab, Khowabe, Kadmous, El Aleyka, El Kohf, Berdj Tokhle, Yahmour, Berdj Miar, Areyme, and several others. It would take ten days to visit these places. We continued along the foot of the hills which form the Djebel Shara; they are inhabited by Turkmans and Kurdines. We passed several torrents, and had great difficulty in getting through the swampy soil. After a march of five hours and a half, we came to a rivulet, which had swollen so much from the rain of last night and this day that we could not venture to pass it. We found several peasants who were as anxious to cross it as ourselves, but who could not get their mules over. As the rain had ceased, we waited on the banks for the decrease of the waters, which is usually as rapid as their rise, but it soon appeared that the rain still continued to fall in the mountains, for the stream, instead of decreasing, became much larger. In this difficulty we had to choose between returning to the convent and sleeping in the open air on the banks of the rivulet; we preferred the latter, and passed an uncomfortable night on the wet ground. By daylight the waters had so far decreased, that we passed over without any accident. March 3rd.--On the opposile side we met with another and larger branch of the same stream, and at the end of an hour and a quarter reached the Nahr el Kebir (the ancient Eleutherus), near a ruined bridge. This is a large torrent, dangerous at this period of the year from its rapidity. The Hamah caravans have been known to remain encamped on its banks for weeks together, without being able to cross it. On the opposite side stands a Khan, called Ayash, with the tomb of the saint, Sheikh Ayash [Arabic], TEL ARKA. [p.162]which is usually the third day's station of the caravans from Hamah to Tripoli. Having crossed the river we followed the northern swellings of the mountain Akkar in a S.W. direction, having the plain all the way on our right. In one hour and a quarter from the Khan, we passed at half an hour's distance to the S. an insulated hillock in the plain, on which are some ruined buildings called Kella [Arabic], and to the east of it half an hour, another hillock called Tel Aarous [Arabic]; and at the same distance S.E. of the latter, the village Haytha [Arabic]. At two hours and a quarter from the Khan Ayash we passed the torrent Khereybe, coming down the Wady of that name, on our left, and the castle and village Khereybe, at a quarter of an hour from the road. Two hours and three quarters, is the village Halbe, on the declivity of the mountain. Three hours and a half, an old mosque upon the mountain above the road, with a village called El Djamaa ([Arabic] the mosque). Near to it, and where the mountains runs out in a point towards the north, is a hill called Tel Arka, which appears by its regularly flattened conical form and smooth sides to be artificial. I was told that on its top are some ruins of habitations, and walls. Upon an elevation on its E. and S. sides, which commands a beautiful view over the plain, the sea, and the Anzeyry mountains, are large and extensive heaps of rubbish, traces of ancient dwellings, blocks of hewn stone, remains of walls, and fragments of granite columns; of the latter I counted eight, six of which were of gray, and the other two of fine red granite. Here then must have stood the ancient town of Arca, where Alexander Severus was born: the hill was probably the citadel, or a temple may have stood on its top. On the west side of the hill runs the deep valley Wady Akka, with a torrent of the same name, which we passed, over a bridge near a mill. From thence the direction of our road continued W.S.W. From an elevated spot, at four TRIPOLI. [p.163]hours and a half, Sheikh Ayash bore N.E. b. N. In five hours we reached the sea-shore; the sea here forms a bay extending from the point of Tartous as far as Tripoli. We now turned round the mountains on our left, along the sea-beach, and passed several tents of Turkmans. Five hours and a half, at a short distance to the left, is an ancient tower on the slope of the mountain, called Abou Hannein [Arabic]. Five hours and three quarters is Khan el Bered, with a bridge over the Nahr el Bered, or cold river. At six hours and a half is the village Menny, to the left, at the foot of the mountain, the road lying through a low plain half an hour in breadth, between the mountain called Torboul and the sea; that part only which is nearest to the mountain is cultivated. In nine hours we arrived at Tripoli, and alighted at the house of the English agent Mr. Catziflis. This city, which is called Tarabolos by the Arabs, and Tripoli by the Greeks and Italians, is built on the declivity of the lowest hills of the Libanus, and is divided by the Nahr Kadisha [Kadisha, in the Syrian language, means the holy [Arabic], the proper name of the river is Nahr Abou Ali.] into two parts, of which the southern is the most considerable. On the N. side of the river, upon the summit of the hill, stands the tomb of Sheikh Abou Naszer, and opposite to it, on the S. side, the castle, built in the time of the crusades; this castle has often been in a ruined state, but it has lately been put into complete repair by Berber Aga. Many parts of Tripoli bear marks of the ages of the crusades; amongst these are several high arcades of gothic architecture, under which the streets run. In general the town is well built, and is much embellished by the gardens, which are not only attached to the houses in the town, but cover likewise the whole triangular plain lying between it and the sea. Tripoli stands in [p.164]one of the most favoured spots in all Syria; as the maritime plain and neighbouring mountains place every variety of climate within a short distance of the inhabitants. The Wady Kadisha, higher up than Tripoli, is one of the most picturesque valleys I ever saw. At half an hour from the town is an aqueduct across the Wady, built upon arches; the natives call it Kontaret el Brins [Arabic], a corruption, perhaps, of Prince. It conveys the water used for drinking, into the town, by means of a canal along the left bank of the Kadisha. A few yards above the aqueduct is a bridge across the stream. I estimate the inhabitants of Tripoli at about fifteen thousand; of these one-third are Greek Christians, over whom a bishop presides. I was told that the Greeks are authorized, by the Firmahns of the Porte, to prevent any schismatic Greek from entering the town. This may not be the fact;--it is however certain, that whenever a schismatic is discovered here, he is immediately thrown into prison, put in irons, and otherwise very ill-treated. Such a statement can be credited by those only who are acquainted with the fanatism of the eastern Christians. There is no public building in the town deserving of notice. The Serai was destroyed during the rebellion of Berber. The Khan of the soap manufacturers is a large well built edifice, with a water basin in the middle of it. Ten minutes above the town, in the Wady Kadisha, is a convent of Derwishes, most picturesquely situated above the river, but at present uninhabited. At half an hour's walk below the town, at the extreme angle of the triangular plain, is El Myna, or the port of Tripoli, which is itself a small town; the interjacent plain was formerly covered with marshes, which greatly injured the air; but the greater part of them have been drained, and converted into gardens. The remains of a wall may still be traced [p.165]across the triangular plain; from which it appears that the western point was the site of the ancient city; wherever the ground is dug in that direction the foundations of houses and walls are found; indeed it is with stones thus procured that the houses in the Myna are built. From the Myna northward to the mouth of the Kadisha runs a chain of six towers, at about ten minutes walk from each other, evidently intended for the defence of the harbour; around the towers, on the shore, and in the sea, lie a great number of columns of gray granile; there are at least eighty of them, of about a foot and a quarter in diameter, lying in the sea; many others have been built into the walls of the towers as ornaments. To each of the towers the natives have given a name. The most northern is called Berdj Ras el Nahr, from its being near the Kadisha; those to the south are Berdj el Dekye, Berdj el Sebaa [Arabic], or the lion's tower;[The natives say, that on the shield carved above The gateway of this tower two lions were formerly visible.--These were the arms of Count Raymond de Thoulouse. I saw at Tripoli a leaden seal of the Count, with a tower, meant probably for the Berdj el Sebaa, on the reverse.] Berdj el Kanatter [Arabic]; Berdj el Deyoun [Arabic], and Berdj el Mogharabe [Arabic]. The harbour of Tripoli is formed by a line of low rocks, stretching from the point of the Myna about two miles into the sea, towards the north; they are called by the natives Feitoun [Arabic]. On the north the point of Tartous in some measure breaks the impetuosity of the sea; but when the northern winds blow with violence, vessels are often driven on shore. In a N.N.W. direction from the harbour extends a line of small islands, the farthest of which is about ten miles distant from the main land. They are named as follow: El Bakar [Arabic], which is nearest to the harbour, Billan [Arabic], about half a mile in circumference, with remains of [p.166]ancient habitations, and several deep wells; there are several smaller rocks, comprised under the general name of El Mekattya [Arabic], whose respective appellations are, [Arabic]--next is Sennenye [Arabic], Nakhle, or El Eraneb [Arabic], with several palm trees, formerly inhabited by a great number of rabbits; El Ramkein [Arabic], and Shayshet el Kadhi [Arabic]. The inhabitants of the Myna are chiefly Greek sailors or ship-wrights; I found here half a dozen small country ships building or repairing. There is also a good Khan. On the southern side of the triangular plain is a sandy beach, where the sand in some places has formed itself by concretion into rocks, in several of which are large cisterns. In the bottom of the bay formed by the plain and by the continuation of the shore to the south, is a spring of sweet water, and near it large hillocks of sand, driven up from the shore by the westerly winds. The sea abounds in fish and shell fish; the following are the names of the best, in French and Arabic; they were given to me by a French merchant, who has long resided in Tripoli; Dorade [Arabic], Rouget [Arabic], Loupe [Arabic], Severelle [Arabic], Leeche [Arabic], Mulaye [Arabic], Maire noir [Arabic], Maire blanc [Arabic], Vieille [Arabic]; these are caught with small baskets into which bait is put; the orifice being so made that if the fish enters, he cannot get out again. It is said that no other fish are ever found in the baskets. The names of some others fit for the table are Pajot ([Arabic or Arabic]). [Arabic]. [Arabic], and [Arabic]. Half an hour north of Tripoli, on the road we came by, is the tomb of Sheikh El Bedawy, with a copious spring near it, enclosed by a wall; it contains a great quantity of fish, which are considered sacred by the Turks of Tripoli, and are fed daily by the guardians of the tomb, and by the Tripolitans; no person dares kill any of them; they are, as the Turks express it, a Wakf to the tomb. The same kind of fish is found in the Kadisha. [p.167]The commerce of Tripoli has decreased lately, in proportion with that of the entire commerce of Syria. There are no longer any Frank establishments, and the few Franks who still remain are in the greatest misery. A French consul, however, resides here, M. Guys, an able antiquary, and who was very liberal in his literary communications to us. He has a very interesting collection of Syrian medals. Mr. Catziflis, who is a Greek, is a very respectable man, and rendered considerable services to the English army during the war in Egypt. He is extremely attentive and hospitable to English travellers. The principal commerce of Tripoli is in silk produced upon the mountain, of which it exports yearly about 800 quintals or cwt., at about £80. sterling per quintal. Formerly the French merchants used to take silk in return for their goods, as it was difficult to obtain money in the Levantine trade; it is true that they sold it to a disadvantage in France; yet not so great as they would have done had they insisted on being reimbursed ready money, upon which they must have paid the discount. The silk was bought up at Marseilles by the merchants of Barbary, who thus procured it at a lower rate than they could do at Tripoli. This intercourse however has ceased in consequence of the ruin of French trade, and the Moggrebyns now visit Tripoli themselves, in search of this article, bringing with them colonial produce, indigo, and tin, which they buy at Malta. The sale of West India coffee has of late increased greatly in Syria; the Turks have universally adopted the use of it, because it is not more than half the price of Mokha coffee; a considerable market is thus opened to the West India planters, which is not likely to be interrupted, until the Hadj is regularly re- established, the principal traffic of which was in coffee. The next chief article of exportation is sponges; they are procured on the sea shore; but the best are found at a little depth in [p.168]the sea. The demand for them during the last two years has been very trifling; but I was told that fifty bales of twelve thousand sponges each might be yearly furnished; their price is from twenty-five to forty piastres per thousand. Soap is exported to Tarsous, for Anatolia and the Greek islands, as well as alkali for its manufacture, which is procured in the eastern desert. It is a curious fact, that soap should also be imported into Tripoli from Candia; the reason is that the Cretan soap contains very little alkali; here one-fourth of its weight of alkali is added to it, and in this state it is sold to advantage. The other exports are about one hundred or one hundred and twenty quintals of galls from the Anzeyry mountains: of yellow wax, from Libanus, about one hundred and twenty quintals, at about one hundred and fifty piastres per quintal; of Rubia tinctorum [Arabic], which grows in the plains of Homs and Hamah, about fourteen hundred quintals, at from twenty to twenty-four piastres per quintal; of scammony, very little; of tobacco, a few quintals, which are sent to Egypt. The territory of Tripoli extends over the greater part of Mount Libanus. The Pashalik is divided into the following districts, or Mekatta [Arabic], as they are called: viz. El Zawye [Arabic], or the lower part of Mount Libanus to the right of the Kadisha,--Djebbet Bshirrai [Arabic], which lies round the village of that name near the Cedars.--El Kella [Arabic],--El Koura [Arabic], or the lower part of Mount Libanus to the left of the Kadisha.--El Kattaa [Arabic], or the mountains towards Batroun;--Batroun [Arabic],--Djebail [Arabic],--El Fetouh, over Djebail, as far as Kesrouan.--Akkar [Arabic], the northern declivity of Mount Libanus, a district governed at present by Aly Beg, a man famous for his generosity, liberality, and knowledge of Arabian literature.--El Shara [Arabic], also under the government of Aly Beg.--El Dhannye [Arabic].--The mountains to the N. and N.W. of Bshirrai.--El Hermel [Arabic], towards Baalbec, on the [p.169] eastern declivity of the Libanus; Szaffeita [Arabic], and Tartous [Arabic]. The greater part of the mountaineers are Christians; in Bshirrai they are all Christians; in Akkar, Shara, and Koura, three- fourths are Christians. The Metawelis have possessions at Djebail, Dhannye, and Hermel. About eighty years since the latter peopled the whole district of Bshirrai, El Zawye, Dhannye, and part of Akkar; but the Turk and Christian inhabitants, exasperated by their vexatious conduct, called in the Druses, and with their assistance drove out the Metawelis. Since that period, the Druses have been masters of the whole mountain, as well as of a part of the plain. The Emir Beshir pays to the Pasha of Tripoli, for the Miri of the mountain, one hundred and thirty purses, and collects for himself upwards of six hundred purses. The duties levied upon the peasants in this district are generally calculated by the number of Rotolas of silk which the peasant is estimated to get yearly from his worms; the taxes on the mulberry trees are calculated in proportion to those on the silk. The peasant who rears silk-worms is reckoned to pay about twenty or twenty-five per cent. on his income, while he who lives by the produce of his fields pays more than fifty per cent. I obtained the following information respecting the modern history of the Pashas of Tripoli. Fettah Pasha, of three tails, was driven out of Tripoli by the inhabitants, about 1768, after having governed a few years. He was succeeded by Abd-er-rahman Pasha, but the rebels still maintained their ascendancy in the town. He had formerly been Kapydji for the Djerde or caravan, which departs annually from Tripoli to meet the Mekka caravan on its return. He made Mustafa, the chief of the rebels, his Touenkdji, and submitted to his orders, till he found an opportunity of putting him to death at Ladakie, whither he had gone to collect the Miri. The town was at the [p.170]same time surprised, the castle taken, and all the ring-leaders killed. Abd-er-rahman Pasha governed for about two years. Youssef Pasha, the son of Othman Pasha of Damascus, of the family of Adm, governed for eight or ten years, and was succeeded by his brother, Abdullah Pasha, who remained in the government upwards of five years, and was afterwards named Pasha of Damascus. He is at present Pasha of Orfa. Hassan Pasha, of the family of Adm, remained two years in office. Hosseyn Pasha was sent with the Djerde, to kill Djezzar, who was on his way back from Mekka; but Djezzar poisoned him, before he could execute his design. Derwish Pasha governed two years. One of the chiefs of his troops, Hassan Youssef, usurped the greater part of the authority until he was killed by the Pasha's orders. Soleiman Pasha, now Pasha of Acre, governed at Tripoli about 1792, while Djezzar was at Damascus. Khalyl Pasha, son of Abdullah Pasha, was driven out by the rebellious inhabitants, during the invasion of Syria by the French. One of the ring-leaders, Mustara Dolby, took possession of the castle, and reigned for two years. He was succeeded by Ibrahim Sultan, who was driven away by Mustafa Aga Berber, a man of talents and of great energy of character. He refused to pay the Miri into the hands of Youssef Pasha of Damascus, who had also been invested with the Pashalik of Tripoli, and having fortified the castle, he boldly awaited with a few trusty adherents the arrival of Youssef, who approached the town with an army of five or six thousand men. All the inhabitants fled to the mountain, except the French consul, a secret enemy of Berber. The army of Youssef no sooner entered the city, than they began [p.171]plundering it; and in the course of a few months they completely sacked it, leaving nothing but bare walls; every piece of iron was carried off, and even the marble pavements were torn up and sold. The son of the French consul gained considerable sums by buying up a part of the plunder. The castle was now besieged, and some French artillerymen having been brought from Cyprus, a breach was soon made, but though defended by only one hundred and fifty men, none had the courage to advance to the assault. After a siege of five months Soleiman Pasba of Acre interceded for Berber, and Youssef Pasha, glad of a pretext for retreating, granted the garrison every kind of military honours; the remaining provisions in the castle were sold to the Pasha for ready money, and in February, 1809, Berber, accompanied by the officers of Soleiman Pasha, left the castle and retired to Acre. He was again named governor of Tripoli, when Soleiman Pasha of Acre and Damascus was, in 1810, invested with the Pashalik of Tripoli. Seid Soleiman, Pasha of Damascus, received the same charge in 1812. During our stay at Tripoli, Berber was in the neigbbourhood of Ladakie, making war against some rebel Anzeyrys; the castle of Tripoli was intrusted to the command of an Aga of Arnaouts, without being under the orders of Berber. It is very probable that Berber may yet become a conspicuous character in Syrian affairs, being a man of great spirit, firmness, and justice. The town of Tripoli was never in a better state than when under his command. March 12th.--Having spent ten days at Tripoli very pleasantly, I took leave of my companion, who went to Ladakie and Antioch, and set out with a guide towards Damascus, with the intention of visiting the Kesrouan, and paying my respects to the chief of the DEIR KEIFTEIN. [p.172] mountain, the Emir Beshir, at Deir el Kammar. On the way I wished to visit some ruins in the Koura, which I had heard of at Tripoli. I therefore turned out of the great road, which follows the sea shore as far as Beirout. We set out in the evening, ascended the castle hill to the S. of the town, and arrived after an hour and a half at Deir Keiftein [Arabic], where I slept. The road lay through a wood of olive trees, on the left bank of the Kadisha; over the lowest declivities of the Libanus. It is a part of the district El Koura, the principal produce of which is oil. The Zawye, on the other side of the Kadisha, also produces oil, and at the same time more grain than the Koura. Every olive tree here is worth from fifteen to twenty piastres. The soil in which the trees grow is regularly ploughed, but nothing is sown between the trees, as it is found that any other vegetation diminishes the quantity of olives. The ground round the stem is covered to the height of two or three feet with earth, to prevent the sun from hurting the roots, and to give it the full benefit of the rains. We met with a few tents of Arabs Zereykat and El Hayb, who were pasturing their sheep upon the wild herbs by the road side. At half an hour's distance to the right runs the Djebel Kella [Arabic] in a north-easterly direction towards the sea; this mountain is under the immediate government of Tripoli, the Emir Beshir, to whom the whole Libanus belongs, not having been yet able to gain possession of it. The following are the principal villages of the Kella: Deyr Sakoub, Diddy, Fya, Kelhat, Betouratydj, Ras Meskha, Bersa, Nakhle, Beterran, Besh, Mysyn, Afs Dyk. Keiftein is a small Greek convent, with a prior and two monks only; a small village of the same name stands near it. In the burying ground of the convent is a fine marble sarcophagus, under which an English consul of Tripoli lies buried. A long English nscription, with a Latin translation, records the virtues of John DEIR DEMITRY. [p.173] Carew, Esq. of Pembrokeshire, who was fifty years consul at Tripoli, and died the 5th of May, 1747, seventy-seven years of age. March 13th.--Our road lay through the olive plantations called El Bekeya [Arabic], between the Upper Libanus and the Djebel Kella. Half an hour to the right of the road, upon the latter mountain, is the village Nakhle, below it, Betouratydj, farther up the hill Fya, then, more to the south, Bedobba, and lastly, Afs Dyk; these villages stand very near together, although the Kella is very rocky, and little fit for culture; the peasants, however, turn every inch of ground to advantage. Half an hour from Keiftein is the village Ferkahel [Arabic], on the side of the river; we saw here a few old date trees, of which there are also some at Nakhle. The inhabitants of the Koura are for the greater part of the Greek church; in Zawye all the Christians are Maronites. At one hour from Keiftein is the village Beserma [Arabic]. One hour and three quarters, continuing in the valley between the Libanus and the Kella, is the village Kfer Akka; we here turned up the Libanus. Half an hour from the Kfer Akka, on the side of the mountain, is a considerable village called Kesba, with the convent of Hantoura [Arabic]. At the same distance S. of Akka, is the village Kfer Zeroun [Arabic]. Two hours and a quarter from Keiftein, on the declivity of the mountain, is the convent of St. Demetrius, or Deir Demitry. I here left my mare, and walked up the mountain to see the ruins of which I had been informed at Tripoli. In twenty minutes I reached the remains of an ancient town, standing on a piece of level ground, but with few houses remaining. These ruins are called by the people of the country Naous or Namous, which name is supposed to be derived from the word [Arabic], i.e. a burying-place; but I think its derivation from the Greek [Greek] more probable. On the S. side stand the ruins of two temples, which are worth the NAOUS. [p.174]traveller's attention. The smaller one is very much like the temple of Hossn el Forsul, near Zahle, which I had seen on my way to Baalbec; it is an oblong building of about the same size; and is built with large square stones. The entrance is to the east. The door remains, together with the southern wall and a part of the northern. The west wall and the roof are fallen. In the south wall are two niches. Before the entrance was a portico of four columns, with a flight of steps leading up to it. The bases of the columns and fragments of the shafts, which are three feet in diameter, still remain. At about forty paces from the temple is a gate, corresponding to the door of the temple; a broad staircase leads up from it to the temple. The two door-posts of this outer gate are still standing, each formed of a single stone about thirteen feet high, rudely adorned with sculpture. At about one hundred and fifty yards from this building is the other, of much larger dimensions; it stands in an area of fifty paces in breadth, and sixty in length, surrounded by a wall, of which the foundation, and some other parts, still remain. The entrance to this area is through a beautiful gate, still entire; it is fourteen feet high and ten feet wide, the two posts, and the soffit are each formed of a single stone; the posts are elegantly sculptured. At the west end of this area, and elevated four or five feet above its level, stood the temple, opposite to the great gate; it presents nothing now but a heap of ruins, among which it is impossible to trace the original distribution of the building. The ground is covered with columns, capitals, and friezes; I saw a fragment of a column, consisting of one piece of stone nine feet in length, and three feet and a half in diameter. The columns are Corinthian, but not of the best workmanship. Near the S.W. angle of the temple are the foundations of a small insulated building. BESHIZA. [p.175]In order to level the surface of the area, and to support the northern wall, a terrace was anciently raised, which is ten feet high in the north-west corner. The wall of the area is built with large blocks of well cut stone, some of which are upwards of twelve feet in length. It appears however to have undergone repairs, as several parts of the wall are evidently of modern construction; it has perhaps been used as a strong-hold by the Arabs. The stone of the building is calcareous, but not so hard as the rock of Baalbec. I saw no kind of inscriptions. The Naous commands a most beautiful view over the Koura and the sea. Tripoli bears N. I descended to the convent of Mar Demitry, in which there is at present but one monk; and turning from thence in a S.W. direction, reached in half an hour the wild torrent of Nahr Beshiza [Arabic]; which dries up in summer time, but in winter sometimes swells rapidly to a considerable size. When Youssef Pasha besieged Tripoli, intelligence was received at a village near it, that a party of his troops intended to plunder the village; the inhabitants in consequence fled with their most valuable moveables the same evening, and retired up the Wady Beshiza, where they passed the night. It had unfortunately rained in the mountains above, and during the night the torrent suddenly swelled, and carried away eight or ten families, who had encamped in its bed; about fifteen persons perished. On the right bank, near the stream, lies the village Beshiza, and at ten minutes from it to the S.E. the ruins of a small temple bearing the name at present of Kenyset el Awamyd [Arabic], or the church of the columns. The principal building is ten paces in length on the inside, and eight paces in breadth. The S. and W. walls are standing, but the E. has fallen down; the S. wall has been thrown out of the perpendicular by an earthquake. The entrance is from the west, or rather from the N.W. for the temple does not face the four cardinal AMYOUN. [p.176]points; the northern wall, instead of completing the quadrangle, consists of two curves about twelve feet in depth, and both vaulted like niches, as high as the roof, which has fallen in. In the S. wall are several projecting bases for statues. The door and its soffit, which is formed of a single stone, are ornamented with beautiful sculptures, which are not inferior to those of Baalbec. Before the entrance was a portico of four Ionic columns, of which three are standing; they are about eighteen feet high, and of a single stone. Opposite to each of the exterior columns of this portico is a pilaster in the wall of the temple. There are also two other pilasters in the opposite or eastern wall. Between the two middle columns of the portico is a gate six feet high, formed of two posts, with a stone laid across them; this is probably of modern date, as the exterior of the northern wall also appears to be; instead of forming two semicircles, as within, it is polygonal. Between the door and the pilaster, to the northward of it, is a niche. The entablature of the portico is perfect. In the midst of the building stands a large old oak tree, whose branches overshadow the temple, and supply the place of the roof, rendering the ruin a highly picturesque object. I saw no inscriptions. Half an hour to the west of Beshiza lies the village of Deir Bashtar [Arabic]. From the temple we turned N.-eastward, and at the end of half an hour passed the village Amyoun [Arabic], the chief place in the district of El Koura, and the residence of Assaf Ibn Asar, the governor of that province; he is a Greek Christian, and a collector of the Miri, which he pays into the hands of the Emir Beshir. Many Christian families are governors of provinces and Sheikhs of villages in the mountains: in collecting the [p.177]Miri, and making the repartitions of the extraordinary demands made by the Emir, they always gain considerable sums; but whenever a Sheikh has filled his purse, he is sure to fall a victim to the avidity of the chief governor. These Sheikhs affect all the pomp of the Turks; surpass them in family pride, and equal them in avarice, low intrigue, and fanatism. The governor of the province of Zawye is also a Christian, of the family of Dhaher. Instead of descending towards the sea shore, which is the usual route to Batroun, I preferred continuing in the mountain. At an hour and a quarter from Amyoun, after having twice passed the Beshiza, or, as it is also called, the Nahr Aszfour, which runs in a very narrow Wady descending from the district of Laklouk, we reached the village of Keftoun, where is a convent. Above it lies the village of Betaboura, and in its neighbourhood Dar Shemsin and Kferhata. West of Amyoun is the village of Kfer Hasir [Arabic]. The industry with which these mountaineers cultivate, upon the narrow terraces formed on the steep declivity of the mountain, their vines and mulberry trees, with a few acres of corn, is really admirable. At two hours the village of Kelbata was on our right; a little farther, to the right, Ras Enhash. [Arabic]; below on the sea shore, at the extremity of a point of land, is a large village called Amfy [Arabic], and near it the convent Deir Natour. It is with great difficulty that a horse can travel through these mountains; the roads are abominable, and the inhabitants always keep them so, in order to render the invasion of their country more difficult. The direction of Batroun, from the point where the road begins to descend, is S.W.b.W. We descended the mountain called Akabe el Meszabeha, near the Wady Djaous, which lower down takes the name of Nahr Meszabeha. Two hours and a half from Amyoun, on the descent, is a fine spring, with a vaulted covering over it, called Ayn el Khowadja [Arabic]. At the end of three hours we reached BATROUN. [p.178] a narrow valley watered by the last mentioned river, and bounded on the right hand by Djebel Nourye, which advances towards the sea, and on the left by another mountain; upon the former stands the village Hammad, and on the point of it, over the sea, the convent of Mar Elias. At three hours and a quarter, and where the valley is scarcely ten minutes in breadth, a castle of modern construction stands upon an insulated rock; it is called Kalaat Meszabeha [Arabic], its walls are very slight, but the rock upon which it stands is so steep, that no beast of burthen can ascend it. This castle was once in possession of the Metaweli, who frequently attacked the passengers in the valley. Near it is a bridge over the Wady. At three hours and three quarters, where the valley opens towards the sea, is the village Kobba [Arabic], at the foot of the Djebel Nourye, with an ancient tower near it. At the end of four hours and a quarter we reached Batroun [Arabic], where I slept, in one of the small Khans which are built by the sea side. Batroun, the ancient Bostrys, contains at present three or four hundred houses. Its inhabitants are, for the greater part, Maronites; the rest are Greeks and Turks. The town and its territory belong to the Emir Beshir; but it is under the immediate government of two of his relations, Emir Kadan and Emir Melhem. The principal man in the town is the Christian Sheikh, of the family of Khodher. The produce of Batroun consists chiefly in tobacco. There is no harbour, merely an inlet capable of admitting a couple of coasting boats. The whole coast from Tripoli to Beirout appears to be formed of sand, accumulated by the prevailing westerly winds, and hardened into rocks. An artificial shelter seems to have been anciently formed by excavating the rocks, and forming a part of them into a wall of moderate thickness for the length of one hundred paces, and to the height of twelve feet. It was probably behind this wall that the boats of Bostrys anciently found shelter DJEBAIL. [p.179]from the westerly gales. I saw but one boat between the rocks of Batroun. March 14th.--Our road lay along the rocky coast. In three quarters of an hour we came to a bridge, called Djissr Medfoun [Arabic], which crosses a winter torrent. The territory of Batroun extends to this bridge; its northern limits begin at the village of Hammad, upon the Djebel Nourye, which terminates the district of Koura; beyond the bridge of Medfoun is the village Aabeidat [Arabic] to the left. The mountain reaches quite down to the sea shore. The direction of our road was S.b.W. At two hours, upon a hill to the left of the road, called Berdj Reihani [Arabic], stands a ruined arched building; on the road below it are three columns of sand stone. Up in the mountain are the Greek villages of Manszef [Arabic], Berbar [Arabic], Gharsous [Arabic], and Korne [Arabic]. In three hours and a quarter we passed a Wady, without water, called Halloue [Arabic]. At every three or four miles on this road small Khans are met with, where refreshments of bread, cheese, and brandy are sold. Close to the sea shore are many deep wells, with springs of fresh water at their bottom. Three hours and a half is Djebail [Arabic], the ancient Byblus. Above it, in the mountain, is the convent Deir el Benat, with the village Aamsheit [Arabic]. I passed on the outside of Djebail without stopping. The town is enclosed by a wall, some parts of which appear to be of the time of the crusades. Upon a stone in the wall I saw a rose, with a smaller one on each side. There is a small castle here, in which the Emir Beshir keeps about forty men. A few years ago Djebail was the residence of the Christian Abd el Ahad; he and his brother Djordjos Bas were the head men of the Emir Beshir, and in fact were more potent than their master. Djordjos Bas resided at Deir el Kammar. The district of Djebail was under the command of Abd el Ahad, who built a [p.180]very good house here; but the two brothers shared the fate of all Christians who attempt to rise above their sphere; they were both put to death in the same hour by the Emir's orders; indeed there is scarcely an instance in the modern history of Syria, of a Christian or Jew having long enjoyed the power or riches which he may have acquired: these persons are always taken off in the moment of their greatest apparent glory. Abd el Hak, at Antioch; Hanna Kubbe, at Ladakie; Karaly, at Aleppo; are all examples of this remark. But, as in the most trifling, so in the most serious concerns, the Levantine enjoys the present moment, without ever reflecting on future consequences. The house of Hayne, the Jew Seraf, or banker, at Damascus and Acre, whose family may be said to be the real governors of Syria, and whose property, at the most moderate calculation, amounts to three hundred thousand pounds sterling, are daily exposed to the same fate. The head of the family, a man of great talents, has lost his nose, his ears, and one of his eyes, in the service of Djezzar, yet his ambition is still unabated, and he prefers a most precarious existence, with power, in Syria, to the ease and security he might enjoy by emigrating to Europe. The Christian Sheikh Abou Nar commands at Djebail, his brother is governor or Sheikh of Bshirrai. Many fragments of fine granite columns are lying about in the neighbourhood of Djebail. On the S. side of the town is a small Wady with a spring called Ayn el Yasemein [Arabic]. The shore is covered with deep sand. A quarter of an hour from Djebail is a bridge over a deep and narrow Wady; it is called Djissr el Tel [Arabic]; upon a slight elevation, on its S. side, are the ruins of a church, called Kenyset Seidet Martein [Arabic]. Up in the mountains are two convents and several Maronite villages, with the names of which my Greek guide was unacquainted. In half an hour we came to a pleasant grove of oaks skirting the MEINET BERDJA. [p.181]road; and in three quarters of an hour to the Wady Feidar [Arabic], with a bridge across it; this river does not dry up in summer time. A little farther to the right of the road is an ancient watch- tower upon a rock over the sea; the natives call it Berdj um Heish [Arabic] from an echo which is heard here; if the name Um Heish be called aloud, the echo is the last syllable "Eish," which, in the vulgar dialect, means "what?" ([Arabic] for [Arabic]). Many names of places in these countries have trivial origins of this kind. At two hours and a half we crossed by a bridge the large stream of Nahr Ibrahim, the ancient Adonis. Above us in the mountain is the village El Djissr. The whole lower ridge of mount Libanus, from Wady Medfoun to beyond Nahr Ibrahim, composes the district of El Fetouh [Arabic], which is at present under the control of Emir Kasim, son of the Emir Beshir, who resides at Ghadsir in Kesrouan; he commands also in Koura. At two hours and a half, and to the left of the road, which runs at a short distance from the sea, is the convent of Mar Domeitt [Arabic], with the village of El Bouar [Arabic]. The soil is here cultivated in every part with the greatest care. In three hours and a quarter we came to a deep well cut in the rock, with a spring at the bottom, called Ayn Mahous [Arabic]. At three hours and a half is a small harbour called Meinet Berdja [Arabic], with a few houses round it. Boats from Cyprus land here, loaded principally with wheat and salt. To the right of the road, between Meinet Berdja and the sea, extends a narrow plain, called Watta Sillan [Arabic]; its southern part terminates in a promontory, which forms the northern point of the Bay of Kesrouan. Near the promontory stands an ancient tower, called Berdj el Kosszeir [Arabic]. In four hours and a quarter we reached Djissr Maammiltein [Arabic], an ancient bridge, falling into ruins, over a Wady of the same name. The banks of this Wady form ENTRANCE INTO KESROUAN. [p.182] the boundary of separation between the Pahaliks of Saida and Tripoli, and divide the district of Fetouh from that of Kesrouan. The country of Kesrouan, which I now entered, presents a most interesting aspect; on the one hand are steep and lofty mountains, full of villages and convents, built on their rocky sides; and on the other a fine bay, and a plain of about a mile in breadth, extending from the mountains to the sea. There is hardly any place in Syria less fit for culture than the Kesrouan, yet it has become the most populous part of the country. The satisfaction of inhabiting the neighbourhood of places of sanctity, of hearing church bells, which are found in no other part of Syria, and of being able to give a loose to religious feelings and to rival the Mussulmans in fanatisim, are the chief attractions that have peopled Kesrouan with Catholic Christians, for the present state of this country offers no political advantages whatever; on the contrary, the extortions of the Druses have reduced the peasant to the most miserable state of poverty, more miserable even than that in the eastern plains of Syria; nothing, therefore, but religious freedom induces the Christians to submit to these extortions; added perhaps to the pleasure which the Catholics derive from persecuting their brethren of the Greek church, for the few Greeks who are settled here are not better treated by the Maronites, than a Damascene Christian might expect to be by a Turk. The plain between the mountain and the sea is a sandy soil; it is sown with wheat and barley, and is irrigated by water drawn from wells by means of wheels. At five hours and a quarter is Ghafer Djouni [Arabic], a market place, with a number of shops, built on the sea side, where there is a landing place for small boats. The Beirout road continues from hence along the sea coast, but I wished to visit some convents in Kesrouan, and therefore ANTOURA. [p.183]turned up the mountain to the left. At the end of five hours and three quarters I came to a wood of firs, which trees are very common in these parts; to the right is the village Haret el Bottne [Arabic]. Six hours and three quarters Zouk Mykayl [Arabic], the principal village in Kesrouan, where resides the Sheikh Beshera, of the family of Khazen, who is at present the governor of the province. The inhabitants of Zouk consist, for the greater part, of the shopkeepers and artizans who furnish Kesrouan with articles of dress or of luxury. I observed in particular many makers of boots and shoes. Seven hours, is Deir Beshara; a convent of nuns. At the end of seven hours and a quarter, I arrived at Antoura, a village in a lofty situation, with a convent, which formerly belonged to the Jesuits, but which is now inhabited by a Lazarist, the Abbate Gandolfi, who is the Pope's delegate, for the affairs of the eastern church. I had letters for him, and met with a most friendly reception: his intimate acquaintance with the affairs of the mountain, and of the Druses, which his residence of upwards of twelve years, and a sound understanding, have enabled him to acquire, renders his conversation very instructive to the inquisitive traveller. March 15th--I left Antoura in the evening, to visit some convents in a higher part of the mountains of Kesrouan. Passed Wady Kheredj [Arabic], and at three quarters of an hour from Antoura, the ruined convent of Bekerke [Arabic], once the residence of the famous Hindye, whose history Volney has given. Now that passions have cooled, and that the greater part of the persons concerned are dead, it is the general opinion that Hindye's only crime was her ambition to pass for a saint. The abominable acts of debauchery and cruelty of which she was accused, are probably imaginary: but it is certain that she rigorously punished the nuns of her convent who hesitated to believe in her sanctity, or who doubted the visits of Jesus Christ, of which she boasted. Hindye died about HARISSA--GHOSTA. [p.184]ten years since in retirement, in the convent of Seidet el Hakle. At one hour and a half from Antoura, on the top of the mountain, is the convent of Harissa, belonging to the Franciscans of Terra Santa, and inhabited at present by a single Piedmontese monk. On the breaking out of the war between England and the Porte, Mr. Barker, the Consul at Aleppo, received from the Emir Beshir an offer of this convent as a place of refuge in his territory. Mr. Barker resided here for two years and a half, and his prudent and liberal conduct have done great credit to the English name in the mountain. The French consuls on the coast applied several times to the Emir Beshir, by express orders from the French government, to have Mr. Barker and his family removed; but the Emir twice tore their letters in pieces and returned them by the messenger as his only answer. Harissa [Arabic] is a well built, large convent, capable of receiving upwards of twenty monks. Near it is a miserable village of the same name. The view from the terrace of the convent over the bay of Kesrouan, and the country as far as Djebail, on one side, and down to Beirout on the other, is extremely beautiful. The convent is situated in the midst of Kesrouan, over the village Sahel Alma. March 16.--I slept at Harissa, and left it early in the morning, to visit Ayn Warka. The roads in these mountains are bad beyond description, indeed I never before saw any inhabited country so entirely mountainous as the Kesrouan: there are no levels on the tops of the mountain; but the traveller no sooner arrives on the summit, than he immediately begins the descent; each hill is insulated, so that to reach a place not more than ten minutes distant in a straight line, one is obliged to travel three or four miles, by descending into the valley and ascending again the other side. From Harissa I went north half an hour to the village Ghosta [Arabic], near which are two convents called Kereim and Baklous. Kereim AYN WARKA. [p.185]is a rich Armenian monastery, in which are twenty monks. The silk of this place is esteemed the best in Kesrouan. A little farther down is the village El Basha. One hour and a quarter Ayn Warka [Arabic], another Maronite convent. I wished to see this place, because I had heard that a school had lately been established here, and that the convent contained a good library of Syrian books; but I was not so fortunate as to see the library; the bishop, although he received me well, found a pretext for not opening the room in which the books are kept, fearing, probably, that if his treasures should be known, the convent might some day be deprived of them. I however saw a beautiful dictionary in large folio of the Syriac language, written in the Syriac character, which, I suppose, to be the only copy in Syria. Its author was Djorjios el Kerem Seddany, who composed it in the year 1619. Kerem Seddany is the name of a village near Bshirrai. This dictionary may be worth in Syria eight hundred or a thousand piastres; but the convent would certainly not sell it for less than two thousand, besides a present to the bishop. The school of Ayn Warka was established fifteen years since by Youssef, the predecessor of the present bishop. It is destined to educate sixteen poor Maronite children, for the clerical profession; they remain here for six or eight years, during which they are fed and clothed at the expense of the convent, and are educated according to the literary taste of the country; that is to say, in addition to their religious duties, they are taught grammar, logic, and philosophy. The principal books of instruction are the Belough el Arab, [Arabic], and the Behth el Mettalae [Arabic], both composed by the bishop Djermanous [Arabic]. At present there is only one schoolmaster, but another is shortly expected, BEZOMMAR. [p.186]to teach philosophy. The boys have particular hours assigned to the different branches of their studies. I found them sitting or lying about in the court-yard, each reading a book, and the master, in a common peasant's dress, in the midst of them. Besides the Arabic language they are taught to speak, write, and read the Syriac. The principal Syriac authors, whose books are in the library, are Ibn el Ebre [Arabic], or as the Latins call him, Berebreo, Obeyd Yeshoua [Arabic], and Ibn el Aassal [Arabic], their works are chiefly on divinity. The bishop is building a dormitory for the boys, in which each of them is to have his separate room; he has also begun to take in pupils from all parts of Syria, whose parents pay for their board and education. The convent has considerable landed property, and its income is increased by alms from the Catholic Syrians. The boys, on leaving the convent, are obliged to take orders. From Ayn Warka I ascended to the convent of Bezommar [Arabic], one hour and a quarter distant. It belongs to the Armenian Catholics, and is the seat of the Armenian patriarch, or spiritual head of all the Armenians in the East who have embraced the Catholic faith. Bezommar is built upon the highest summit of the mountain of Kesrouan, which is a lower branch of the southern Libanus. It is the finest and the richest convent in Kesrouan, and is at present inhabited by the old patriarch Youssef, four bishops, twelve monks, and seventeen priests. The patriarch himself built the convent, at an expense of upwards of fifteen thousand pounds sterling. Its income is considerable, and is derived partly from its great landed possessions, and partly from the benefactions of persons at Constantinople, in Asia Minor, and in Syria. The venerable patriarch received me in his bed, from which, I fear, he will never rise again. The Armenian priests STATE OF KESROUAN. [p.187]of this convent are social and obliging, with little of the pride and hypocrisy of the Maronites. Several of them had studied at Rome. The convent educates an indefinite number of poor boys; at present there are eighteen, who are destined to take orders; they are clothed and fed gratis. Boys are sent here from all parts of the Levant. I enquired after Armenian manuscripts, but was told that the convent possessed only Armenian books, printed at Venice. I left Bezommar to return to Antoura. Half an hour below Bezommar is the convent Essharfe [Arabic], belonging to the true Syrian church. The rock in this part is a quartzose sand-stone, of a red and gray colour. To the left, still lower down, is the considerable village Deir Aoun [Arabic], and above it the Maronite convent Mar Shalleitta [Arabic]. I again passed Mar Harissa on my descent to Antoura, which is two hours and a half distant from it. March 17th.--The district of Kesrouan, which is about three hours and a half in length, from N. to S. and from two to three hours in breadth across the mountains, is exclusively inhabited by Christians: neither Turks nor Druses reside in it. The Sheikh Beshara collects the Miri, and a son of the Emir Beshir resides at Ghazir, to protect the country, and take care of his father's private property in the district. The principal and almost sole produce is silk; mulberry trees are consequently the chief growth of the soil; wheat and barley are sown, but not in sufficient quantity for the consumption of the people. The quantity of silk produced annually amounts to about sixty Kantars, or three hundred and thirty English quintals. A man's wealth is estimated by the number of Rotolas of silk which he makes, and the annual taxes paid to government are calculated and distributed in proportion to them. The Miri or land-tax is taken upon the mule loads [p.188]of mulberry leaves, eight or ten trees, in common years, yielding one load; and as the income of the proprietors depends entirely upon the growth of these leaves, they suffer less from a bad crop, because their taxes are proportionally low. The extraordinary extortions of the government, however, are excessive: the Emir often exacts five or six Miris in the year, and one levy of money is no sooner paid, than orders are received for a fresh one of twenty or thirty purses upon the province. The village Sheikh fixes the contributions to be paid by each village, taking care to appropriate a part of them to himself. Last year many peasants were obliged to sell a part of their furniture, to defray the taxes; it may easily be conceived therefore in what misery they live: they eat scarcely any thing but the worst bread, and oil, or soups made of the wild herbs, of which tyranny cannot deprive them. Notwithstanding the wretchedness in which they are left by the government, they have still to satisfy the greediness of their priests, but these contributions they pay with cheerfulness. Many of the convents indeed are too rich to require their assistance, but those which are poor, together with all the parish priests and church officers, live upon the people. Such is the condition of this Christian commonwealth, which instead of deserving the envy of other Christians, living under the Turkish yoke, is in a more wretched state than any other part of Syria; but the predominance of their church consoles them under every affliction, and were the Druse governor to deprive them of the last para, they would still remain in the vicinity of their convent. Contributions are never levied on the convents, though the landed property belonging to them pays duties like that of the peasant; their income from abroad is free from taxes. Loans are sometimes required of the convents; but they are regularly reimbursed in the time of the next harvest. The priests are the most NAHR EL KELB. [p.189]happy part of the population of Kesrouan; they are under no anxiety for their own support; they are looked upon by the people assuperior beings, and their repose is interrupted only by the intrigues of the convents, and by the mutual hostilities of the bishops. The principal villages in Kesrouan, beginning from the north, are Ghadsir [Arabic], Djedeide [Arabic], Aar Amoun [Arabic], Shenanayr [Arabic], Sahel Alma [Arabic], Haret Szakher [Arabic], Ghozta [Arabic], Deir Aoun [Arabic], Ghadir [Arabic], Zouk Mikayl [Arabic], Djouni [Arabic], Zouk Meszbah [Arabic], Zouk el Kherab [Arabic], and Kornet el Khamra [Arabic]. March 18th--I left my amiable host, the Abate Gandolfi, and proceeded on my road to Deir el Kammar, the residence of the Emir Beshir. One hour from Antoura is Deir Lowyz [Arabic]. Between it and the village Zouk Mikayl lies the village Zouk Meszbah, with Deir Mar Elias. South of Deir Lowyz half an hour is the village Zouk el Kharab; half an hour E. of the latter, Deir Tanneis [Arabic], and about the same distance S.E. the village Kornet el Khamra. From Deir Lowyz I again descended into the plain on the sea shore. The narrow plain which I mentioned as beginning at Djissr Maammiltein, continues only as far as Djouni, where the country rises, and continues hilly, across the southern promontoy of the bay of Kesrouan, on the farther side of which the narrow plain again begins, and continues as far as the banks of the Nahr el Kelb. I reached this river in half an hour from Antoura, at the point of its junction with the sea, about ten minutes above which it is crossed by a fine stone bridge. From the bridge the road continues along the foot of the steep rocks, except where they overhang the sea, and there it has been cut through the rock for about a mile. This was a work, however, of no great labour, and hardly deserved the EL MELLAHA. [p.190]following magnificent inscription, which is engraved upon the rock, just over the sea, where the road turns southward: IMP CAES M AVRELIVS ANTONINV S . PIVS . FELIX . AVGVSTVS PART . MAX . BRIT . MAX . GERM . MAXIMVS PONTIFEX . MAXIMVS MONTIBVS INMINENTIBVS LICO FLVMINI CAESIS VIAM DELATAVIT PER . . . . . . . . . . . . . ANTONINIANAM SVAM The last line but one has been purposely erazed. Below the frame in which the above is engraved, is this figure. Higher up in the road are several other places in the rock, where inscriptions have been cut, but the following one only is legible: INVICTIM ANTONIN FELIX AUG MV . . IS NISIM[In the year 1697 Maundrell read this inscription as follows: Invicte Imp. Antonine P. Felix Aug. multis annis impera. Ed.] According to the opinion of M. Guys, the French consul at Tripoli, which seems well founded, the Emperor mentioned in the above inscriptions is not Antoninus Pius, but Caracalla; as the epithet Britannus cannot be applied to the former, but very well to the latter. Opposite to the bridge is an Arabic inscription, but for the greater part illegible. The road continues for about half an hour through the rock over the sea, above which it is no where higher than fifty feet. At the southern extremity is a square basin hewn in the rock close by the sea, called El Mellaha, in which the salt water is sometimes collected for the purpose of obtaining salt by evaporation. On the summit of the mountain, to the left of the rocky road, lies the Deir Youssef el Berdj [Arabic]; half an PLAIN OF BEIROUT. [p.191]hour south of it, in the mountain, is the village Dhobbye [Arabic], and behind the latter the village Soleima [Arabic], with a convent of the Terra Santa. The road from El Mellaha continues for an hour and a half on the sandy beach; about three quarters of an hour from the basin we passed the rivulet Nahr Antoun Elias, so called from a village and convent of that name, to the left of the road. Near the latter lies the village of Abou Romman [Arabic], in the narrow plain between the mountain and the sea, and a little farther south, El Zeleykat [Arabic]. The district of Kesrouan [Arabic], extends, to the south, as far as a small Khan, which stands a little beyond the Mellaha; farther south commences the Druse country of Shouf [Arabic]. At the termination of the sandy beach are seen ruins of Saracen buildings, with a few houses called Aamaret Selhoub [Arabic]. We now left the sea shore to our right, and rode across the riangular point of land on the western extremity of which the town of Beirout is situated. This point projects into the sea about four miles beyond the line of the coast, and there is about the same distance in following that line across the base of the triangle. The road we took was through the fine cultivated plain called El Boudjerye [Arabic], in a direction S. by W. Two hours and three quarters from El Mellaha is the village Hadded [Arabic]. Before we came to it, we crossed the Nahr Beirout, at a place where I saw, for the first time, a grove of date trees. Beyond the river the country is called Ard el Beradjene, from a tower by the sea side called Berdj el Beradjene [Arabic]; the surrounding country is all planted with olive trees. In three hours and a quarter we crossed the Wady Ghadiry [Arabic], on the other side of which lies the village Kefr Shyna [Arabic]. Upon the hills about three quarters of an hour S.E. of the place where the Ghadiry falls into the sea, stands the convent Mar Hanna el Shoeyfat. At the end of three hours and KEFRNOUTA. [p.192]a half, the road begins to ascend: the Emir Beshir has had a new road made the greater part of the way up to Deir el Kammar, to facilitate the communication between his residence and the provinces of Kesrouan and Djebail. At the end of four hours is a fine spring, with a basin shaded by some large oak trees; it is called Ayn Besaba [Arabic]. At four hours and a half, the road still ascending, is the village Ayn Aanab [Arabic], remarkable for a number of palm trees growing here at a considerable elevation above the sea. The mountain is full of springs, some of which form pretty cascades. On the front of a small building which has been erected over the spring in the village, I observed on both sides two figures cut upon the wall, with open mouths, and having round their necks a chain by which they are fastened to the ground. Whether they are meant for lions or calves I could not satisfy myself, nor could I learn whether they have any relation to the religious mysteries of the Druses. The country from Kefr Shyna is wholly inhabited by Druses. The village of Aanab is the hereditary seat of the family of Ibn Hamdan, who are the chiefs of the Druses in the Haouran. At five hours and a half is the village Ayn Aanoub [Arabic]; a little above it the road descends into the deep valley in which the Nahr el Kadhi flows. The mountain is here overgrown with fine firs. Six hours and a half, is a bridge (Djissr el Khadhi) under which the Nahr flows in a rocky bed. The Franks on the coast commonly give to the Nahr Kadhi the name of Damour, an appellation not unknown to the natives. On the other side of the bridge the road immediately ascends to the village Kefrnouta, on the N. side of the river, where it turns round the side of the mountain to Deir el Kammar, distant seven hours and a quarter from El Mellaha. I rode through El Kammar, without stopping, and proceeded to the village of Beteddein, where the Emir Beshir is building a new palace. BETEDDEIN. [p.193]The town of Deir el Kammar is situated on the declivity of the mountain, at the head of a narrow valley descending towards the sea. It is inhabited by about nine hundred Maronite, three hundred Druse, and fifteen or twenty Turkish families, who cultivate mulberry and vine plantations, and manufacture all the articles of dress of the mountaineers. They are particularly skilful in working the rich Abbas or gowns of silk, interwoven with gold and silver, which are worn by the great Sheikhs of the Druses, and which are sold as high as eight hundred piastres a piece. The Emir Beshir has a serai here. The place seems to be tolerably well built, and has large Bazars. The tombs of the Christians deserve notice. Every family has a stone building, about forty feet square, in which they place their dead, the entrance being always walled up after each deposit: this mode of interment is peculiar to Deir el Kammar, and arose probably from the difficulty of excavating graves in the rocky soil on which it is built. The tombs of the richer Christian families have a small Kubbe on their summit. The name of this town, signifying the Monastery of the Moon, originates in a convent which formerly stood here, dedicated to the Virgin, who is generally represented in Syria with the moon beneath her feet. Half an hour from Deir el Kammar, on the other side of the valley, lies Beteddein [Arabic], which in Syriac, means the two teats, and has received its name from the similarity of two neighbouring hills, upon one of which the village is built. Almost all the villages in this neighbourhood have Syriac names. March 19th.--The Emir Beshir, to whom I had letters of recommendation, from Mr. Barker at Aleppo, received me very politely, and insisted upon my living at his house. His new palace is a very costly edifice; but at the present rate of its progress five more years will be required to finish it. The building consists of a large quadrangle, one on side of which are the [p.194]Emir's apartments and his harem, with a private court-yard; two other sides contain small apartments for his people, and the fourth is open towards the valley, and Deir el Kammar, commanding a distant view of the sea. In the neighbouring mountain is a spring, the waters from which have been conducted into the quadrangle; but the Emir wishes to have a more abundant supply of water, and intends to bring a branch of the Nahr el Kadhi thither; for this purpose the water must be diverted from the main stream at a distance of three hours, and the expense of the canal is calculated at three thousand pounds sterling. The Emir Beshir is at present master of the whole mountain from Belad Akkar down to near Akka (Acre), including the valley of Bekaa, and part of the Anti-Libanus and Djebel Essheikh. The Bekaa, together with a present of one hundred purses, was given to him in 1810, by Soleiman Pasha of Acre, for his assistance against Youssef Pasha of Damascus. He pays for the possession of the whole country, five hundred and thirty purses, of which one hundred and thirty go to Tripoli and four hundred to Saida or Acre; this is exclusive of the extraordinary demands of the Pashas, which amount to at least three hundred purses more. These sums are paid in lieu of the Miri, which the Emir collects himself, without accounting for it. The power of the Emir, however, is a mere shadow, the real government being in the hands of the Druse chief, Sheikh Beshir.[Beshir is a proper name borne by many people in the mountain. The accent is on the last syllable: the sound would be expressed in English by Besheer.] I shall here briefly explain the political state of the mountain. It is now about one hundred and twenty years since the government of the mountain has been always entrusted by the Pashas of Acre and Tripoli to an individual of the family of Shehab [Arabic], to which the Emir Beshir belongs. This family derives its origin [p.195]from Mekka, where its name is known, in the history of Mohammed and the first Califes; they are Mussulmans, and some of them pretend even to be Sherifs. About the time of the crusades, for I have been unable to ascertain the exact period, the Shehabs left the Hedjaz, and settled in a village of the Haouran, to which they gave their family name;[A branch of the family is said to inhabit some mountains in Mesopotamia, under the command of Emir Kasem.] it is still known by the appellation of Shohba; and is remarkable for its antiquities, of which I have given some account, in my journal of a tour in the Haouran. The family being noble, or of Emir origin, were considered proper persons to be governors of the mountain; for it was, and still is thought necessary that the government should not be in the hands of a Druse. The Druses being always divided into parties, a governor chosen from among them would have involved the country in the quarrels of his own party, and he would have been always endeavouring to exterminate his adversaries; whereas a Turk, by carefully managing both parties, maintains a balance between them, though he is never able to overpower them completely; he can oppose the Christian inhabitants to the Druses, who are in much smaller numbers than the former, and thus he is enabled to keep the country in a state of tranquillity and in subjection to the Pashas. This policy has long been successful, notwithstanding the turbulent spirit of the mountaineers, the continual party feuds, and the ambitious projects of many chiefs, as well of the Druses as of the reigning house; the Pashas were careful also not to permit any one to become too powerful; the princes of the reigning family were continually changed; and party spirit was revived in the mountain whenever the interests of the Porte required it. About eighty years ago the country was divided into the two great parties of Keisy [Arabic], whose banner was red, and Yemeny [Arabic], whose banner was white, and the whole Christian population [p.196]ranged itself on the one side or the other. The Keisy gained at length the entire ascendancy, after which none but secret adherents of the Yemeny remained, and the name itself was forgotten. Then arose the three sects of Djonbelat, Yezbeky, and Neked. These still exist; thirty years ago the two first were equal, but the Djonbelat have now got the upper hand, and have succeeded in disuniting the Yezbeky and Neked. The Djonbelat [Arabic] draw their origin from the Druse mountain of Djebel Aala, between Ladakie and Aleppo: they are an old and noble family, and, in the seventeenth century, one of their ancestors was Pasha of Aleppo; it forms at present the richest and most numerous family, and the strongest party in the mountain. The Yezbeky [Arabic], or as they are also called, El Aemad [Arabic], are few in number, but are reputed men of great courage and enterprize. Their principal residence is in the district of El Barouk, between Deir el Kammar and Zahle. The Neked, whose principal Sheikh is at present named Soleiman, inhabit, for the greater part, Deir el Kammar; seven of their principal chiefs were put to death thirteen years ago in the serai of the Emir Beshir, and a few only of their children escaped the massacre; these have now attained to years of manhood, and remain at Deir el Kammar, watched by the Djonbelaty and the Aemad, who are united against them. The Djonbelat now carry every thing with a high hand; their chief, El Sheikh Beshir is the richest and the shrewdest man in the mountain; besides his personal property, which is very considerable, no affair of consequence is concluded without his interest being courted, and dearly paid for. His annual income amounts to about two thousand purses, or fifty thousand pounds sterling. The whole province of Shouf is under his command, and he is in partnership [p.197] with almost all the Druses who possess landed property there. The greater part of the district of Djesn [Arabic] is his own property, and he permits no one to obtain possesions in that quarter, while he increases his own estates yearly, and thus continually augments his power. The Emir Beshir can do nothing important without the consent of the Sheikh Beshir, with whom he is obliged to share all the contributions which he extorts from the mountaineers. It is from this cause that while some parts of the mountain are very heavily taxed, in others little is paid. The Druses form the richest portion of the population, but they supply little to the public contributions, being protected by the Sheikh Beshir. It will be asked, perhaps, why the Sheikh does not set aside the Emir Beshir and take the ostensible power into his own hands? Many persons believe that he entertains some such design, while others, better informed perhaps, assert that the Sheikh will never make the attempt, because he knows that the mountaineers would never submit to a Druse chief. The Druses are certainly in a better condition at present than they would be under the absolute sway of the Sheikh, who would soon begin to oppress instead of protecting them, as he now does; and the Christians, who are a warlike people, detest the name of Druse too much ever to yield quietly to a chief of that community. It is, probably, in the view of attaching the Christians more closely to him, and to oppose them in some measure to the Druses, that the Emir Beshir, with his whole family, has secretly embraced the christian religion. The Shehab, as I have already mentioned, were formerly members of the true Mussulman faith, and they never have had among them any followers of the doctrines of the Druses. They still affect publicly to observe the Mohammedan rites, they profess to fast during the Ramadhan, and the Pashas still treat them as Turks; but it is no longer matter of doubt, that the greater part of the Shehab, with [p.198] the Emir Beshir at their head, have really embraced that branch only of the family which governs at Rasheya and Hasbeya continue in the religion of their ancestors. Although the Christians of the mountain have thus become more attached to their prince, their condition, on the whole, is not bettered, as the Emir scarcely dares do justice to a Christian against a Druse; still, however, the Christians rejoice in having a prince of their own faith, and whose counsellors and household are with few exceptions of the same religion. There are not more than forty or fifty persons about him who are not Christians. One of the prince's daughters lately married a Druse of an Emir family, who was not permitted to celebrate the nuptials till he had been instructed in the doctrines of Christianity, had been baptized, and had received the sacrament. How far the Shehab may be sincere in their professions, I am unable to decide; it is probable that if their interests should require it, they would again embrace the religion of their ancestors. In order to strengthen his authority the Emir Beshir has formed a close alliance with Soleiman Pasha of Acre, thus abandoning the policy of his predecessors, who were generally the determined enemies of the Turkish governors; this alliance is very expensive to the Prince, though it serves in some degree to counterbalance the influence of the Sheikh Beshir. The Emir and the Sheikh are apparently on the best terms; the latter visits the Emir almost every week, attended by a small retinue of horsemen, and is always received with the greatest apparent cordiality. I saw him at Beteddein during my stay there. His usual residence is at the village of Mokhtar [Arabic], three hours distant from Beteddein, where he has built a good house, and keeps an establishment of about two hundred men. His confidential attendants, and even the porters of his harem, are Christians; but his bosom friend [p.199] is Sheikh el Nedjem [Arabic], a fanatical Druse, and one of the most respected of their Akals. The Sheikh Beshir has the reputation of being generous, and of faithfully defending those who have put themselves under his protection. The Emir Beshir, on the contrary, is said to be avaricious; but this may be a necessary consequence of the smallness of his income. He is an amiable man, and if any Levantine can be called the friend of an European nation, he certainly is the friend of the English. He dwells on no topic with so much satisfaction as upon that of his alliance with Sir Sidney Smith, during that officer's command upon this coast. His income amounts, at most, to four hundred purses, or about £10.000. sterling, after deducting from the revenue of the mountain the sums paid to the Pashas, to the Sheikh Beshir, and to the numerous branches of his family. His favourite expenditure seems to be in building. He keeps about fifty horses, of which a dozen are of prime quality; his only amusement is sporting with the hawk and the pointer. He lives on very bad terms with his family, who complain of his neglecting them; for the greater part of them are poor, and will become still poorer, till they are reduced to the state of Fellahs, because it is the custom with the sons, as soon as they attain the age of fifteen or sixteen, to demand the share of the family property, which is thus divided among them, the father retaining but one share for himself. Several princes of the family are thus reduced to an income of about one hundred and fifty pounds a year. It has constantly been the secret endeavour of the Emir Beshir to make himself directly dependent upon the Porte, and to throw off his allegiance to the Pasha; but he has never been able to succeed. The conduct of Djezzar Pasha was the cause of this policy. Djezzar, for reasons which have already been explained, was continually changing the governors of the mountain, and each new governor was obliged to promise him large sums for his investiture. Of these sums few [p.200]were paid at the time of Djezzar's death, and bills to the amount of sixteen thousand purses were found in his treasury, secured upon the revenue of the mountain. At the intercession of Soleiman Pasha,who succeeded Djezzar at Akka, and of Gharib Effendi, the Porte's commissioner (now Pasha of Aleppo), this sum was reduced to four thousand purses, of which the Emir Beshir is now obliged to pay off a part annually. By opposing the Druse parties to each other, and taking advantage of the Christian population, a man of genius and energy of the Shehab family might perhaps succeed in making himself the independent master of the mountain. Such an event would render this the most important government in Syria, and no military force the Turks could send would be able to overthrow it. But at present the Shehab appear to have no man of enterprise among them. The Shehab marry only among themselves, or with two Druse families, the Merad [Arabic], and Kaszbeya [Arabic]. These and the Reslan [Arabic], are the only Emir families, or descendants of the Prophet, among the Druses. These Emirs inhabit the province called El Meten. Emir Manzour, the chief of the Merads, is a man of influence, with a private annual income of about one hundred and twenty purses. I shall now subjoin such few notes on the Druses as I was able to collect during my short stay in the mountain; I believe them to be authentic, because I was very careful in selecting my authourities. With respect to the true religion of the Druses, none but a learned Druse can satisfy the enquirer's curiosity. What I have already said of the Anzeyrys is equally applicable to the Druses; their religious opinions will remain for ever a secret, unless revealed by a Druse. Their customs, however, may be described; and, as far as they can tend to elucidate the mystery, the veil may be [p.201] drawn aside by the researches of the traveller. It seems to be a maxim with them to adopt the religious practices of the country in which they reside, and to profess the creed of the strongest. Hence they all profess Islamism in Syria; and even those who have been baptised on account of their alliance with the Shehab family, still practise the exterior forms of the Mohammedan faith. There is no truth in the assertion that the Druses go one day to the mosque, and the next to the church. They all profess Islamism, and whenever they mix with Mohammedans they perform the rites prescribed by their religion. In private, however, they break the fast of Ramadhan, curse Mohammed, indulge in wine, and eat food forbidden by the Koran. They bear an inveterate hatred to all religions except their own, but more particularly to that of the Franks, chiefly in consequence of a tradition current among them that the Europeans will one day overthrow their commonwealth: this hatred has been increased since the invasion of the French, and the most unpardonable insult which one Druse can offer to another, is to say to him "May God put a hat on you!" Allah yelebesak borneita [Arabic]. Nothing is more sacred with a Druse than his public reputation: he will overlook an insult if known only to him who has offered it; and will put up with blows where his interest is concerned, provided nobody is a witness; but the slightest abuse given in public he revenges with the greatest fury. This is the most remarkable feature of the national character: in public a Druse may appear honourable; but he is easily tempted to a contrary behaviour when he has reason to think that his conduct will remain undiscovered. The ties of blood and friendship have no power amongst them; the son no sooner attains the years of maturity than he begins to plot against his father. Examples are not wanting of their assailing the chastity of their mothers, and towards their sisters such [p.202] conduct is so frequent, that a father never allows a full grown son to remain alone with any of the females of his family. Their own religion allows them to take their sisters in marriage; but they are restrained from indulging in this connexion, on account of its repugnance to the Mohammedan laws. A Druse seldom has more than one wife, but he divorces her under the slightest pretext; and it is a custom among them, that if a wife asks her husband's permission to go out, and he says to her "Go;" without adding "and come back," she is thereby divorced; nor can her husband recover her, even though it should be their mutual wish, till she is married again according to the Turkish forms, and divorced from her second husband. It is known that the Druses, like all Levantines, are very jealous of their wives; adultery, however, is rarely punished with death; if a wife is detected in it, she is divorced; but the husband is afraid to kill her seducer, because his death would be revenged, for the Druses are inexorable with respect to the law of retaliation of blood; they know too that if the affair were to become public, the governor would ruin both parties by his extortions. Unnatural propensities are very common amongst them. The Akal are those who are supposed to know the doctrines of the Druse religion; they superintend divine worship in the chapels or, as they are called, Khaloue [Arabic], and they instruct the children in a kind of catechism. They are obliged to abstain from swearing, and all abusive language, and dare not wear any article of gold or silk in their dress. Many of them make it a rule never to eat of any food, nor to receive any money, which they suspect to have been improperly acquired. For this reason, whenever they have to receive considerable sums of money, they take care that it shall be first exchanged for other coin. The Sheikh El Nedjem, who generally accompanies the Sheikh Beshir, in his visits to the Emir, never tastes [p.203] food in the palace of the latter, nor even smokes a pipe there, always asserting that whatever the Emir possesses has been unlawfully obtained. There are different degrees of Akal, and women are also admitted into the order, a privilege which many avail themselves of, from parsimony, as they are thus exempted from wearing the expensive head-dress and rich silks fashionable among them. A father cannot entirely disinherit his son, in that case his will would be set aside; but he may leave him a single mulberry tree for his portion. There is a Druse Kadhi at Deir el Kammar, who judges according to the Turkish laws, and the customs of the Druses; his office is hereditary in a Druse family; but he is held in little repute, as all causes of importance are carried before the Emir or the Sheikh Beshir. The Druses do not circumcise their children; circumcision is practised only in the mountain by those members of the Shehab family who continue to be Mohammedans. The best feature in the Druse character is that peculiar law of hospitality, which forbids them ever to betray a guest. I made particular enquiries on this subject, and I am satisfied that no consideration of interest or dread of power will induce a Druse to give up a person who has once placed himself under his protection. Persons from all parts of Syria are in the constant practice of taking refuge in the mountain, where they are in perfect security from the moment they enter upon the Emir's territory; should the prince ever be tempted by large offers to consent to give up a refugee, the whole country would rise, to prevent such a stain upon their national reputation. The mighty Djezzar, who had invested his own creatures with the government of the mountain, never could force them to give up a single individual of all those who fled thither from his tyranny. Whenever he became [p.204] very urgent in his demands, the Emir informed the fugitive of his danger, and advised him to conceal himself for a time in some more distant part of his territory; an answer was then returned to Djezzar that the object of his resentment had fled. The asylum which is thus afforded by the mountain is one of the greatest advantages that the inhabitants of Syria enjoy over those in the other parts of the Turkish dominions. The Druses are extremely fond of raw meat; whenever a sheep is killed, the raw liver, heart, &c. are considered dainties; the Christians follow their example, but with the addition of a glass of brandy with every slice of meat. In many parts of Syria I have seen the common people eat raw meat in their favourite dish the Kobbes; the women, especially, indulge in this luxury. Mr. Barker told me that during his two years residence at Harissa and in the mountain, he never heard any kind of music. The Christians are too devout to occupy themselves with such worldly pleasures, and the Druses have no sort of musical instruments. The Druses have a few historical books which mention their nation; Ibn Shebat, for instance, as I was told, gives in his history of the Califes, that of the Druses also, and of the family of Shehab. Emir Haidar, a relation of the Emir Beshir, has lately begun to compile a history of the Shehabs, which already forms a thick quarto volume. I believe that the greatest amount of the military forces of the Druses is between ten and fifteen thousand firelocks; the Christians of the mountain may, perhaps, be double that number; but I conceive that the most potent Pasha or Emir would never be able to collect more than twenty thousand men from the mountain. The districts inhabited by Druses in the Pashalik of Saida are the following. El Tefahh, of which one half belongs to the [p.205] Pasha. El Shomar [Arabic], belonging for the greater part to the Pasha. El Djessein, one half of which belongs to the Porte. Kesrouan. El Metten. El Gharb el Fokany. El Gharb el Tahtany; in which the principal family is that of Beit Telhouk [Arabic]. El Djord [Arabic], the principal family there is Beit Abd el Melek. El Shehhar [Arabic]; the principal family Meby el Dein [Arabic]. El Menaszef, under Sheikh Soleiman of the family of Abou Neked [Arabic]. El Shouf [Arabic], the residence of the Sheikh Beshir. El Aarkoub [Arabic], or Ard Barouk [Arabic], belonging to the family of Aemad; and El Kharroub [Arabic], belonging to the Djonbelat. In 1811, the Druses of Djebel Ala, between Ladakie and Antioch, were driven from their habitations by Topal Aly, the governor of Djissr Shogher, whose troops committed the most horrible cruelties. Upwards of fifteen hundred families fled to their countrymen in the Libanus, where they were received with great hospitality; upwards of two hundred purses were collected for their relief, and the Djonbelat assigned to them convenient dwellings in different parts of the mountain. Some of them retired into the Haouran. March 21st.--It was with difficulty that I got away from Beteddein. The Emir seemed to take great pleasure in conversing with me, as we spoke in Arabic, which made him much freer than he would have been, had he had to converse through the medium of an interpreter. He wished me to stay a few days longer, and to go out a hunting with him; but I was anxious to reach Damascus, and feared that the rain and snow would make the road over the mountain impassable; in this I was not mistaken, having afterwards found that if I had tarried a single day longer I should have been obliged to return along the great road by the way of Beirout. The Emir sent one of his horsemen to accompany me, WADY DHOBBYE. [p.206] and we set out about mid-day. Half an hour from Beteddein is the village Ain el Maszer [Arabic], with a spring and many large walnut trees. To the left, on the right bank of the Nahr el Kadhi, higher in the mountain, are the villages Medjelmoush [Arabic] and Reshmeyia [Arabic]. At one hour is the village Kefrnebra [Arabic], belonging to the Yezdeky, under the command of Abou Salma, one of their principal Sheikhs. The road lies along the mountain, gradually ascending. At one hour and a quarter are the two villages Upper and Lower Beteloun [Arabic] One hour and three quarters, the village Barouk [Arabic], and near it the village Ferideis [Arabic]; these are the chief residence of the Yezdeky, and the principal villages in the district of Barouk. They are situated on the wild banks of the torrent Barouk, whose source is about one hour and a half distant. The Sheikh Beshir has conducted a branch of it to his new palace at Mokhtar; the torrent falls into the sea near Saida. From Barouk the road ascends the steep side of the higher region of the mountain called Djebel Barouk; we were an hour and a half in ascending; the summit was covered with snow, and a thick fog rested upon it: and had it not been for the footsteps of a man who had passed a few hours before us we should not have been able to find our way. We several times sunk up to our waists in the snow, and on reaching the top we lost the footsteps, when discovering a small rivulet running beneath the snow, I took it as our guide, and although the Druse was in despair, and insisted on returning, I pushed on, and after many falls reached the plain of the Bekaa, at the end of two hours from the summit; I suppose the straight road to be not more than an hour and quarter. The rivulet by which we descended is called Wady Dhobbye [Arabic]. We had no sooner entered the plain than it began to snow again, and it continued to rain and snow for several days. Small caravans DJOB DJENNEIN. [p.207] from Deir el Kammar to Damascus pass the mountain even in winter; but to prevent the sharp hoofs of the mules from sinking deep into the snow, the muleteers are accustomed in the difficult places to spread carpets before them as they pass. We reached the plain near a small village, inhabited only during the seed time. From thence the village of Djob Djennein bore S. by E. and the village of Andjar, in the upper part of the Bekaa, which I visited in the year 1810, from Zahle, E.N.E. From the foot of the mountain we were one hour in reaching the bridge over the Liettani, which has been lately repaired by the Emir Beshir, who has also built a Khan near it, for the accommodation of travellers. At twenty minutes from the bridge lies the village Djob Djennein [Arabic], one of the principal villages of the Bekaa; it is situated on the declivity of the Anti-Libanus, where that mountain begins to form part of the Djebel Essheikh. The Anti- Libanus here advances a little into the valley, which from thence takes a more western course. The Emir Beshir has seven or eight villages about Djob Djennein, which together with the latter are his own property; but the whole Bekaa, since Soleiman succeeded to the Pashalik of Damascus in 1810, is also under his command. The villages to the north of Djob Djennein will be found enumerated in another place;[See page 31.] those to the south of it, and farther down in the valley, are Balloula [Arabic], El Medjdel [Arabic], Hammara [Arabic], Sultan Yakoub, [Arabic] El Beiry [Arabic], El Refeidh [Arabic], Kherbet Kanafat [Arabic], Ain Arab [Arabic], and Leila [Arabic]. Having one of the Emir Beshir's men with me, I was treated like a great man in the house of the Sheikh of Djob Djennein; this I may be allowed to mention, as it is the only instance of my receiving such honours during my travels in Syria. KHAN DOUMAS. [p.208] March 22nd.--Caravans reckon two days journey between Djob Djennein and Damascus; but as I was tolerably well mounted, and my guide was on a good mare of the Emir Beshir's, I resolved on reaching it in one day; we therefore pursued our route at a brisk walk and sometimes at a trot. We crossed the plain obliquely, having the projection of the Anti-Libanus, which ends at Djob Djennein, on our right. At thirty-five minutes from Djob Djennein, to the right, is the village Kamel el Louz [Arabic], where are many ancient caves in the rocky mountain which rises behind it. In three quarters of an hour we reached the foot of the Anti- Libanus. On the summit of the mountain on our left, I observed a singular rock called Shekeik el Donia [Arabic], or Hadjar el Konttara [Arabic]; my guide told me that the time would certainly arrive when some Frank nation would invade this country, and that on reaching this rock they would be completely routed. After a short ascent the road lies through a narrow plain, and then up another Wady, in the midst of which is the village of Ayty [Arabic], two hours distant from Djob Djennein; it belongs to Sheikh Hassan, the brother of Sheikh Beshir, a very rich Druse, who is as avaricious as the latter is generous; he has however built a Khan here for the accommodation of travellers. There is a fine spring in the village; the inhabitants manufacture coarse earthen ware [Arabic], with which they supply Damascus. At the end of two hours and three quarters we reached the summit of the Anti-Libanus, where the heavy rains had already melted the greater part of the snow; here are some stunted oaks, and numerous springs. In three hours and a quarter we descended into a fine plain watered by the Wady Halloue [Arabic], which we followed into a narrow valley, and on issuing from it passed a ruined Khan, with a spring, called Khan Doumas [Arabic], which is five hours and a quarter from Djob Djennein. We left the PLAIN OF DAMASCUS. [p.209] village Doumas, which is half an hour from the Khan on our right, and at the end of six hours reached a high uneven plain, situated between the Anti Libanus and the chain of hills which commence near Katana; the plain is called Szakhret el Sham [Arabic]. Seven hours and a half, the ruined Khan Meylesoun [Arabic]. Eight hours and a half brought us to the termination of the Szakhret, from which we descended into the Ghouta, or plain of Damascus. At nine hours, the village Mezze [Arabic], among the gardens of Damascus; and at the end of nine hours and three quarters we entered the city, which is generally reckoned fourteen hours journey from Djob Djennein. Note. Between Kesrouan and Zahle, I am informed that in the mountain, about six hours from the latter, are the ruins of an ancient city called Fakkra or Mezza. Large blocks of stone, some remains of temples, and several Greek inscriptions are seen there. Between Akoura and Baalbec is a road cut in the rock, with several long Greek inscriptions, and near the source of the rivulet of Afka, near Akoura, are the ruins of an ancient building, which I unfortunately did not see during my passage through that village in 1810, although I enquired for them. [p. 211] JOURNAL OF A TOUR FROM DAMASCUS INTO THE HAOURAN, AND THE MOUNTAINS TO THE E. AND S.E. OF THE LAKE OF TIBERIAS. IN THE MONTHS OF APRIL AND MAY, 1812. In returning to Damascus, it was my intention to obtain some further knowledge of the Haouran, and to extend my journey over the mountains to the south of Damascus, where I wished to explore the ruins of Djerash (Gerasa) and of Amman (Philadelphia) in the ancient Decapolis, which M. Seetzen had discovered in his journey from Damascus to Jerusalem. An unexpected change in the government of Damascus obliged me to protract my stay in that city for nearly a month. The news had just been received of the dismissal of Soleiman Pasha, and it was necessary for me, before I set off, to ascertain whether the country would yield quietly to the command of the new Pasha; for, if rebel parties started up, and submission became doubtful, the traveller would run great hazards, would be unable to derive any advantage from the protection of the government, and would be obliged to force his way by the means of endless presents to the provincial chiefs. As soon as I was satisfied of the tranquil state of the Pashalik, I set out for the Haouran. I took with me a Damascene, who had been seventeen times to Mekka, who was well acquainted with the DEIR ALI. [p.212]Bedouins, inured to fatigue, and not indisposed to favour my pursuits; I had indeed reason to be contented with my choice of this man, though he was of little further use to me than to take care of my horse, and to assist in intimidating the Arabs, by some additional fire- arms. We left Damascus on the morning of the 21st of April, 1812; and as my first steps were directed towards those parts of the Ledja which I had not visited during my first tour, we took the road of El Kessoue, Deir Ali, and El Merdjan, to the description of which in my former journal I may here add the following particulars: The N.E. part of Djebel Kessoue is called Djebel Aadelye [Arabic]. From Kessoue our road bore S.S.E. In one hour and a quarter from that place we passed the small village called Haush el Madjedye [Arabic]; Haush being an appellation applied to small villages enclosed by a wall, or rather to those whose houses join, so as to present by their junction a defence against the Arab robbers. The entrance to the Haush is generally through a strong wooden gate, which is carefully secured every evening. At an hour and three quarters from Kessoue is Deir Ali, to the north of which, upon the summit of Djebel Kessoue, is situated the Mezar el Khaledye [Arabic]; Deir Ali is a village inhabited by Druses, who keep the Arabs in great awe, by the reputation for courage which they have acquired upon many occasions. It seems rather extraordinary that the Druses, the known enemies of the Mohammedan faith, should be allowed to inhabit the country so near to the gate of the holy city, as Damascus is called; for not only Deir Ali, but three or four villages, as Artous, Esshera, Fye, and others, at only three hours distant from Damascus, are for the greater part peopled by them. Numbers of them are even settled in the town; the quarters called Bab Mesalla and El Hakle, in the Meidhan, or suburbs of the city, contain MERDJAN. [p.213]more than one hundred Druse families, who are there called Teyamene [Arabic]. In another quarter, called El Khereb, live three or four hundred Metaweli families, or Shiytes, of the sect of Aly; of this sect is the present Mutsellim, Aly Aga. The religious creeds of all these people are publicly known; but the fanatism of the Damascenes, however violent, is easily made subservient to their fears or interests; every religious and moral duty being forgotten when the prospect of gain or the apprehension of danger presents itself. At three hours and a quarter from Kessoue is the village El Merdjan. When I passed this place in 1810, I found a single Christian family in it; I now found eight or ten families, most of them Druses, who had emigrated hither from Shaara, a well peopled village in 1810, but now deserted. They had brought the fertile soil round El Merdjan into cultivation, and had this year sown eight Ghararas of wheat and barley, or about one hundred and twenty cwt. English.[The Gharara of Damascus is eighty Muds, at three and a half Rotola per Mud, or twenty pounds.] The taxes paid by the village amounted to a thousand piastres, or fifty pounds sterling, besides the tribute extorted by the Bedouins. The vicinity of the village is watered by several springs. I was obliged to remain at Merdjan the next day, because my mare fell ill, and was unable to proceed. As I did not like to return to Damascus, I bought a mare of the Sheikh of the village, a Christian of Mount Libanus, who knew me, and who took a bill upon Damascus in payment. This mare I afterwards bartered for a Bedouin horse. April 23d.--I left Merdjan to examine the eastern limits of the Ledja. We passed the Aamoud Eszoubh [Arabic], or Column of the Morning, an insulated pillar standing in the plain; it is formed BERAK. [p.214]of the black stone of the Ledja, about twenty-five or thirty feet high, of the Ionic order, and with a high pedestal. I had been told that there were some inscriptions upon it, but I did not find any. The column is half an hour distant from Merdjan, to the eastward of south. Round the column are fragments of three or four others, which appear to have formed a small temple. The remains of a subterraneous aqueduct, extending from the village towards the spot where the column stands, are yet visible. In one hour from thence we passed a ruined village called Beidhan [Arabic], with a saltpetre manufactory. Two hours from Merdjan is Berak [Arabic], bearing from it S.E.b.E. Our road lay over a low plain between the Djebel Kessoue and the Ledja, in which the Bedouins of the latter were pasturing their cattle. Berak is a ruined town, situated on the N.E. corner of the Ledja; there is no large building of any consequence here; but there are many private habitations. Here are two saltpetre manufactories, in which the saltpetre is procured by boiling the earth dug up among the ruins of the town; saline earth is also dug up in the neighbouring plain; in finding the productive spots, they are guided by the appearance of the ground in the morning before sunrise, and wherever it then appears most wet with dew the soil beneath is found impregnated with salt. The two manufactures produce about three Kantars, or fifteen or sixteen quintals per month of saltpetre, which is sold at about fifteen shillings per quintal. The boilers of these manufactories are heated by brush-wood brought from the desert, as there is little wood in the Ledja, about Berak. The whole of the Loehf, or limits of the Ledja, is productive of saltpetre, which is sold at Damascus and Acre; I saw it sold near the lake of Tiberias for double the price which it costs in the Loehf. In the interior of a house among the ruins of Berak, I saw the following inscription: [p.215] [Greek] ["The tenth of Peritius of the eighth year." Peritius was one of the Macedonian months, the use of which was introduced into Syria by the Seleucidae. It answered to the latter part of December and beginning of January. Ed.]. On the outside wall of a house, in another part of the town, was the following: [Greek] [[GREEK] Apellaeus was another Macedonian month, and answered to half October and half November. This inscription is within a tablet of the usual form. Ed]. Berak, like most of the ancient towns of the Ledja, has a large stone reservoir of water. Between these ruins and Missema lies the ruined city Om Essoud [Arabic], in the Loehf. Djebel Kessoue runs out in a S.E. direction as far as the N.E. limits of the Ledja, and consists of the same kind of rock as that district. The other branch of it, or Djebel Khiara, extends towards Shaara. One hour S.W. from Berak, in the Ledja, are the ruins of a tower called Kaszr Seleitein [Arabic], with a ruined village near it. An Arab enumerated to me the following names of ruined cities and villages in the Ledja, which may be added to those mentioned in my former journal: Emseyke [Arabic], El Wyr EL KHELKHELE. [p.216] [Arabic], Djedl [Arabic], Essemeyer [Arabic], Szour [Arabic], Aasem Ezzeitoun [Arabic], Hamer [Arabic], Djerrein [Arabic], Dedjmere [Arabic], El Aareis [Arabic] El Kastall [Arabic], Bord [Arabic], Kabbara [Arabic], El Tof [Arabic], Etteibe [Arabic], Behadel [Arabic], El Djadj [Arabic], Szomeith [Arabic], El Kharthe [Arabic], Harran [Arabic], Djeddye [Arabic], Serakhed [Arabic], Deir [Arabic], Dami [Arabic], Aahere [Arabic], Om el Aalek [Arabic], Moben el Beit [Arabic], Deir Lesmar [Arabic]. I engaged a man at Berak to conduct me along the Loehf, or limits of the Ledja; this eastern part is called El Lowa, from the Wady Lowa [Arabic], a winter torrent which descends from Djebel Haouran, and flows along the borders of the Ledja, filling in its course the reservoirs of all the ancient towns situated there; it empties itself into the Bahret el Merdj, or marshy ground at seven or eight hours east of Damascus, where the rivers of Damascus also are lost. Our road was S.S.E. In one hour from Berak we passed the Lowa, near a ruined bridge, where the Wady takes a more eastern direction. Some water remained in pools in different places in the Wady, the rains having been very copious during the winter season. In an hour and a half we passed Essowara [Arabic], a ruined town on our right; we travelled along the fertile plain that skirts the rocky surface of the Ledja, which at two hours took a more southern direction. On our right was El Hazzem [Arabic], a ruined town; and a little farther, Meharetein [Arabic], also in ruins. All these towns are on the borders of the Ledja. Their inhabitants formerly cultivated the fields watered by the Lowa, of which the stone enclosures are still visible in some places. At three hours is El Khelkhele [Arabic], a ruined town, where we slept, in the house of the owner of a saltpetre manufactory. The Wady Lowa in some places approaches close to the Ledja, and in others advances for a mile into the plain; its banks were covered with the most luxuriant herbage, of which little use is SOWARAT EL DSAKEIR. [p.217]made; the Arabs of the Ledja being afraid to pass beyond its limits, from the almost continual state of warfare in which they live with the powerful tribe of Aeneze, and the government of Damascus; while the Aeneze, on the other hand, are shy of approaching too near the Ledja, from fear of the nightly robberies, and of the fire-arms of the Arabs who inhabit it. The labourers in the saltpetre manufactories are Druses, whose reputation for individual courage, and national spirit, keeps the Arabs at a respectful distance. April 24th.--Khelkhele, like all the ancient towns in the Haouran, is built entirely with stone. I did not observe any public edifice of importance in the towns of the Lowa; there are some towers of moderate height, which seem to have been the steeples of churches; and a few houses are distinguished from the rest by higher arches in the apartments, and a few rude carvings over their doors. From Khelkhele, S.E. about two hours distant, is a high Tel in the plain; it is called Khaledie [Arabic], and has the ruins of a town on its top; nearly joining to it are the most northern projections of Djebel Haouran, which are distinguished on this side by a chain of low hillocks. To the E. of Khelkhele, about four hours, stands the Tel el Aszfar [Arabic], farther E. the ruined village of Djoh Ezzerobe [Arabic], and still further E. about nine or ten hours, from Khelkhele, the ruined village El Kasem [Arabic], near which is a small rivulet. In the direction of Tel el Khaledie, and to the S.E. of it, are the ruined villages of Bezeine [Arabic], and Bezeinat [Arabic]. The direction of our route from Khelkhele was sometimes S.E. sometimes S. following the windings of the Ledja and the Lowa. At half an hour is the ruined village Dsakeir [Arabic], in the Ledja, which here turns to the E. in the direction of Tel Shiehhan. On its S.E. corner stands the ruined town Sowarat el Dsakeir [Arabic], OM EZZEITOUN. [p.218] where we found a party of Arabs Szolout encamped, with whom we breakfasted. In one hour and a quarter we passed Redheimy [Arabic], where the ground was covered with remains of ancient enclosures. One hour and a half, El Hadher [Arabic]; one hour and three quarters, El Laheda [Arabic]; two hours, Omten [Arabic]; two hours and a half, Meraszrasz [Arabic]; three hours, Om Haretein [Arabic]; three hours and a half, Essammera [Arabic]. All the above villages and towns are in ruins, and prove the once-flourishing state of the Ledja. In four hours we reached Om Ezzeitoun [Arabic], a village inhabited by Druses. The advantages of a Wady like the Lowa are incalculable in these countries, where we always find that cultivation follows the direction of the winter torrents, as it follows the Nile in Egypt. There are not many Wadys in this country which inundate the land; but the inhabitants make the best use of the water to irrigate their fields after the great rains have ceased. Springs are scarce, and it is from the Wadys that the reservoirs are filled which supply both men and cattle with water, till the return of the rainy season. It is from the numerous Wadys which rise in the Djebel Haouran that the population of the Haouran derives its means of existence, and the success of its agriculture. Om Ezzeitoun is inhabited by thirty or forty families. It appears, by the extent of its ruins, to have been formerly a town of some note. I here copied several inscriptions. Upon a broken stone in the wall of a public building over the great reservoir of the town, was the following: [Greek] [p.219] [Greek]. The only ancient building of any consequence is a small temple, of which an arch of the interior, and the gate, only remain; on each side of the latter are niches, between which and the gate are these inscriptions: [Greek]. The two last syllables are on the frame within which the inscription is engraved. [Greek]. Upon a stone lying on the ground near the temple is the following: [p.220] [Greek].[[Greek]. Ed.] Upon a long narrow stone in the wall of a court-yard near the temple: [Greek]. I had intended to sleep at Om Ezzeitoun, but I found the Druses very ill-disposed towards me. It was generally reported that I had discovered a treasure in 1810 at Shohba, near this place, and it was supposed that I had now returned to carry off what I had then left behind. I had to combat against this story at almost every place, but I was nowhere so rudely received as at this village, where I escaped ill treatment only by assuming a very imposing air, and threatening with many oaths, that if I lost a single hair of my beard, the Pasha would levy an avania of many purses on the village. I had with me an old passport from Soleiman Pasha, who, though no longer governor of Damascus, had been charged pro tempore with the government till the arrival of the new Pasha, who was expected from Constantinople. Soleiman had retired to his former government at Acre, but his Mutsellim at Damascus very kindly granted me strong letters of recommendation to all the authorities of the country, which were of great use to me in the course of my journey. I left Om Ezzeitoun late in the evening, to proceed toward the mountain of Haouran. Our road lay on the N. side of Tel Shiehhan, BEREIT. [p.221]close to which runs the Ledja; and the Wady Lowa descends the mountain on the west side of it. We proceeded in the direction of Soueida, and in an hour and a quarter from the village stopped, after sunset, at an encampment of the Djebel Haouran Arabs. My companion, and a guide whom I had engaged at Om Ezzeitoun, persuaded me to appear before the Arabs as a soldier belonging to the government, in order to get a good supper, of which we were in great want, that of the preceding night, at the saltpetre works, having consisted of only a handful of dry biscuit. We were served with a dish of rice boiled in sour milk, and were much amused by the sports and songs of the young girls of the tribe, which they continued in the moonlight till near midnight. One of the young men had just returned to the encampment, who had been taken prisoner by the Aeneze during a nightly predatory expedition. He showed us the marks of his fetters, and enlarged upon the mode of treating the Rabiat, or prisoner, among the Aeneze. A friend had paid thirty camels for his liberation. In spring the Arabs of the Djebel Haouran and the Ledja take advantage of the approach of the Aeneze, to plunder daily among their enemies; they are better acquainted with the ground than the latter, a part of whose horses and cattle are every spring carried off by these daring mountaineers. April 25th.--At half an hour from the encampment is the hill called Tel Dobbe [Arabic], consisting of a heap of ruins, with a spring. To the N.E. of it, a quarter of an hour, is the ruined village of Bereit, which was inhabited in 1810, but is now abandoned. The Haouran peasants wander from one village to another; in all of them they find commodious habitations in the ancient houses; a camel transports their family and baggage; and as they are not tied to any particular spot by private landed property, or plantations, and find every where large tracts to cultivate, AATYL. [p.222]they feel no repugnance at quitting the place of their birth. In one hour we passed Seleim, which in 1810 was inhabited by a few poor Druses, but is now abandoned. Here are the ruins of a temple, built with much smaller stones than any I had observed in the construction of buildings of a similar size in the Haouran. On the four outer corners were Corinthian pilasters. At one hour and a quarter, road S. we entered the wood of oak-trees, which is continued along the western declivity of the Djebel. One hour and a half, in the wood, we passed the Wady Dyab [Arabic], coming from the mountain. One hour and three quarters, passed Wady Kefr el Laha [Arabic]. At the end of two hours we reached Aatyl [Arabic], a small Druse village in the midst of the wood. Here are the remains of two handsome temples; that which is on the N. side, is in complete ruins; it consisted of a square building, with a high arch across its roof; two niches were on each side of the gate, and in front of it a portico of columns, the number of which it is impossible to determine, the ground being covered by a heap of fragments of columns, architraves, and large square stones. This temple is called El Kaszr. From a small stone in its precincts I copied the following letters: [Greek]. On the outside wall of the temple is the following inscription in remarkably fine characters. [Greek]. On the S.E. side of Aatyl stands the other temple, which is of small dimensions but of elegant construction. It has a portico of two [p.223]columns and two pilasters, each of which has a projecting base for a statue, elevated from the ground about one-third of the height of the column, like the pillars of the great colonnade at Palmyra. The columns are Corinthian, but not of the best time of that order. The interior of the temple consists of an apartment with several arches without any ornaments; but the gate is covered with sculpture. The two pilasters forming the portico have inscriptions on their bases. On the one is this: [Greek]. Near the other pilaster is an inscription upon two broken stones, lying near each other; these stones appear to have been formerly joined, and to have formed part of the base of the pilaster, and the inscription seems to have been a copy of the former. Upon the one I read: [Greek]. and upon the other: [Greek] [p.224] [Greek]. Near the temple I saw a bas-relief about ten inches square, representing a female bust, with hair in ringlets, falling upon the shoulders; it was lying on the ground; but it was not of such workmanship as to tempt me to take it with me. Upon the wall of one of the largest houses in the village was a long inscription; but too high for me to read. N.E. of Aatyl, about one hour, up in the mountain, is a ruined tower called Berdj Mabroum [Arabic]. The tobacco of Aatyl is preferred to that of any other part of the Haouran. I here saw a public woman, a Kahirene, who seemed to be kept at the expense of the whole village; I was surprised at this, for manners in the Haouran are generally almost as pure as among the Bedouins: public women are not suffered, and adultery is punished by the death of the woman, while the man is ruined by the heavy penalties exacted by the government in expiation of his guilt. Last year a married Turkish woman at Mohadje, a village in the Loehf, was caught in the embraces of a young Christian; her three brothers hastened to the spot, dragged her to the market place, and there in the presence of the whole community, cut her in pieces with their swords, loading her at the same time with the most horrible imprecations. The lover was fined ten purses. From Aatyl I pursued my way one hour and a quarter S.S.E. to Soueida, at a short distance from which are the remains of an ancient road. As I had examined the antiquities of this village in 1810, and did not wish to be seen here a second time, I passed on without stopping, in the direction of Aaere, which is two hours and a half distant in a south-westerly direction. In the plain, and at a quarter of an hour to the west of Soueida, is the ruined convent AAERE. [p.225] Deir Senan [Arabic]. There is only a small Kurdine village in the road between Soueida and Aaere. April 26th.--I remained this day at Aaere, in the house of the Druse chief the Sheikh Shybely Ibn Hamdan, where I alighted. The Sheikh appeared to be greatly pleased at my reappearance. Since my former visit, I had cultivated his friendship by letters and presents, which I had sent to him from Aleppo, and by which he was so much gratified, that he would have loaded me with presents in return, had I not thought proper to decline every thing of that kind, contenting myself with some very strong letters of recommendation from him to the authorities in those places which I intended to visit. Shybely is the kindest and most generous Turk I have known in Syria: and his reputation for these qualities has become so general, that peasants from all parts of the Haouran settle in his village. The whole of the Christian community of Soueida, with the Greek priest at their head, had lately arrived, so that Aaere has now become one of the most populous villages in this district. The high estimation in which the Sheikh is held arises from his great hospitality, and the justice and mildness with which he treats the peasants, upwards of forty of whom he feeds daily, besides strangers, who are continually passing here in their way to the Bedouin encampments; the coffee pot is always boiling in the Menzoul or stranger's room. He may now, in fact, be called the Druse chief of the Haouran, though that title belongs in strictness to his father-in-law, Hossein Ibn Hamdan, the Sheikh of Soueida. In the mosque of Aaere, a low vaulted building, I copied the following inscription from a stone in the wall: [Greek]. BOSZRA. [p.226]April 27th.--I now thought that I might visit Boszra, which I had found it prudent to avoid in my former tour. Shybely gave me one of his men as a guide, and we followed the road which I have already described, as far as Shmerrin. At a quarter of an hour beyond Shmerrin, we passed the Wady Rakeik [Arabic]. Boszra [Arabic], is situated in the open plain, two hours distant from Aaere and is at present the last inhabited place in the south-east extremity of the Haouran; it was formerly the capital of Arabia Provincia, and is now, including its ruins, the largest town in the Haouran. It is of an oval shape, its greatest length being from E. to W.; its circumference is three quarters of an hour. It was anciently enclosed by a thick wall, which gave it the reputation of a place of great strength. Many parts of this wall, especially on the W. side, still remain; it was constructed with stones of a moderate size, strongly cemented together. The principal buildings in Boszra were on the E. side, and in a direction from thence towards the middle of the town. The S. and S.E. quarters are covered with ruins of private dwellings, the walls of many of which are still standing, but most of the roofs have fallen in. The style of building seems to have been similar to that observed in all the other ancient towns of the Haouran. On the W. side are springs of fresh water, of which I counted five beyond the precincts of the town, and six within the walls; their waters unite with a rivulet whose source is on the N.W. side, within the town, and which loses itself in the southern plain at several hours distance: it is called by the Arabs El Djeheir [Arabic]. The Nahr el Ghazel, which in most maps, and even by D'Anville, is laid down in the immediate vicinity of Boszra, is unknown to the natives; but I was afterwards informed that there is a Wady Ghazel in the direction of Amman (Philadelphia), in the Djebel Belka, which descends from the mountain, [p.227]and flows into the eastern plains, to the S. of Kalaat el Belka. The principal ruins of Boszra are the following: a square building, which within is circular, and has many arches and niches in the wall: on either side of the door within are two larger niches, and opposite to the door on the east side of the circle is the sanctuary, formed of low arches supported by Corinthian pillars, without pedestals. Several beautiful sculptured friezes are inserted in the wall, but I was unable to discover from whence they had been taken; in front of the door stand four columns. The diameter of the rotunda is four paces; its roof has fallen in, but the walls are entire, without any ornaments. It appears to have been a Greek church. Over the gate is a long inscription, but it was illegible to my sight. At a short distance to the west of this edifice is an oblong square building, called by the natives Deir Boheiry [Arabic], or the Monastery of the priest Boheiry. On the top of the walls is a row of windows; on the north side is a high vaulted niche; the roof has fallen in; I observed no ornaments about it. On the side of its low gate is the following inscription in bad characters: AEL AVREL THEONI LEG AVGG PR PR COS DESIG OPTIONES [xx] LEG III KVRENAICAE VENERIANAE GALLIANAE RARISI--MO ET PER OMNIA IUSTISSIMO SOCIO Between these two buildings stands the gate of an ancient house, communicating with the ruins of an edifice, the only remains of which is a large semi-circular vault, with neat decorations and four small niches in its interior; before it lie a heap of stones and broken columns. Over the gate of the house is the following inscription: [p.228] [Greek]. The natives have given to this house the name of Dar Boheiry, or the house of Boheiry. This Boheiry is a personage well known to the biographers of Mohammed, and many strange stories are related of him, by the Mohammedans, in honour of their Prophet, or by the eastern Christians, in derision of the Impostor. He is said to have been a rich Greek priest, settled at Boszra, and to have predicted the prophetic vocation of Mohammed, whom he saw when a boy passing with a caravan from Mekka to Damascus. Abou el Feradj, one of the earliest Arabic historians, relates this anecdote. According to the traditions of the Christians, he was a confidential counsellor of Mohammed, in the compilation of the Koran. To the west of the abovementioned buildings stands the great mosque of Boszra, which is certainly coeval with the first aera of Mohammedanism, and is commonly ascribed to Omar el Khattab [Arabic]. Part of its roof has fallen in. On two sides of the square building runs a double row of columns, transported hither from the ruins of some Christian temple in the town. Those which are formed of the common Haouran stone are badly wrought in the coarse heavy style of the lower empire; but among them are sixteen fine variegated marble columns, distinguished both by the beauty of the material, and of the execution: fourteen are Corinthian, and two Ionic; they are each about sixteen or eighteen feet in height, of a single block, and well polished. Upon two of them standing opposite to each other are the two following inscriptions: 1. [Greek] [p.229] [Greek]. 2. [Greek]. The walls of the mosque are covered with a coat of fine plaster, upon which were many Cufic inscriptions in bas-relief, running all round the wall, which was embellished also by numerous elegant Arabesque ornaments; a few traces of these, as well as of the inscriptions, still remain. The interior court-yard of the mosque is covered with the ruins of the roof, and with fragments of columns, among which I observed a broken shaft of an octagonal pillar, two feet in diameter; there are also several stones with Cufic inscriptions upon them. Passing from the great mosque, southwards, we came to the principal ruin of Boszra, the remains of a temple, situated on the side of a long street, which runs across the whole town, and terminates at the western gate. Of this temple nothing remains but the back wall, with two pilasters, and a column, joined by its entablature to the main wall; they are all of the Corinthian order, and both capitals and architraves are richly adorned with sculpture. In the wall of the temple are three rows of niches, one over the other. Behind this is another wall, half ruined. In front of the temple, but [p.230]standing in an oblique direction towards it, are four large Corinthian Columns, equalling in beauty of execution the finest of those at Baalbec or Palmyra (those in the temple of the Sun at the latter place excepted): they are quite perfect, are six spans in diameter, and somewhat more than forty-five feet in height; they are composed of many pieces of different sizes, the smallest being towards the top, and they do not appear to have been united by an entablature. They are not at equal distances, the space between the two middle ones being greater than the two other intervals. About thirty paces distant stands another column, of smaller dimensions, and of more elaborate but less elegant execution. I endeavoured in vain to trace the plan of the edifice to which these columns belonged, for they correspond in no way with the neighbouring temple; it appeared that the main building had been destroyed, and its site built upon; nothing whatever of it remaining but these columns, the immediate vicinity of which is covered with the ruins of private houses. These four large columns, and those of Kanouat, are the finest remains of antiquity in the Haouran. Upon the base of the pilaster in the back wall of the temple is the following inscription, in handsome characters: [Greek]. Upon a broken stone in a modern wall near this temple I read: [Greek]. [p.231] Upon another broken stone not far from the former is this inscription, now almost effaced, and which I made out with difficulty: [Greek]. The ruin of the temple just described is in the upper part of the town, which slopes gently towards the west; not far from it, in descending the principal street, is a triumphal arch, almost entire, but presenting nothing very striking in its appearance, from the circumstance of the approach to it being choked with private houses, as is the case with all the public buildings in Boszra, except the church first mentioned. The arch consists of a high central arch, with two lower side arches; between these are Corinthian pilasters, with projecting bases for statues. On the inside of the arch were several large niches, now choked up by heaps of broken stones. On one of the pilasters is this inscription: VLIO IVLIA . . . . . NAR PRAEF LEG. p ARTHICAE . . . . . . PPIANAE DVCI DEVOTI S . MO . TREBICIVS CAVOINUS PRAEF ALAE NOV. EFIRME CATAPRACTO PHILIPPIAN . PRAEPOSITO OPTIMO Upon a stone in the wall over the gate of a private house on the west side of the temple, was the following, upside down: [p.232] [Greek]. Over the gate of another house, in the same neighbourhood: [Greek]. Among the ruins in the N.W. part of the town is an insulated mosque, and another stands near the above mentioned Deir Boheiry; in its court-yard is a stone covered with a long and beautiful Cufic inscription, which is well worth transporting to Europe; the characters being very small it would have required a whole day to copy it; it begins as follows: [Arabic]. Not far from the great mosque is another triumphal arch, of smaller dimensions than the former, but remarkable for the thickness of its walls: it forms the entrance to an arched passage, through which one of the principal streets passed: two Doric columns are standing before it. In the eastern quarter of the town is a large Birket or reservoir, almost perfect, one hundred and ninety paces in length, one hundred and fifty three in breadth, and enclosed by a wall seven feet in thickness, built of large square stones; its depth maybe about twenty feet. A staircase leads down to the water, as the basin is never completely filled. This reservoir is a work of the Saracens; made for watering the pilgrim caravan to Mekka, which as late as the seventeenth century passed by Boszra. A branch of the Wady Zeid [See p. 105.]empties itself in winter into the Birket. On the south side it is flanked by a row of houses, by some public edifices, and a [p.233]mosque; and on the west side by an ancient cemetery; the other sides are open. Upon a broken stone, in the middle of the town, is the following inscription, in characters similar to those which I met with at Hebron, Kanouat, and Aaere. [xxxxx]. I now quitted the precincts of the town, and just beyond the walls, on the S. side came to a large castle of Saracen origin, probably of the time of the Crusades: it is one of the best built castles in Syria, and is surrounded by a deep ditch. Its walls are very thick, and in the interior are alleys, dark vaults, subterraneous passages, &c. of the most solid construction. What distinguishes it from other Syrian castles, is that on the top of it there is a gallery of short pillars, on three sides, and on the fourth side are several niches in the wall, without any decorations; many of the pillars are still standing. The castle was garrisoned, at the time of my visit, by six Moggrebyns only. There is a well in the interior. I copied the following from a small altar-shaped stone lying on the ground within the castle: [Greek]. [Legionis tertiae Cyrenaicae. Ed.] The castle of Boszra is a most important post to protect the harvests of the Haouran against the hungry Bedouins; but it is much neglected by the Pashas of Damascus, and this year the [p.234]crops of the inhabitants of Boszra have been almost entirely consumed by the horses of the Aeneze, who were encamped on the E. side of the Djebel Haouran. From a broken stone in the modern wall of a court-yard near the castle I copied the following letters: [Greek]. In proceeding from the castle westwards, I arrived, in a quarter of an hour, at the western gate of the town, where the long street terminates. The gate is a fine arch, with niches on each side, in perfect preservation: the people of Boszra call it Bab el Haoua [Arabic], or the Wind gate, probably because the prevailing or summer breezes blow from that point. A broad paved causeway, of which some traces yet remain, led into the town; vestiges of the ancient pavement are also seen in many of the streets, with a paved footway on each side; but the streets are all narrow, just permitting a loaded camel to pass. Near the Bab el Haoua are the springs above mentioned, called Ayoun el Merdj; with some remains of walls near them. The late Youssef Pasha of Damascus built here a small watch-tower, or barrack, for thirty men, to keep the hostile Arabs at a distance from the water. The town walls are almost perfect in this part, and the whole ground is covered with ruins, although there is no appearance of any large public building. Upon an altar near one of the springs was the following inscription: ANTONIAE FORTVNATAE ANTONIVS. V . . CES CONIVGI PIISIMAE [p.235] Near it is another altar, with a defaced inscription. In going northward from the springs, I passed the rivulet Djeheir, whose source is at a short distance, within the precincts of the town. It issues from a stone basin, and was conducted anciently in a canal. Over it seems to have stood a small temple, to judge by the remains of several columns that are lying about. The source is full of small fish. Youssef Pasha built a barrack here also; but it was destroyed by the Wahabi who made an incursion into the Haouran in 1810, headed by their chief Ibn Saoud, who encamped for two days near this spot, without being able to take the castle, though garrisoned by only seven Moggrebyns. The banks of the Djeheir are a favourite encampment of the Bedouins, and especially of the Aeneze. Beyond the town walls, and at some distance to the north of the Djeheir, stands the famous mosque El Mebrak; and near it is the cemetery of the town. Ibn Affan, who first collected the scattered leaves of the Koran into a book, relates that when Othman, in coming from the Hedjaz, approached the neighbourhood of Boszra with his army, he orderd his people to build a mosque on the spot where the camel which bore the Koran should lie down; such was the origin of the mosque El Mebrak. [Mebrak [Arabic] means the spot where a camel couches down, or a halting-place.] It is of no great size; its interior was embellished, like that of the great mosque, with Cufic inscriptions, of which a few specimens yet remain over the Mehrab, or niche towards which the face of the Imam is turned in praying. The dome or Kubbe which covered its summit has been recently destroyed by the Wahabi. The above description comprises all the principal antiquities of Boszra. A great number of pillars lie dispersed in all directions in the town; but I observed no remains of granite. Its immediate [p.236]invirons are also covered with ruins, principally on the W. and N.W. sides, where the suburbs may have formerly stood. Of the vineyards, for which Boszra was celebrated, even in the days of Moses, and which are commemorated by the Greek medals of [Greek], not a vestige remains. There is scarcely a tree in the neighbourhood of the town, and the twelve or fifteen families who now inhabit it cultivate nothing but wheat, barley, horse-beans, and a little Dhourra. A number of fine rose trees grow wild among the ruins of the town, and were just beginning to open their buds. April 28th.--I was greatly annoyed during my stay at Boszra, by the curiosity of the Aeneze, who were continually passing through the place. It had been my wish to visit the ruined city of Om El Djemal [Arabic], which is eight hours distant from Boszra, to the S.; but the demands of the Arabs for conducting me thither were so exorbitant, exceeding even the sum which I had thought necessary to bring with me from Damascus to defray the expenses of my whole journey, that I was obliged to return to Aaere towards mid-day, after having offered thirty piastres for a guide, which no one would accept. None but Aeneze could have served me, and with them there was no reasoning; they believed that I was going in search of treasure, and that I should willingly give any sum to reach the spot where it was hid. April 29th.--I took leave of my worthy friend Shybely, who would not let us depart alone, but engaged a Bedouin to accompany us towards the western parts of the Haouran; this man was a Bedouin of Sayd, or Upper Egypt, of the tribe of Khelafye, who inhabit to the west of Girge; he had entered the service of the Mamelouks, and had been with one of them to Mekka, from whence he returned to Damascus, where he entered into the Pasha's cavalry; here he had the misfortune to kill one of his comrades, which EL HEREYEK. [p.237]obliging him to fly, he repaired to the Aeneze, with whom he found security and protection. Half an hour from Aaere we passed Wady Ghothe [Arabic], with the village of Ghothe to our left; route N.W.b.N. One hour and a half, the village Om Waled [Arabic], one hour and three quarters, the village El Esleha [Arabic], inhabited principally by Christians. Two hours and a quarter, passed Wady Soueida. Two hours and a half the village Thale [Arabic], to the west of which, one hour, is Tel Hossein, with the village Kheraba. At three hours and a quarter is the village El Daara [Arabic], with Wady Daara; here we dined at an encampment of Arabs of Djebel Haouran, who are in the habit of descending into the plain to pasture their cattle, as soon as the country is evacuated by the Aeneze. At four hours and three quarters is Melieha el Aattash [Arabic], in a direction N.W. from Daara; from thence our route lay W. by N. Not more than one-third of the plain was cultivated, though the peasants had sown more grain this year, than they had done for many years back. S. of Melieha half an hour lies the village Rakham [Arabic]. Five hours and a half the village El Herak [Arabic]. Five hours and three quarters, the village El Hereyek [Arabic]. In all these villages are several reservoirs of water, for the supply of the inhabitants during summer, and which are filled either by the winter torrents descending from the Djebel Haouran, or by rain water, which is conducted into them from every side by narrow channels: they are all of ancient date, and built entirely with the black Haouran stone; but I saw in none of the villages any edifice of magnitude. Near Hereyek we fell in with the encampment of the Damascus beggars, who make an excursion every spring to the Haouran, to collect alms from the peasants and Arabs; these contributions are principally in butter and wool, NAEME. [p.238]which they sell on their return to Damascus. They had about a dozen tents, and as many asses, and I saw a good mare tied before the tent of the Sheikh, who is a man of consequence among the thieves and vagabonds of Damascus. His name is El Shuhadein [Arabic]: he invited us to drink a cup of coffee, and take some refreshment; but my companions, who knew him, advised me to keep clear of him. At six hours and a quarter, we passed at a short distance to our left, the village Olma [Arabic], our route being N.W. About one hour S.W. of Olma lies the village El Kerek. Eight hours and twenty-five minutes, the village Naeme [Arabic]. Most of these villages stand upon, or near, low hillocks or Tels, the only objects which break the monotony of the plain. It was at Naeme that I saw, for the first time, a swarm of locusts; they so completely covered the surface of the ground, that my horse killed numbers of them at every step, whilst I had the greatest difficulty in keeping from my face those which rose up and flew about. This species is called in Syria, Djerad Nedjdyat [Arabic] or Djerad Teyar [Arabic], i.e. the flying locusts, being thus distinguished from the other species, called Djerad Dsahhaf [Arabic], or devouring locusts. The former have a yellow body; a gray breast, and wings of a dirty white, with gray spots. The latter, I was told, have a whitish gray body, and white wings. The Nedjdyat are much less dreaded than the others, because they feed only upon the leaves of trees and vegetables, sparing the wheat and barley. The Dsahhaf, on the contrary, devour whatever vegetation they meet with, and are the terror of the husbandmen; the Nedjdyat attack only the produce of the gardener, or the wild herbs of the desert. I was told, however, that the offspring of the Nedjdyat produced in Syria partake of the voracity of the Dsahhaf, and like them prey upon the crops of grain. SHEMSKEIN. [p.239]Those which I saw in the Haouran, and afterwards in the gardens of Damascus, fly in separate bodies, and do not spread over a whole district. The young of this species are quite black until a certain age. The Bedouins eat locusts, which are collected in great quantities in the beginning of April, when the sexes cohabit, and they are easily caught; after having been roasted a little upon the iron plate [Arabic], on which bread is baked, they are dried in the sun, and then put into large sacks, with the mixture of a little salt. They are never served up as a dish, but every one takes a handful of them when hungry. The peasants of Syria do not eat locusts, nor have I myself ever had an opportunity of tasting them: there are a few poor Fellahs in the Haouran, however, who sometimes pressed by hunger, make a meal of them; but they break off the head and take out the entrails before they dry them in the sun. The Bedouins swallow them entire. The natural enemy of the locust is the bird Semermar [Arabic]; which is of the size of a swallow, and devours vast numbers of them; it is even said that the locusts take flight at the cry of the bird. But if the whole feathered tribe of the districts visited by locusts were to unite their efforts, it would avail little, so immense are the numbers of these dreadful insects. At eight hours and three quarters from Aaere, and at a short distance to the right, is the village Obta [Arabic]; our route N.W. by N. Nine hours and a quarter, we saw, at one hour to the left, the village El Kherbe [Arabic]. Nine hours and three quarters, Shemskein [Arabic], one of the principal villages in the Haouran. As we had rode at a very brisk pace, the above distance of nine hours and three quarters may be computed at nearly twelve hours of the common travelling. Shemskein, a village containing upwards of one hundred families, is situated on the Hadj road, on the side of Wady [p.240]Hareir [Arabic], over which a solid bridge has been built on one side of the village: this Wady comes from the north-east at four or six hours distance, and flows south-west. It is one of the largest torrents of Haouran, and was at this moment full of water, while most of the other Wadys were nearly dried up. The Sheikh of Shemskein has the title of Sheikh el Haouran, and holds the first rank among the village Sheikhs of the country. In the time of Hadj he collects from the Haouran and Djolan about fifteen hundred camels, and accompanies them to Mekka. His income is considerable, as the peasants of the different villages of the Haouran, when engaged in disputes with neighbouring villagers, or with their Sheikhs, generally apply in the first instance to his tribunal. We alighted at the Sheikh's house, in the court-yard of which we found almost the whole population of the village assembled: there had been a nuptial feast in the village, and the Nowars or gypsies, were playing music. These Nowar [Arabic], who are called Korbatt [Arabic] at Aleppo, are dispersed over the whole of Syria; they are divided into two principal bodies, viz. the Damascenes, whose district extends as far as Hassia, on the Aleppo road; and the Aleppines, who occupy the country to the north of that line. They never dare go beyond the limits which they have allotted to each other by mutual consent; both bodies have an Aga, who pays to the Grand Signior about five hundred piastres per annum, and collects the tribute from his subjects, which in the Damascus territory amounts annually to twenty piastres a head for every full grown male. April 30th.--As I wished to visit from Shemskein the Mezareib, and to ascend from thence the mountains of Adjeloun, I set out in the company of an old acquaintance of Aleppo, a Janissary, who had entered into the service of the Pasha of Damascus, and was now stationed at Mezareib. Following the Hadj road, in a S.S.E. direction, in an hour and a quarter from Shemskein we crossed the EL MEZAREIB. [p.241]Wady Aar [Arabic], coming from the east. Half an hour to the left of the road is Daal [Arabic], a considerable village; and between Daal and Mezareib, but more to the eastward, lies the village of Draa [Arabic], the ancient Edrei. Two hours, Tefas [Arabic], with a well built mosque. At the end of three hours, we arrived at El Mezareib [Arabic], El Mezareib is the first castle on the Hadj road from Damascus, and was built by the great Sultan Selym, three hundred and eight years ago. It is the usual residence of the Aga of the Haouran; but that office is now vacant, the late Aga having been deposed, and no one has yet been appointed to succeed him. The garrison of the castle consisted of a dozen Moggrebyns, whose chief, a young black, was extremely civil to me. The castle is of a square form, each side being, as well as I can recollect, about one hundred and twenty paces in length. The entrance is through an iron gate, which is regularly shut after sunset. The interior presents nothing but an empty yard enclosed by the castle wall, within which are ranges of warehouses, where the provisions for the Hadj are deposited; their flat roofs form a platform behind the parapet of the castle wall, where sixteen or eighteen mud huts have been built on the top of the warehouses, as habitations for the peasants who cultivate the neighbouring grounds. On the east side two miserable guns are planted. Within the castle is a small mosque. There are no houses, beyond its precincts. Close by it, on the N. and E. sides, are a great number of springs, whose waters collect, at a short distance, into a large pond or lake, of nearly half an hour in circumference, in the midst of which is an island. On an elevated spot at the extremity of a promontory, advancing into the lake, stands a chapel, around which are many ruins of ancient buildings. The water of the lake is as clear as crystal, neither weeds [p.242]nor grass growing in it; its depth in the middle is much more than the heighth of a man; the bottom is sand, and gravel of the black Haouran stone. It abounds with fish, particularly carp, and a species called Emshatt [Arabic]. In summer time, after the harvests of the Haouran have been gathered in, when the Aeneze approach the more populous parts of the country, the borders of the lake are crowded every evening with thousands of camels, belonging to these Arabs, who prefer filling their water skins here, as they say that the water keeps better than any other. The water of the springs is slightly tepid, and nearly of the same temperature as that of the springs near Kalaat el Medyk, in the valley of the Orontes. According to the Arabs the springs emit a copious steam in the winter mornings. An ancient mill stands near one of them, with a few broken stones around it; but it does not appear that any village or city of note stood here, though the quantity of water seems inviting to settlers. The springs as well as the lake are known by the name of El Budje [Arabic]. The pilgrim caravan to Mekka collects at the Mezareib, where the Pasha, or Emir el Hadj, remains encamped for ten days, in order to collect the stragglers, and to pay to the different Arab tribes the accustomed tribute for the passage of the caravan through the desert. The warehouses of the castle are annually well stocked with wheat, barley, biscuit, rice, tobacco, tent and horse equipage, camel saddles, ropes, ammunition, &c. each of which has its particular warehouse. These stores are exclusively for the Pasha's suite, and for the army which accompanies the Hadj; and are chiefly consumed on their return. It is only in cases of great abundance, and by particular favour, that the Pasha permits any articles to be sold to the pilgrims. At every station, as far as Medina, is a castle, but generally smaller than this, filled with similar stores. [p.243]The Haouran alone is required to deliver every year into the store houses of the Mezareib, two thousand Gharara of barley, or about twenty or twenty-five thousand cwt. English. The town of Damascus has been fed for the last three months with the biscuit stored in the Mezareib for the Hadj. As far as the Pasha was concerned, the affairs of the great Caravan were generally well managed; but there still reigned a great want of economy, and the expenses of the Hadjis increased every year. Of late years, the hire of a single camel from Damascus to Mekka has been seven hundred and fifty piastres; as much, and often more, was to be paid on coming back; and the expenses on the road, and at Mekka, amounted at least to one thousand piastres, so that in the most humble way, the journey could not be performed at less than two thousand five hundred piastres, or £125. sterling. A camel with a litter cost fifteen hundred in going, and as much in coming back. Of the whole caravan not above one-tenth part were real pilgrims, the rest consisted of soldiers, the servants of soldiers, people attached to the Pasha's suite, merchants, pedlars, camel-drivers, coffee and pipe waiters, a swarm of Bedouins, together with several tents of public women from Damascus, who were so far encouraged, that, whenever they were unable to obtain from their lovers the daily food for their horses or mules, they obtained a supply from the Pasha's stores. The greater part of the pilgrims usually contract for the journey with one of the great undertakers, or Mekouam [Arabic], as they are called; this agreement is only for a beast of transport and for water; as to eating, the pilgrims generally mess together at their own expense, in bodies of about half a dozen. The Mekouam, on agreeing to furnish a beast of burthen, are bound to replace whatever may die on the road, and are therefore obliged to carry with them at least one unloaded camel for every loaded one. It is a general [p.244]practice with the Mekouam to obtain as large sums as possible on account from the pilgrims who engage with them for the journey; they generally agree among each other upon the sum to be demanded, as well as the moment at which it is to be called for: so that if the pilgrims resist the imposition, the Hadj sometimes remains encamped on the same spot for several days, the Mekouam all refusing to proceed, and feeing the Pasha for his connivance at their injustice. On their return to Damascus, if they have already extorted from the pilgrims in the course of the journey more than the amount of their contract, as often happens, they generally declare themselves to be bankrupts, and then the value of a few camels is all that remains to pay their debts to the pilgrims. Those pilgrims who do not engage with the Mekouam, as is generally the case with those who come from Armenia and the borders of the Black sea, perform the journey somewhat cheaper upon their own beasts; but they are ill-treated on the road by the Mekouam, are obliged to march the last in the caravan, to encamp on the worst ground, to fill their water skins the last, and are often even avanized by the Pasha. It is difficult to conceive the wretched condition of the greater part of the Hadjis, and the bad conduct of the troops and Arabs. Thieving and robbery have become general among them, and it is more the want of sleep from fear of being plundered, which causes the death of so many pilgrims, than the fatigues of the journey. The Pasha's troops, particularly those called Howara, which bring up the rear of the caravan, are frequently known to kill the stragglers during the night, in order to strip them of their property. The Pasha, it is true, often punishes such delinquents, and scarcely a day passes without some one being empaled alive; the caravan moves on, and the malefactor is left to be devoured by the birds of prey. The Bedouins are particularly dexterous in pilfering; at night they sometimes assume the [p.245]dress of the Pasha's infantry, and thus introduce themselves unnoticed amongst the camels of the rich Hadjis, when they throw the sleeping owner from his mule or camel, and in the confusion occasioned by the cries of the fallen rider, drive off the beast. The caravan marches daily from Asser, or about three hours after mid- day, during the whole of the night, and till the followingmorning, when the tents are pitched. It never stops but during prayers. The Arabs of Sokhne, Tedmor, and Haouran, together with the Bedouins who let out their camels, precede or follow the caravan at the distance of one day's march. They transport the provisions for the Pasha's troops, of which they steal, and publicly sell at least two-thirds. They march during the day, and encamp in the evening. Their caravan is called El Selma [Arabic]. It passes the great caravan once every two or three days, and then encamps till the latter comes up, when they supply the Pasha's suite with provisions. The cheapest mode of performing the pilgrimage is to agree for a camel with one of those Arabs; but the fatigue is much greater in following the Selma. The last year in which the Hadj quitted Damascus, the pilgrims reached the gates of Medina, but they were not permitted to enter the town, nor to proceed to Mekka; and after an unsuccessful negotiation of seven days, they were obliged to return to Damascus. About two hundred Persian Hadjis only, who were with the caravan, were allowed to pass on paying a large sum of money. Ibn Saoud, the Wahabi chief, had one interview with Abdullah Pasha, accompanied by the whole of his retinue, at Djebel Arafat, near Mekka; they exchanged presents, and parted as friends. Of the seven different pilgrim caravans which unite at Mekka, two only bear the Mahmal, the Egyptian and Syrian; the latter is the first in rank. We left Mezareib towards the evening, and were obliged to proceed EL TORRA. [p. 246]alone along the Hadj route, the fear of the Aeneze rendering every one unwilling to accompany us. In a quarter of an hour we came to a bridge over the Wady Mezareib, called Djissr Kherreyan [Arabic]; to the left, near the road, is the ruined village Kherbet el Ghazale [Arabic], where the Hadj sometimes encamps. It often happens that the caravan does not encamp upon the usual spots, owing to a wish either to accelerate or to prolong the journey. Past the Akabe, near the head of the Red Sea, beyond which the bones of dead camels are the only guides of the pilgrim through the waste of sand, the caravan often loses its way, and overshoots the day's station; in such cases the water-skins are sometimes exhausted, and many pilgrims perish through fatigue and thirst. At one hour from the Mezareib, following the river that issues from the small lake, are several mills: from thence, south-west, begins the district called Ollad Erbed [Arabic]. Half an hour to the right, at some distance from the road, is the village Tel el Shehab [Arabic]; forty minutes, Wady Om El Dhan [Arabic], coming from the eastward, with a bridge over it, built by Djezzar Pasha. In winter this generally proves a very difficult passage to the Hadj, on account of the swampy ground, and the peasants of the adjacent villages are, in consequence, obliged to cover the road with a thick layer of straw. At one hour to the right of the road is the village El Torra [Arabic], on the top of a low chain of hills, forming a circle, through the centre of which lies the road. Here, as in so many other parts of the Haouran, I saw the most luxuriant wild herbage, through which my horse with difficulty made his way. Artificial meadows can hardly be finer than these desert fields: and it is this which renders the Haouran so favourite an abode of the Bedouins. The peasants of Syria are ignorant of the advantages of feeding their cattle with hay; they suffer the superfluous grass to wither away, and in summer and winter feed them on cut straw. In one REMTHA. [p. 247]hour and a quarter we passed Wady Torra; our road lying S.S.E. One hour and three quarters, we came to Wady Shelale [Arabic], a torrent descending from the southern hills, and flowing in a deep bed, along which the road continues for some time. In two hours and three quarters quick walking, we came to Remtha [Arabic], a station of the Hadj; which encamps near two Birkets or reservoirs formed in the bed of the Wady by means of three high walls built across it. A large tribe of Aeneze were watering their cattle as we passed. The surrounding country is hilly: the village is built upon the summits of several hills, and contains about one hundred families. In its neighbourhood are a number of wells of fresh water. We met with a very indifferent reception at the Sheikh's house, for the inhabitants of the villages on the Hadj route exceed all others in fanatism: an old man was particularly severe in his animadversions on Kafers treading the sacred earth which leads to the Kaabe, and the youngsters echoed his insulting language. I found means, however, to show the old man a penknife which I carried in my pocket, and made him a present of it, before he could ask it of me; we then became as great friends as we had been enemies, and his behaviour induced a like change in the others towards me. A penknife worth two shillings overcomes the fanatism of a peasant; increase the present and it will have equal effect upon a townsman; make it a considerable sum, and the Mufti himself will wave all religious scruples. Remtha is the last inhabited village on this side of the Haoun: the greater part of its houses are built against the caverns, with which this calcareous country abounds; so that the rock forms the back of the house, while the other sides are enclosed by a semicircular mud wall whose extremities touch the rock. May 1st.--From Remtha I wished to cross the mountains directly to Djerash, which, I had reason to believe, was not more than seven WADY WARRAN. [p.248]or eight hours distant. It was with difficulty that I found a guide, because I refused to be answerable for the value of the man's horse and gun, in case we should be plundered by Arab robbers. A sum of twelve piastres, however, at last tempted one of the Fellahs, and we rode off late in the morning, our road lying toward the southern mountains, in a direction S. by W. Remtha is on the boundary line of the Haouran; which to the south-eastward runs by Om el Djemal and Szamma, two ruined towns. The district bordering upon the Haouran in this part is called Ezzoueit [Arabic], and stretches across the mountain nearly as far as Djerash. To the E. of Remtha runs a chain of low hills, called Ezzemle [Arabic], extending towards the S.E. nearly to Kalaat Mefrek, a ruined castle situated on the eastern extremity of Djebel Zoueit. At one hour and a quarter, brisk walking of our horses, we saw to the right, or west, about one hour distant, the ruins of a town called Eszereikh [Arabic], at the foot of Djebel Beni Obeyd. From thence the village of Hossn bore W. by S. The Kalaat el Mefrek, or, as the Arabs call it, El Ferka, lay in a S.E. direction, distant about three hours. About one hour and a half distant, in a S.W. direction, is the ruined village of Remeith [Arabic], with several large columns lying on the ground. At two hours and a half from Remtha we passed a Tel, with the ruined village Dehama [Arabic], on its top; near the foot-way lay several broken shafts of columns. At three hours, on reaching the Wady Warran [Arabic], our route began to ascend. The Wady, which descends from the mountain Zoueit, was at this time dry. Three hours and a quarter brought us to three fine Doric columns lying on the ground. We met several Arabs, but they did not venture to attack three men armed with musquets, and gave us a friendly Salam Aleykum. We now ascended the mountain, which is calcareous with flint, in following the windings of the Wady. Wild pistachio trees abound; SOUF. [p.249]higher up oaks become more frequent, and the forest thickens; near the top, which we reached in five hours and a quarter from Remtha, are some remains of the foundations of ancient buildings. The Djebel Kafkafa [Arabic], as this summit is called, commands a beautiful view over the plain of Djerash and the neighbouring mountains of Zerka and Belka. The ruins of Djerash, which were distinctly seen, and the highest points of Djebel Belka behind them, bore S.S.W.; the highest points of Djebel Zerka S. The district of Zoueit terminates at Djebel Kafkafa; and the country called El Moerad [Arabic], lying S.W. and W. commences: to the S. the Zoueit runs parallel with the Moerad as far as Wady Zerka. On gaining Djebel Kafkafa, our guide discovered that he had gone astray, for it was not our intention, on setting out, to make directly for Djerash, but to rest for the night in the village of Souf, and from thence to visit the ruins on the following morning. We therefore turned more to the westward on quitting the Djebel, and fell in with the road, which continued through a thick wood, till we saw Souf, an hour and a half distant before us, bearing W.S.W. At the end of seven hours and a quarter from Remtha, we reached the spring of Souf, and allayed our thirst, for we had been without water the whole day; there being very few springs in the Djebel Zoueit; though it abounds in luxuriant pasture, and is full of hares and partridges. In seven hours and a half we reached the village of Souf [Arabic], where I alighted, at the house of the Sheikh El Dendel, an honest and hospitable man. Souf is situated on the declivity of the mountain, on the western side of a Wady called El Deir, the stream of which, called also El Kerouan [Arabic], is supplied from three copious springs that issue from under a rock near the village, at a short distance from each [p.250]other. They bear the names of Ain el Faouar [Arabic], Ain el Meghaseb [Arabic], and Ain el Keykabe [Arabic], and with their united waters the narrow plain of Djerash is irrigated. Souf is a village with about forty families, whose principal riches are some olive plantations on the sides of Wady Deir: it is the chief village in the country called Moerad [Arabic], in which the following are also situated: Ettekitte [Arabic], one hour distant from Djerash, and abandoned last year; Bourma [Arabic]; Hamtha [Arabic]; Djezaze [Arabic]; and Debein [Arabic]. It is customary in these mountains for every house to manufacture gunpowder as well for its own consumption, as for sale to the neighbouring Arabs. In every house which I entered I saw a large mortar, which was continually in motion, even when a fire was kindled in the midst of the room: the powder is formed of one part of sulphur, five and a half parts of saltpetre, and one part of the charcoal of the poplar tree [Arabic]; it is not very good, but serves very well the purposes of this people. I passed a most unpleasant night here. It is the custom, for the sake of saving lamp-oil, to light every evening a large fire, for the supply of which, there is plenty of dry wood in the neighbouring mountain. The room where I lodged was thus soon filled with smoke, which had no other issue than a small door, and even this was shut to keep out the cattle. The peasants seemed to delight in the heat thus occasioned; they took off all their clothes except the Abba, and sat smoaking and laughing till midnight; I wished to imitate them, but did not dare to strip, for fear of shewing the leathern girdle containing my money, which I wore under my clothes. Towards the morning the fire went out, and the company was asleep: I then opened the door to let the smoke out, and slept a few hours under the influence of the morning breeze. [p.251]There is an ancient ruined square building at Souf, with several broken columns. From one of them I copied the following inscription, written in very small characters: [Greek]. Upon a pillar near it is a fine inscription, but now quite illegible. At the spring of Ayn Keykebe, which is covered by a small arched building, I copied some characters from a broken stone lying in the water; the following were the ending of the inscription: [Greek]. Near the sources are numerous caverns, in which the poor families of Souf reside. May 2d.--Being impatient to reach Djerash, I left Souf early in the morning, taking with me a guide, who was afterwards to have conducted me towards Szalt, in the Djebel Belka. Our road lay along the mountain on the west side of Wady Deir. On the E. side of the wady, half an hour from Souf, is the ruined place called Kherbet Mekbela [Arabic]. Three quarters of an hour from Souf, in our road, and just over the ruined city of Djerash, are the ruins called Kherbet el Deir, with a Turkish chapel named Mezar Abou Beker. Our road lay S.S.E. In one hour we passed, n the declivity of the mountain, descending towards Djerash, a place which I supposed to have been the burying place of DJERASH. [p.252]Djerash. I counted upwards of fifty sarcophagi, and there were many more; they are formed of the calcareous stone with which the Zoueit and Moerad mountains are composed. Some of them are sunk to a level with the surface of the ground, which is very rocky; others appear to have been removed from their original position. The largest was ten spans in length, and three and a half in breadth; but the greater part are much smaller, and are not even large enough to contain the corpse of a full grown person. On the sides of a few of them are sculptured ornaments in bas-relief, as festoons, genii, &c. but in a mutilated state, and not remarkable for beauty of execution; I saw only one that was elegantly wrought. The whole of these sarcophagi had flat covers, a few of which still remain. Upon one of the largest of the sarcophagi, and which is one of those first met with in going from Souf, is a long inscription, but so mutilated as to be almost wholly illegible. In the neighbourhood are several heaps of large square stones, the remains of some building. In an hour and a half from Souf we reached the city walls of Djerash, or Kerash, [Arabic], the Dj being the Bedouin pronunciation of the letter [Arabic], which in the language of the city corresponds with our K. Djerash was built upon an elevated plain in the mountains of Moerad, on uneven ground, on both sides of Wady Deir, which, besides the name of Kerouan [Arabic], bears also that of Seil Djerash [Arabic], or the river of Djerash. This river empties itself, at a short distance from the town, into the Wady Zerka [Arabic], probably the Jabock of the ancients. The principal part of the city stands on the right bank of the river, where the surface is more level than on the opposite side, although the right bank is steeper than the other. The present ruins prove the magnitude and importance of the ancient city; and the modern name leads to the belief that it was the ancient Gerasa, one of the principal DJERASH. [p.253]towns of the Decapolis, although this position does not at all agree with that given to Gerasa from the ancient authorities by D'Anville, who places it to the north-east of the lake of Tiberias, forty miles to the north-westward of this place. The ruins are nearly an hour and a quarter in circumference, following insulated fragments of the walls, which were upwards of eight feet in thickness, and built of square hewn stones of middling size; I could not judge of their original heighth, as the upper parts were every where demolished. I shall now enumerate the principal curiosities of Djerash, agreeably to the annexed plan, which may give a general idea of the whole; for its accuracy in regard to distances I do not mean to vouch, as I had, at most, only four hours to make my survey, and it was with great difficulty that I could persuade my three companions to wait so long for me. None of them would accompany me through the ruins, on account of their fear of the Bedouins, who are in the habit of visiting this Wady, they therefore concealed themselves beneath the trees that overshade the river. The first object that strikes the attention in coming from Souf, after passing the town-wall, is a temple (a). Its main body consists of an oblong square, the interior of which is about twenty-five paces in length, and eighteen in breadth. A double row, of six columns in each row, adorned the front of the temple; of the first row five columns are yet standing, of the second, four; and on each side of the temple there remains one column belonging to the single row of pillars that surrounded the temple on every side except the front. Of these eleven columns nine are entire, and two are without capitals. Their style of architecture is much superior to that of the great colonnade hereafter to be mentioned, and seems to belong to the best period of the Corinthian order, their capitals being beautifully ornamented with the acanthus leaves. The shafts are composed of five or six pieces, and are seven spans and a half in diameter, [p.254]and thirty-five to forty feet in heighth. I was unable to ascertain the number of columns in the flanks of the peristyle. The temple stands upon an artificial terrace elevated five or six feet above the ground. The interior of the temple is choaked with the ruins of the roof; a part of the front wall of the cella has fallen down; but the three other sides are entire. The walls are wthout ornament; on the interior of each of the two side walls, and about mid-way from the floor, are six niches, of an oblong shape, and quite plain: in the back wall, opposite to the door, is a vaulted recess, with a small dark chamber on each side. The upper part of a niche is visible on the exterior of the remains of the front wall, with some trifling but elegantly sculptured ornaments. This ruin stands within a peribolus or large area surrounded by a double row of columns. The whole edifice seems to have been superior in taste and magnificence to every public building of this kind in Syria, the temple of the Sun at Palmyra excepted. On the two sides marked (x) of the colonnade of the peribolus many bases and broken shafts of the inner row of columns are yet standing; on the two other sides there are but few; these columns are three spans and a half in diameter. On the long side (x) forty columns may be traced to have stood, at only three paces distant from each other; on the opposite long side one perfect column is yet standing; on the short side (x) are three in the outer row without their capitals. The corner columns of this peribolus were double, and in the shape of a heart, as in the annexed figure. Of the outer row of the peribolus very little remains; indeed it may be doubted whether any outer row ever existed opposite to the back of the temple, where the ground is rocky and uneven. The number of columns which originally adorned the temple and its area was not less than two hundred or two hundred and fifty. Proceeding westwards from the above described ruin, through [p.255]the remains of private habitations, at about two hundred yards distant from it are the remains of a small temple (b), with three Corinthian pillars still standing. A street, still paved in some places, leads from thence south-westwards, to a spot where several small broken columns are lying. Turning from thence to the south-east, I entered a street (c) adorned with a colonnade on either side; about thirty broken shafts are yet standing, and two entire columns, but without their capitals. On the other side of the street, opposite to them, are five columns, with their capitals and entablatures. These columns are rather small, without pedestals, of different sizes, the highest being about fifteen feet, and in a bad taste. Originally there must have been about fifty pillars in this street; a little farther on to the south-east this street crosses the principal street of the town; and where the two streets meet, are four large cubical masses of stone (d), each occupying one of the angles of the intersection, similar to those which I saw at Shohba, and intended, perhaps, to imitate the beautiful pedestals in the middle of the great portico at Palmyra. These cubes are about seven feet high, and about eighteen spans broad; on each side of them is a small niche; three are entire, and the fourth is in ruins. They may have served as pedestals for statues, or, like those at Palmyra, may have supported a small dome upon columns, under which stood a statue. I endeavoured to examine the tops of the cubes, but they are all thickly overgrown with shrubs, which it was not in my power to clear away. There were no traces whatever of statues having stood upon those which I saw at Shohba. Following the great street, marked (e), south-westwards, I came again to the remains of columns on both sides: these were much larger than the former, and the street, of which some parts of the pavement yet remain, was much broader than that marked (c). On the right hand side of the street stand seventeen Corinthian [p.256]columns, sixteen of which are united by their entablature; they vary in size, and do not correspond in height either with those opposite, to them or with those in the same line; a circumstance which, added to the style of the capitals, seems to prove that the long street is a patch-work, built at different periods, and of less ancient construction than the temple. Some of the columns are as high as thirty feet, others twenty-five; the shortest I estimated at twenty feet. Their entablatures are slightly ornamented with sculptured bas-reliefs. Where a high column stands near a shorter one the architrave over the latter reposes upon a projecting bracket worked into the shaft of the higher one. Next comes, following the street in the same S.W. direction, on the right, one insulated column; and three large columns with their entablature, joined to four shorter ones, in the way just described; then two columns, and five, and two, all with their entablatures; making, in the whole, on the right side of the street, counting from the cubes, thirty-four columns, yet standing. On the left, opposite the three large ones joined to the four smaller, are five columns of middling size, with their entablatures, and a single large one; but the greater number of the columns on this side have fallen, and are lying on the ground. In some places behind the colonnade on the right, are low apartments, some of which are vaulted, and appear to have been shops. They are similar to those which I saw in the long street at Soueida, in the mountain of the Druses.[See page 81.] The long street just described terminates in a large open space (f) enclosed by a magnificent semicircle of columns in a single row; fifty- seven columns are yet standing; originally there may have been about eighty. To the right, on entering the forum, are four, and then twenty- one, united by their entablatures. To the [p.257]left, five, seven, and twenty, also with entablatures; the latter twenty are taller than the others, the lower ground on which they stand having required an increased height of column in order to place the whole entablature of the semicircle on the same level. The pillars near the entrance are about fifteen feet in height, and one foot and a half in diameter: they are all of the Ionic order, and thus they differ from all the other columns remaining in the city. The radius of the semicircle, in following the direction of the long street, was one hundred and five paces. At the end of the semicircle, opposite to the long street, are several basins, which seem to have been reservoirs of water, and remains of an aqueduct are still visible, which probably supplied them. To the right and left are some low arched chambers. From this spot the ground rises, and on mounting a low but steep hill before me, I found on its top the remains of a beautiful temple (g), commanding a view over the greater part of the town. The front of the temple does not stand directly opposite to the long street and the forum, but declines somewhat to the northward. Like the temple first described, it was adorned with a Corinthian peristyle, of which one column only remains, at the south angle. In front was a double row of columns, with eight, as I conjecture, in each row. They seem to have been thrown down by an earthquake, and many of them are now lying on the declivity of the hill, in the same order in which they originally stood. They are six spans and a half in diameter, and their capitals appeared to me of a still finer execution than those of the great temple. I am unable to judge of the number of columns on the long sides of the peristyle: their broken shafts lie about in immense heaps. On every side of the temple except the front, there appears to have been a large ditch round the temple. Of the cella the walls only remain, the roof, entrance, and back wall having [p.258]fallen down. The interior of the cella is thirty paces in length, and twenty-four in breadth; the walls within are in a better state than those of the temple (a), which are much impaired. On the outside of each of the two long walls, was a row of six niches, similar to those within the temple (a). On entering the temple by the front door, I found on the right a side door, leading towards a large theatre (h), on the side of the hill, and at about sixty paces distant from the temple. It fronts the town, so that the spectators seated upon the highest row of benches, enjoyed the prospect of all its principal buildings and quarters. There are twenty- eight rows of seats, upwards of two feet in breadth: between the sixteenth and seventeenth rows, reckoning from the top, a tier of eight boxes or small apartments intervenes, each separated from the other by a thick wall. The uppermost row of benches is about one hundred and twenty paces in circuit. In three different places are small narrow staircases opening into the rows, to facilitate the ingress or egress of the spectators. In front, the theatre is closed by a proscenium or wall, about forty paces in length, embellished within by five richly decorated niches, connected with each other by a line of middling sized columns; of which two remain with their entablatures, and six without their capitals. Within these was another parallel range of columns, of which five are yet standing, with their entablatures. The entrance to the theatre, was by steps between the two ends of the proscenium and the two extremities of the semicircle. Near the proscenium the steps on both sides are ruined, but in the other parts they are perfect. The town wall runs very near the back of the theatre. On this side of the town there are no other ruins of any consequence, excepting the south-west gate, which is about five minutes walk from the semicircle of columns: it is a fine arch, and, apparently, [p.259] in perfect preservation, with a smaller one on each side adorned with several pilasters. I did not examine it closely; meaning to return to it in taking a review of what I had already seen, but my guides were so tired with waiting, that they positively refused to expose their persons longer to danger, and walked off, leaving me the alternative of remaining alone in this desolate spot, or of abandoning the hope of correcting my notes by a second examination of the ruins. Returning from the theatre, through the long street, towards the four cubic pedestals, I continued from thence in a straight line along the main street (l), the pavement of which is preserved in several places. On the right hand, were first seven columns, having their entablatures; and farther on, to the left, seven others, also with their entablatures; then, on the right, three large columns without entablatures, but with pedestals, which none of those already mentioned have; opposite to the latter, on the left hand side of the street, are two insulated columns. The three large columns are equal in size to those of the peristyle of the temple (a); they stand in the same line with the colonnade of the street, and belonged to a small building (m), of the body of which nothing remains except the circular back wall, containing several niches, almost in complete ruins. On a broken pedestal lying on the ground between two of the columns of this building, is the following inscription: [Greek]. There is another stone with an inscription upon it; but I could make nothing of it. The street is here choaked up with fragments of columns. Close to the three columns stands a single one, and [p.260] at a short distance further, to the left, is a large gateway (n), leading up to the temple (a), which is situated on considerably higher ground, and is not visible from the street. On either side of the gateway are niches; and a wall, built of middling sized square stones, which runs for some distance, parallel with the street. Among a heap of stones lying under the gate I copied the following inscriptions: From a broken stone: [Greek]. The letters of the word OPNHA are five inches in length. Upon another broken stone near it was this: [Greek]. And close to the latter, upon the edge of a large stone, this: [Greek]. Continuing along the main street, I came at (q), to a single column, and then to two with entablatures, on the right; opposite to them, on the left, are three single columns. Beyond the latter, for one hundred paces, all the columns have fallen; I then came to an open rotunda (r), with four entrances; around the inside of its wall are projecting pedestals for statues; the entraces on the right [p.261]and left, conduct into a street running at right angles to the main street. I followed this cross street to my left, and found on the right hand side of it three short Ionic pillars with their entablatures, close to the rotunda. Proceeding in the same direction I soon reached a quadrangle (s) of fine large Corinthian columns, the handsomest in the town, next to those of the temple. To the right stand four with their entablatures, and one single; formerly they were six in number, the fifth is the deficient one: the first and sixth are heart-shaped, like those in the area of the temple (a.) They are composed of more than a dozen frusta, and what is remarkable in a place where stone is so abundant, each frustum consists of two pieces; opposite to the two first columns of the row just described are two columns with their entablatures. This colonnade stands in front of a theatre (t), to which it evidently formed an appendage. This theatre is not calculated to hold so many spectators as the one already described though its area is considerably larger, being from forty-five to fifty paces in diameter. It has sixteen rows of benches, with a tier of six boxes intervening between the tenth and eleventh rows, reckoning from the top. Between every two boxes is a niche, forming a very elegant ornament. This theatre was evidently destined for purposes different from the other, probably for combats of wild beasts, &c.; The area below the benches is more extensive, and there is a suite of dark arched chambers under the lowest row of seats, opening into the area near the chief entrance of the theatre, which is from the south-east, in the direction by which I entered the colonnade in front of the theatre. There seems formerly to have been a wall across the diameter of the semi-circle, and between this wall and the colonnade there is on both sides a short wall, with a large niche or apartment in it; the colonnade stands upon lower ground than the theatre. Having returned from hence to the rotunda in [p.262]the long street, I followed it along the colonnade (v) and found the greater number of the columns to have Ionic capitals. On the right side are only two small columns, with their entablatures; to the left, are eight, two, three, two, four, and again three, each set with their entablatures; close to the ruined town-gate (w), near the bank of the river, is a single column. I shall now describe the ancient buildings, which I observed on the south-west side of the long street. The street which leads from the theatre across the rotunda (r) is prolonged from thence towards the side of the river: it was lined with columns, of which two only, with their entablatures, remain, and it terminates at a vast edifice (u), situated over the river, and extending along its banks forty or fifty paces; it is divided into many apartments, the greater part of which have arched roofs; some of them are very lofty. I now returned towards the gateway (n), and found, opposite to it, and to the great temple (a), a second cross street running towards the river; it had originally a colonnade, but none of the columns are now standing; it terminates, at about thirty paces from the main street, in a gate, through which I entered into a long quadrangle of columns, where, on the right hand, four, and then three columns, with their entablatures, are still standing. At the end of this place, are the remains of a circular building fronting a bridge (p) across the river: this bridge is of steep ascent, owing to the northern banks being considerably higher than the southern, and it is no longer passable. Having returned to the four cubical pedestals (d), I followed to the left the continuation of the street (c), by which I had first approached those pedestals, and which having crossed the main street at the pedestals, leads south-westward to the river, where it terminated at a broad flight of steps, leading down to the bridge (k); of the colonnade of this street (i), some broken shafts [p.263]only are standing. The bridge is fourteen feet wide, with a high centre arch and two lower ones; it is built with great solidity, and its pavement is exactly of the same construction as that which I observed in the streets of Shohba;[See page 70.] its centre is broken down. An aqueduct is traced from the side of the building (u), passing near the two bridges, towards the southern gate of the town. Such weremy observations of the ruins on the right bank of the Wady. On the left bank little else remains than heaps of ruins of private habitations, and numerous fragments of columns. I must confess, however, that I did not examine the part of the town towards the south gate; but I have reason to believe, from the view which I had of it while on the temple hill, that nothing of consequence, either as to buildings or columns, is there to be met with. The only buildings which I observed to the left of the river are near to it, upon a narrow plain which stretches along its banks. Nearly opposite to the temple (m), are the remains of a building (y) similar in construction to that marked (u), on the right bank. I supposed it to be a bath; a stream of water descends from a spring in the mountain, and after flowing through this division of the town, passes this building, and empties itself into the river. The arched rooms of the building (y) are loftier than those in (u). Near the former stand four columns; two insulated, and two with entablatures; also two broken shafts, the only fluted ones that I saw in the city. On the left bank of the river, nearly opposite to the town-gate (w), is a ruined building (x), which appears to have been a small temple; a single column is standing amidst a heap of broken ones. Between this spot and the building (y) are the remains of an aqueduct. Besides the one hundred and ninety columns, or thereabouts, [p.264]which I have enumerated in the above description, there are upwards of one hundred half columns also standing. I did not see any marks of the frusta of the columns having been joined by iron hooks, as at Palmyra. Of the private habitations of the city there is none in a state of preservation, but the whole of the area within the walls is covered with their ruins. The stone with which Djerash is built is calcareous, of considerable hardness, and the same as the rock of the neighbouring mountains; I did not observe any other stone to have been employed, and it is matter of surprise that no granite columns should be found here, as they abound in Syrian cities of much less note and magnificence than Djerash. It had been my intention to proceed from Djerash to the village of Djezaze, in my way to the castle of Szalt in the mountains of Belka, from whence I hoped to be able to visit Amman. After many fruitless enquiries for a guide, a man of Souf at last offered to conduct me to Szalt, and he had accompanied us as far as Djerash; but when, after having surveyed the ruins, I rejoined my companions, he had changed his mind, and insisted on returning immediately to Souf; this was occasioned by his fear of the Arabs Beni Szakher, who had for sometime past been at war with the Arabs of Djebel Belka and the government of Damascus, and who were now extending their plundering incursions all over the mountain. The name of the Beni Szakher is generally dreaded in these parts; and the greater or less facility with which the traveller can visit them, depends entirely upon the good or bad terms existing between those Arabs and the Pasha; if they are friends, one of the tribe may easily be found to serve as a guide; but when they are enemies, the traveller is exposed to the danger of being stripped; and, if the animosity of the two parties is very great, of even being murdered. The Mutsellim of Damascus had given me letters to the chief of the AATYL. [p.265]Arabs El Belka, and to the commander of the Pasha's cavalry, who had been sent to assist them against the Beni Szakher. The allies were encamped in the neighbourhood of Kalaat el Zerka, while the Beni Szakher had collected their forces at Amman itself, a place still famous for the abundance of its waters. Under these circumstances, I determined to proceed first to Szalt, hoping that I might from thence attain Amman more easily, as the inhabitants of Szalt, who are always more or less rebellious towards the government of Damascus, are generally on friendly terms with the Bedouins. The fears of my guide, however, prevented me from executing this plan, and I was most reluctantly obliged to return to Souf, for it would have been madness to proceed alone. We returned to Souf, not by the road over the mountain, but in following the course of the rivulet in the valley El Deir, which we reascended up to the village; we found the greater part of the narrow plain in the valley sown with wheat and barley by the people of Souf. Half an hour from the town, in the Wady, are the remains of a large reservoir for water, with some ruined buildings near it. This is a most romantic spot; large oak and walnut trees overshade the stream, which higher up flows over a rocky bed; nearer the village are some olive plantations in the Wady. We reached Souf in two hours from Djerash. I enquired in vain for a guide to Szalt; the return of the man who had engaged to conduct me made the others equally cautious, and nobody would accept of the fifteen piastres which I offered. I thought in unnecessary, therefore, to stop any longer at Souf, and left it the same evening, in order to visit Djebel Adjeloun. Our road lay W.N.W. up a mountain, through a thick forest of oak trees. In three quarters of an hour from Souf we reached the summit of the mountain, which forms the frontier between the district of Moerad and the Djebel Adjeloun. This is the thickest forest I had yet seen in RABBAD. [p.266]Syria, where the term forest ([Arabic] or [Arabic]) is often applied to places in which the trees grow at twenty paces from each other. In an hour and a half we came to the village Ain Djenne [Arabic], in a fertile valley called Wady Djenne, at the extremity of which several springs issue from under the rock. May 3d.--There are several christian families at Ain Djenne. In the neighbouring mountain are numerous caverns; and distant half an hour, is the ruined village of Mar Elias. When enquiring for ruins, which might answer to those of Capitolias, I had been referred to this place, no person in these mountains having knowledge of any other ruins. An olive plantation furnishes the principal means of subsistence to the eighty families who inhabit the village of Ain Djenne. We set out early in the morning, and descended the valley towards Adjeloun [Arabic], which has given its name to the district: it is built in a narrow passage on both sides of the rivulet of Djenne, and contains nothing remarkable except a fine ancient mosque. I left my horse here, and took a man of the village to accompany me to the castle of Rabbad [Arabic], which stands on the top of a mountain three quarters of an hour distant from Adjeloun. To the left of the road, at a short distance, is the village Kefrandjy. From Ain Djenne Kalaat el Rabbad bears W. by N.; it is the residence of the chief of the district of Adjeloun. The house of Barekat, in whom this authority has for many years resided, had lately been quarrelling about it among themselves; the chief, Youssef el Barekat, had been besieged for several months in the castle; he was now gone to the Aga of Tabaria, to engage him in his interests; and his family were left in the castle with strict orders not to let any unknown persons enter it, and to keep the gate secured. I had letters of recommendation to Youssef from the Mutsellim of Damascus; when I arrived at the castle-gate, all the inhabitants OBEID. [p.267]assembled upon the wall, to enquire who I was, and what I wanted. I explained to them the nature of my visit, and shewed them the Mutsellim's letter, upon which they opened the iron gate, but continued to entertain great suspicions of me until a man who could read having been sent for, my letter was read aloud; all the family then vied in civilities towards me, especially when I told them that I intended to proceed to Tabaria. Kalaat Er-Rabbad is very strong, and, as appears from several Arabic inscriptions, was built by Sultan Szelah-eddyn [Arabic]; its date is, therefore, that of the Crusades, and the same as that of many castles in other parts of Syria, which owe their origin to the vigilance, and prudence of that monarch; I saw nothing particularly worth notice in it; its thick walls, arched passages, and small bastions, are common to all the castles of the middle ages. It has several wells; but on the outside, it is distinguished by the deep and broad ditch which surrounds it, and which has been excavated at immense labour in the rock itself upon which the castle stands. Rabbad is two hours distant from the Ghor, or valley of the river Jordan, over which, as well as the neighbouring mountains, it commands a fine prospect. It is now inhabited by about forty persons, of the great family of El Barekat. I returned from Kalaat Rabbad to Adjeloun, where I rejoined my companions, and after mid-day set out for El Hossn, the principal village in the district of Beni Obeid. Our road lay up the mountain, in the narrow Wady Teis. At half an hour from Adjeloun we passed the spring called Ain Teis [Arabic]. At two hours the district of Djebel Adjeloun terminates, and that of Obeid begins. The country is for the greater part woody, and here the inhabitants collect considerable quantities of galls. Our road lay N.E.; the summits of the mountain bear the name El Meseidjed [Arabic]. At three hours and a half is a Birket of rain-water, from whence the EL HOSSN. [p.268]road descends over barren hills towards El Hossn, distant five hours and a quarter from Adjeloun. El Hossn is the principal village of the district called Beni Obeid; it stands on the declivity of the mountain, and is inhabited by upwards of one hundred families, of which about twenty-five are Greek Christians, under the jurisdiction of the patriarch of Jerusalem. I saw nothing remarkable here but a number of wells cut out of the rock. I happened to alight at the same house where M. Seetzen had been detained for eleven days, by bad weather; his hospitable old landlord, Abdullah el Ghanem, made many enquiries after him. May 4th.--I found very bad company at El Hossn. It is usual for the Pasha of Damascus to send annually one of the principal officers of his government to visit the southern provinces of the Pashalik, to exact the arrears of the Miri, and to levy new extortions. The Aga of Tabaria, who was invested this year with the office, had just arrived in the village with a suite of one hundred and fifty horsemen, whom he had quartered upon the peasants; my landlord had seven men and fifteen horses for his share, and although he killed a sheep, and boiled about twenty pounds of rice, for supper, yet the two officers of the party in his house were continually asking for more, spoiled all his furniture, and, in fact, acted worse than an enemy would have done. It is to avoid vexations of this kind that the peasants abandon the villages most exposed to such visits. We left Hossn late in the morning and proceeded to Erbad [Arabic], one hour and a quarter N.N.E. from the former. Our road lay over the plain. Erbad is the chief place in the district of that name, likewise called the district of Beni Djohma [Arabic], or of Bottein [Arabic], from the Sheikh's being of the family of Bottein. The names of Beni Obeid, and Beni Djohma, are probably derived HEBRAS. [p.269]from Arab tribes which anciently settled here; but nobody could tell me the origin of these appellations. The inhabitants do not pretend to be descendants of those tribes, but say that these were their dwelling places from time immemorial. The castle of Erbad stands upon a low hill, at the foot of which lies the village. The calcareous rock which extends through Zoueit, Moerad, Adjeloun, and Beni Obeid, begins here to give way to the black Haouran stone, with which all the houses of Erbad are built, as well as the miserable modern walls of the castle. A large ancient well built reservoir is the only curiosity of this place; around it lay several handsome sarcophagi, of the same kind of rock, with some sculptured bas- reliefs upon them. Part of the suite of the Aga of Tabaria, consisting of Moggrebyns, was quartered at Erbad. From hence I wished to visit the ruins of Beit el Ras [Arabic], which are upon a hill at about one hour and a half distant. I was told that the ruins were of large extent, that there were no columns standing, but that large ones were lying upon the ground. From Beit el Ras I intended again to cross the mountain in order to see the ruins of Om Keis, and from thence to visit the Djolan. We were shewn the road from Erbad, but went astray, and did not reach Beit el Ras. One hour and a half N. by W. of Erbad we passed the village Merou [Arabic]; from thence we travelled W.N.W. to El Hereimy [Arabic], two hours from Erbad; and from El Hereimy N.N.W. to Hebras [Arabic], three hours from Erbad. Hebras is the principal village in the district of Kefarat, and one of the largest in these countries. It is inhabited by many Greek Christian families. One hour and a half to the N.E. of it are the ruins of Abil [Arabic], the ancient Abila, one of the towns of the Decapolis; neither buildings nor columns remain standing; but I was told that there are fragments of columns of a very large size. OM KEIS. [p.270]May 5th.--I took a guide from hence to shew me to Om Keis, which, I was told, was inhabited by several families. I there intended to pass the night, and to proceed the next day to Feik, a village on the E. side of the lake of Tabaria. In half an hour from Hebras we passed the spring Ain el Terab [Arabic], in a Wady, which farther to the north-westward joins the Wady Szamma, and still lower down unites with the Wady Sheriat el Mandhour. At one hour and a quarter to our right was the village Obder [Arabic], on the banks of Wady Szamma, which runs in a deep ravine, and half an hour farther north-west, the village Szamma [Arabic]. The inhabitants of the above villages cultivate gardens of fruit trees and all kinds of vegetables on the side of the rivulet. The villages belong to the district of Kefarat. To the left of our route extends a country full of Wadys, called the district of Serou [Arabic], to the southward of which begins that of Wostye [Arabic]. At one hour and a half to our left, distant half an hour, we saw, in the Serou, the village Faour [Arabic]. Between Hebras and Szamma begins the Wady el Arab [Arabic], which continued to the left parallel with our route; it is a fertile valley, in which the Arabs Kelab and others cultivate a few fields. There are several mills on the water-side. Our route lay W. by N. and W.N.W. across the Kefarat, which is uneven ground, rising towards the west, and is intersected by many Wadys. At the end of three hours and a quarter we reached Om Keis [Arabic]. Om Keis is the last village to the west, in the district of Kefarat; it is situated near the crest of the chain of mountains, which bound the valley of the lake of Tabaria and Jordan on the east. The S. end of the lake bears N.W. To the N. of it, one hour, is the deep Wady called Sheriat el Mandhour, which is, beyond a doubt, the Hieromax of the Greeks and Jarmouk of the Israelites. To the south, at the same distance, flows the Wady el Arab, [p.271]which joins the Sheriat in the valley of El Ghor , not far from the junction of the latter with the Jordan. I am doubtful to what ancient city the ruins of Om Keis are to be ascribed.[It was probably Gamala, which Josephus describes as standing upon a mountain bordered by precipices. Gadara appears from the authorities of Pliny and Jerom to have been at the warm baths, mentioned below, on the north side of the Sheriat el Mandhour; Gadara Hieromiace praefluente. Plin. Nat. Hist. l.i.c.18. Gadara, urbs trans Jordanem contra Scythopolin et Tiberiadem, ad orientalem plagam, sita in monte, ad cujns radices aquae calidae erumpunt, balneis super aedificatis,--Hieron. in Topicis.] At Om Keis the remains of antiquity are very mutilated. The ancient town was situated round a hill, which is the highest point in the neighbourhood. To the east of the hill are a great number of caverns in the calcareous rock, some of which have been enlarged and rendered habitable. Others have been used as sepulchral caves. Great numbers of sarcophagi are lying about in this direction: they are all of black stone, which must have been transported from the banks of the river below: the dimensions of the largest are nine spans in length by three in breadth; they are ornamented with bas-reliefs of genii, festoons, wreaths of flowers, and some with busts, but very few of them are of elegant wor[k]manship. I counted upwards of seventy on the declivity of the hill. On the summit of the hill are heaps of wrought stones, but no remains of any important building: on its west and north sides are the remains of two large theatres, built entirely of black stone. That on the W. side is in better preservation than the other, although more ruined than the theatres at Djerash. The walls and the greater part of the seats yet remain; a tier of boxes intervenes between the rows of seats, as at Djerash, and there are deep vaulted apartments beneath the seats. There are no remains of columns in front of either theatre. The theatre on the north side of the hill, which is in a very dilapidated state, is remarkable for its great depth, [p.272]caused by its being built on a part of the steepest declivity of the hill; its uppermost row of seats is at least forty feet higher than the lowest; the area below the seats is comparatively very small. From these two theatres the principal part of the town appears to have extended westwards, over an even piece of ground at the foot of the hill; its length from the hill was at least half an hour. Nothing is at present standing; but there are immense heaps of cut stones, columns, &c. dispersed over the plain. A long street, running westward, of which the ancient pavement still exists in most parts, seems to have been the principal street of the town. On both sides there are vast quantities of shafts of columns. At a spot where a heap of large Corinthian pillars lay, a temple appears to have stood. I here saw the base of a large column of gray granite. The town terminates in a narrow point, where a large solid building with many columns seems to have stood. With the exception of the theatres, the buildings of the city were all constructed of the calcareous stone which constitutes the rock of every part of the country which I saw between Wady Zerka SHERIAT EL MANDHOUR. [p.273]and Wady Sheriat. In Djebel Adjeloun, Moerad, and Beni Obeid, none of the basalt or black stone is met with; but in some parts of El Kefarat, in our way from Hebras to Om Keis, I saw alternate layers of calcareous and basaltic rock, with thin strata of flint. The habitations of Om Keis are, for the greater part, caverns. There is no water but what is collected in reservoirs during rains; these were quite dried up, which was the occasion, perhaps, of the place having been abandoned, for we found not a single inhabitant. My guide being ignorant of the road to Feik, wished to return to Hebras; and I was hesitating what to do, when we were met by some peasants of Remtha, in the Haouran, who were in their way to the Ghor, to purchase new barley, of which grain the harvest had already begun in the hot climate of that valley. I joined their little caravan. We continued, for about half an hour from Om Keis, upon the high plain, and then descended the mountains, the western declivity of which is entirely basaltic. At the end of two hours from Om Keis, we reached the banks of the Sheriat el Mandhour, or Sheriat el Menadhere (Arabic] or Arabic) which we passed at a ford. This river takes the additional name of the Arabs who live upon its banks, to distinguish it from the Sheriat el Kebir (Great Sheriat), by which the Jordan is known. The Sheriat el Menadhere is formed by the united streams of the Nahr Rokad [Arabic], which flows from near Ain Shakhab, through the eastern parts of Djolan; of the Hereir, whose source is in the swampy ground near Tel Dilly, on the Hadj route, between Shemskein and El Szannamein: of the Budje, which comes from Mezareib, and after its junction with the Hereir, is called Aweired [Arabic], and of the Wady Hamy Sakkar, besides several other smaller Wadys. The name of Sheriat, is first applied to the united streams near Szamme. From thence it flows in a deep bed of tufwacke; and its banks are cultivated by the Arabs Menadhere (sing. Mandhour), who live under VALLEY OF THE GHOR. [p.274]tents, and remove from place to place, but without quitting the banks of the river. They sow wheat and barley, and cultivate pomegranates, lemons, grapes, and many kinds of fruit and vegetables, which they sell in the villages of the Haouran and Djolan. Further to the west the Wady becomes so narrow as to leave no space between the edge of the stream, and the precipices on both sides. It issues from the mountain not far from the south end of the lake of Tabaria, and about one hour lower down is joined by the Wady el Arab; it then empties itself into the Jordan, called Sheriat el Kebir, at two hours distant from the lake; D'Anville is therefore wrong in making it flow into the lake itself. The river is full of fish, and in the Wady its course is very rapid. The shrub called by the Arabs Defle [Arabic], grows on its banks; it has a red flower, and according to the Arabs is poisonous to cattle. The breadth of the stream, where it issues from the mountains, is about thirty-five paces, its depth (in the month of May) between four and five feet. We had now entered the valley of the Ghor [Arabic], which may be compared to the valley of the Bekaa, between the Libanus and Anti- Libanus, and the valley El Ghab of the Orontes. The mountains which enclose it are not to be compared in magnitude with those of the Bekaa; but the abundance of its waters renders its aspect more pleasing to the eye, and may make its soil more productive. It is one of the lowest levels in Syria; lower than the Haouran and Djolan, by nearly the whole height of the eastern mountains; its temperature is hotter than I had experienced in any other part of Syria: the rocky mountains concentrating the heat, and preventing the air from being cooled by the westerly winds in summer. In consequence of this higher degree of heat, the productions of the Ghor ripen long before those of the Haouran. The barley harvest, which does not begin in the upper plain till fifteen days later SZAMMAGH. [p.275]we here found nearly finished. The Haouran, on the other hand, was every where covered with the richest verdure of wild herbage, while every plant in the Ghor was already dried up, and the whole country appeared as if in the midst of summer. Volney has justly remarked that there are few countries where the changes from one climate to another are so sudden as in Syria; and I was never more convinced of it than in this valley. To the north was the Djebel El Sheikh, covered with snow; to the east the fertile plainsof Djolan clothed in the blossoms of spring; while to the south, the withered vegetation of the Ghor seemed the effect of a tropical sun. The breadth of the valley is about an hour and a half, or two hours. From the ford over the Sheriat we proceeded across the plain in a N.W. direction; it was covered with low shrubs and a tree bearing a fruit like a small apple, very agreeable to the taste; Zaarour [Arabic] is the name given to it by the inhabitants of Mount Libanus; those of Damascus call it Zaaboub [Arabic]; and the Arabs have also another name for it, which I forget. In an hour and upwards, from the ford, we reached the village Szammagh [Arabic], situated on the most southern extremity of the lake of Tabaria; it contains thirty or forty poor mud houses, and a few built with black stone. The Jordan issues out of the lake about a quarter of an hour to the westward of the village, where the lake ends in a straight line, extending for about forty minutes in a direction nearly east and west. From hence the highest point of Djebel el Sheikh bears N.N.W.; the town of Szaffad N. by E. Between the lake and the first bridge over the Jordan, called Djissr el Medjami, at about two hours and a half from hence, are two fordable passages across the river. Excepting about one hundred Fedhans around Szammagh, no part of the valley is cultivated in this neighbourhood. Somewhat HOT WELLS. [p.276]lower down begin the corn fields of the Arabs el Ghor, who are the principal inhabitants of the valley: those living near Szammagh are the Arabs el Sekhour, and the Beshaatoue. The only villages met with from hence as far as Beysan (the ancient Scythopolis), are to the left of the Jordan, Maad [Arabic], at the foot of Djebel Wostye, and El Erbayn [Arabic]. From Szammagh to Beysan the valley is called Ghor Tabaria. I swam to a considerable distance in the lake, without seeing a single fish; I was told, however, that there were privileged fishermen at Tabaria, who monopolize the entire fishery. The beach on this side is a fine gravel of quartz, flint, and tufwacke. There is no shallow water, the lake being of considerable depth close in shore. The only species of shell which I saw on the beach was of the smallest kind, white and about an inch and a half long. There are no kinds of rushes or reeds on the shores in this neighbourhood. May 6th.--The quantities of mosquitos and other vermin which always by preference attack the stranger accustomed to more northern climates, made me pass a most uncomfortable night at Szammagh. We departed early in the morning, in order to visit the hot wells at the foot of the mountain of Om Keis, the situation of which had been pointed out to me on the preceding day. Returning towards the place where the Sheriat issues from the Wady, we followed up the river from thence and in one hour and three quarters from Szammagh, we reached the first hot-well. The river flows in a deep bed, being confined in some places on both sides by precipices of upwards of one hundred feet in height, whose black rocks present a most striking contrast with the verdure on their summits. For several hundred yards before we arrived at the hot-well, I perceived a strong sulphureous smell in the air. The spring is situated in a very narrow plain, in the valley, between the river and the northern HOT WELLS. [p.277]cliffs, which we descended. The plain had been covered with rich herbage, but it was now dried up; a great variety of shrubs and some old palm trees also grow here: the heat in the midst of the summer must be suffocating. The spring bubbles up from a basin about forty feet in circumference, and five feet in depth, which is enclosed by ruins of walls and buildings, and forms below a small rivulet which falls at a short distance into the river. The water is so hot, that I found it difficult to keep my hand in it; it deposits upon the stones over which it flows a thick yellow sulphureous crust, which the neighbouring Arabs collect, to rub their camels with, when diseased. Just above the basin, which has originally been paved, is an open arched building, with the broken shaft of a column still standing; and behind it are several others, also arched, which may have been apartments for the accommodation of strangers; the large stones forming these structures are much decayed, from the influence of the exhalations. This spring is called Hammet el Sheikh [Arabic], and is the hottest of them all. At five minutes distance, ascending the Wady, is a second of the same kind, but considerably cooler; it issues out of a basin covered with weeds, and surrounded with reeds, and has some remains of ancient buildings about it; it is called Hammet Errih [Arabic], and joins the waters from the first source. Following the course of the river, up the Wady, eight more hot springs are met with; I shall here mention their names, though I did not see them. 1. Hammet aand Ettowahein [Arabic], near some mills; 2. Hammet beit Seraye [Arabic]; 3. Hammet Essowanye [Arabic]; 4. Hammet Dser Aryshe [Arabic]; 5. Hammet Zour Eddyk [Arabic]; 6. Hammet Erremlye [Arabic]; 7. Hammet Messaoud [Arabic]; 8. Hammet Om Selym [Arabic]; this last is distant from that of El Sheikh two hours and a half. These FEIK. [p.278]eight springs are on both sides of the Wady, and have remains of ancient buildings near them. I conceive that a naturalist would find it well worth his time to examine the productions of this Wady, hitherto almost unknown. In the month of April the Hammet el Sheikh is visited by great numbers both of sick and healthy people, from the neighbourhood of Nablous and Nazaret, who prefer it to the bath of Tabaria; they usually remain about a fortnight. We returned from the Hamme by the same road we came; on reaching the plain of El Ghor we turned to our right up the mountain. We here met a wild boar of great size; these animals are very numerous in the Ghor, and my companions told me that the Arabs of the valley are unable to cultivate the common barley, called here Shayr Araby [Arabic], on account of the eagerness with which the wild swine feed upon it, they are therefore obliged to grow a less esteemed sort, with six rows of grains, called Shayr Kheshaby [Arabic], which the swine do not touch. At three quarters of an hour from the spot where we began to ascend, we came to a spring called Ain el Khan, near a Khan called El Akabe, where caravans sometimes alight; this being the great road from the Djolan and the northern parts of the Haouran to the Ghor. Akabe is a general term for a steep descent. In one hour we passed a spring called Ain el Akabe, more copious than the former. From thence we reached the summit of the mountain, one hour and a quarter distant from its foot, where the plain commences; and in one hour and three quarters more, entered the village of Feik, distant about four hours and a half from Szammagh, by the road we travelled. One hour to the E. of Szammagh, on the shore of the lake, lies the village Kherbet Szammera [Arabic], with some ancient buildings: it is the only inhabited village on the E. side of the lake, its [p.279]site seems to correspond with that of the ancient Hippos. Farther north, near the shore, are the ruined places called Doeyrayan [Arabic], and Telhoun [Arabic]. Three quarters of an hour to the N. of Khan el Akabe, near the summit of the mountain, lies, the half ruined, but still inhabited village of Kefer Hareb [Arabic]. The country to the north of the Sheriat, in the direction of Feik, is, for a short distance, intersected by Wadys, a plain then commences, extending northwards towards the Djebel Heish el Kanneytra, and eastwards towards the Haouran. Feik is a considerable village, inhabited by more than two hundred families. It is situated at the head of the Wady of the same name, on the ridge of a part of the mountain which incloses the E. shore of the lake of Tabaria, and it enjoys a fine view over the middle part of the lake. The rivulet of Feik has three sources, issuing from beneath a precipice, round the summit of which the village is built in the shape of a crescent. Having descended the hill for three quarters of an hour, a steep insulated hill is met with, having extensive ruins of buildings, walls, and columns on its top; they are called El Hossn, and are, perhaps, the remains of the ancient town of Regaba or Argob. Feik [Arabic], although situated in the plain of Djolan, does not [p.280]actually belong to that district, but constitutes a territory of itself; it forms part of the government of Akka, and is, I believe, the only place belonging to that Pashalik on the E. side of the Jordan; it was separated from the Pashalik of Damascus by Djezzar Pasha. There being a constant passage through Feik from the Haouran to Tabaria and Akka, more than thirty houses in the town have open Menzels for the entertainment of strangers of every description, and supply their cattle, gratis. The landlords have an allowance from the government for their expenses, which is made by a deduction from the customary taxes; and if the Menzel is much frequented, as in the case of that of the Sheikh, no Miri at all is collected from the landlord, and the Pasha makes him also an yearly allowance in money, out of the Miri of the village. The establishment of these public Menzels, which are general over the whole country to the S. of Damascus, does great honour to the hospitable spirit of the Turks; but it is, in fact, the only expense that the government thinks itself obliged to incur for the benefit of the people of the country. A peasant can travel for a whole month without expending a para; but people of any distinction give a few paras on the morning of their departure to the waiter or watchman [Arabic]. If the traveller does not choose to alight at a public Menzel, he may go to any private house, where he will find a hospitable landlord, and as good a supper as the circumstances of his host can afford. I observed upon the terraces of all the houses of Feik, a small apartment called Hersh [Arabic], formed of branches of trees, covered with mats; to this cool abode the family retires during the mid-day heats of summer. There are a few remains of ancient buildings at Feik; amongst others, two small towers on the two extremities of the cliff. The village has large olive plantations. May 7th.--Our way over the plain was in the direction N.E. by E. DISTRICT OF DJOLAN. [p.281]Beyond the fields of Feik, the district of Djolan begins, the southern limits of which are the Wady Hamy Sakker, and the Sheriat. Djolan appears to be the same name as the Greek Gaulanitis; but its present limits do not quite correspond with those of the ancient province, which was confined to a narrow strip of land along the lake, and the eastern shore of the Jordan. The territory of Feik must have formed part of Hippene; the mountain in front of it was mount Hippos, and the district of Argob appears to have been that part of the plain (making part of Djolan), which extends from Feik northwards for three or four hours, and which is enclosed on the east by the Djebel Heish, and on the west by the descent leading down to the banks of the lake. Half an hour from Feik we passed, on our left, a heap of ruins called Radjam el Abhar [Arabic]. To the S.E. at about one hour distant, is the village Djeibein [Arabic]; to the left, at three quarters of an hour, is the ruined village El Aal [Arabic], on the side of the Wady Semak [Arabic], which descended from the Djebel Heish: there is a rivulet of spring-water in the Wady, which empties itself into the lake near the ruined city of Medjeifera [Arabic], in this part the Wady is full of reeds, of which the people make mats. On the other side of the Wady, about half an hour distant from it, upon a Tel, is the ruined city called Kaszr Berdoweil [Arabic] (Castle of Baldwin). The plain here is wholly uncultivated, and is overgrown with a wild herb called Khob [Arabic], which camels and cows feed upon. At one hour and three quarters is a Birket of rain water, called Nam [Arabic], with a spring near it. At two hours and a quarter are the extensive ruins of a city, called Khastein [Arabic], built with the black stone of the country, but preserving no remains of any considerable building. Two hours and three quarters, on our left, is Tel Zeky [Arabic], to the left of which, about one hour and a half, is the southern extremity of the Djebel Heish, where stands a Tel TSEIL. [p.282]called El Faras. The Djebel Heish is separated from the plain bya stony district, of one hour in breadth, where the Arabs of the country often take refuge from the extortions of the Pasha. In three hours we passed Wady Moakkar [Arabic], flowing from the mountain into the Sheriat. Here the direction of our road was E.S.E. The Arab who accompanied me presented me with a fruit which grows wild in these parts, and is unknown in the northern parts of Syria, and even at Damascus; it is of the size of a small egg, of the colour of the Tomato or love-apple, of a sweet agreeable taste, and full of juice. It grows upon a shrub about six inches high, which I did not see, but was told that its roots were three or four feet in length, and presented the figure of a man in all its parts. The fruit is called by the Arabs Djerabouh [Arabic]. At three hours and a quarter, at a short distance to our left, was the ruined village Om el Kebour [Arabic]. In three hours and a half we passed Wady Seide [Arabic]; and at the end of three hours and three quarters reached the bridge of Wady Hamy Sakker We met all the way Arabs and peasants going to the Ghor to purchase barley. The bridge of Hamy Sakker [Arabic] is situated near the commencement of the Wady , where it is of very little depth; lower down it has a rapid fall, and runs between precipices of perpendicular rocks of great height, until it joins the Sheriat, about two hours and a half from the bridge. The bridge is well built upon seven arches. At four hours we reached a spring called Ain Keir [Arabic], and a little farther another called Ain Deker [Arabic]. The rocky district at the foot of Djebel Heish extends on this side as far as these springs. In five hours we passed Wady Aallan [Arabic], a considerable torrent flowing towards the Sheriat, with a ruined bridge; and in five hours and a half Tseil, [Arabic], an inhabited village. Here the plain begins to be cultivated. There [p.283]are no villages excepting Djeibein to the south of the road by which we had travelled, as far as the banks of the Sheriat. The inhabitants of the country are Bedouins, several of whose encampments we passed. Tseil is one of the principal villages of Djolan, and contains about eighty or one hundred families, who live in the ancient buildings of the ruined town; there are three Birkets of rain water belonging to it. The only building of any size is a ruined mosque, which seems to have been a church. In coming from Feik the soil of the plain is black, or gray; at Tseil it begins to be of the same red colour as the Haouran earth. After dinner we continued our route. In half an hour from Tseil we passed on our left Tel Djemoua [Arabic]. The greater part of the plain was covered with a fine crop of wheat and barley. During the years 1810 and 1811, the crops were very bad all over Syria; the rains of last winter, however, having been very abundant, the peasants are every where consoled with the hopes of a good harvest. It was expected that the Haouran and Djolan would yield twenty-five times the quantity of the seed sown, which is reckoned an excellent crop. Half an hour north of Tel Djemoua lies Tel Djabye [Arabic], with a village. At one hour and three quarters from Tseil is the village Nowa [Arabic], where we slept. This is the principal village in the Djolan, and was formerly a town of half an hour in circumference. Its situation corresponds with that in D'Anville's map of Neve. There are a number of ruined private dwellings, and the remains of some public edifices. A temple, of which one column with its entablature remains, has been converted into a mosque. At the S. end of the village is a small square solid building, probably a mausoleum; it has no other opening than the door. Beyond the precincts of the village, on the N. side, are the ruins of a large square building, of which the sculptured entrance only remains, with heaps of broken columns before it. The village EL KESSOUE. [p.284]has several springs, as well as cisterns. The Turks revere the tomb of a Santon buried here, called Mehy eddyn el Nowawy [Arabic]. May 8th.--Our route lay N.E. At two hours from Nowa is the village Kasem [Arabic], which forms the southern limits of the district of Djedour, and the northern frontier of Djolan; some people, however, reckon Djolan the limits of Nowa. One hour E.b.S. of Kasem stands the village Om el Mezabel [Arabic]; one hour and a half E.N.E. of Kasem. the great village Onhol [Arabic]. In two hours and a half from Nowa we passed, to the left, distant about half an hour, the Tel el Hara [Arabic], with the village of the same name at its foot; this is the highest Tel in the plains of Haouran and Djolan. Three hours and a quarter is the village Semnein [Arabic]; and three hours and three quarters, the village Djedye [Arabic]. The plain was badly cultivated in these parts. From hence our road turned N.N.E. At five hours is Kefer Shams [Arabic], with some ancient buildings; all these villages have large Birkets. At five hours and three quarters is Deir e Aades [Arabic], a ruined village in a stony district, intersected by several Wadys. Six hours and a quarter, Tel Moerad [Arabic]; eight hours Tel Shak-hab [Arabic], a village with a small castle, and copious springs; it lies about an hour and a half to the west of Soubbet Faraoun. The cattle of a large encampment of Naym wa spread over the whole plain near Shak-hab. At eight hours and three quarters, there was on our left a rocky country resembling the Ledja; it is called War Ezzaky [Arabic], and has a ruined Khan called Ezzeiat [Arabic]; the millstones for the supply of Damascus are hewn in this War, which consists of the black Haouran stone. In ten hours we reached Khan Denoun; and in ten hours and three quarters, long after sun-set, the village El Kessoue. May 9th.--We arrived early in the morning at Damascus. [p.285] POLITICAL DIVISIONS OF THE COUNTRY TO THE SOUTHWARD OF DAMASCUS WITH REMARKS ON THE INHABITANTS OF THE HAOURAN. Before I submit to the reader, a few general remarks upon the inhabitants of the Haouran, I shall briefly recapitulate the political divisions of the country which extends to the southward of Damascus, as far as Wady Zerka. 1. El Ghoutta [Arabic]. Under this name is comprehended the immediate neighhourhood of Damascus, limited on the north by Djebel Szalehie, on the west by the Djebel el Sheikh, on the south by Djebel Kessoue, and on the east by the plain El Merdj. It is under the immediate government of the Mutsellim of Damascus. All the gardens of Damascus are reckoned in the Ghoutta, which contains upwards of eighty villages, and is one of the most fertile districts in Syria. 2. Belad Haouran [Arabic]. To the south of Djebel Kessoue and Djebel Khiara begins the country of Haouran. It is bordered on the east by the rocky district El Ledja, and by the Djebel Haouran, both of which are sometimes comprised within the Haouran; and in this case the Djebel el Drouz, or mountain of the Druses, whose chief resides at Soueida, may be considered another subdivision of the Haouran. To the S.E. where Boszra and El Remtha are the farthest inhahited villages, the Haouran borders upon the desert. Its western limits are the chain of villages on the Hadj road, from Ghebarib as far south as Remtha. The greater part of its villages will he found enumerated in the two Journals. POLITICAL DIVISIONS OF THE COUNTRY [p.286]The Haouran comprises therefore part of Trachonitis and Ituraea, the whole of Auranitis, and the northern districts of Batanaea. Edrei, now Draa, was situated in Batanaea. 3.Djedour [Arabic]. The flat country south of Djebel Kessoue, east of Djebel el Sheikh, and west of the Hadj road, as far as Kasem or Nowa, is called Djedour. It contains about twenty villages. The following are the names of the inhabited villages of the country called Djedour; El Kenneya [Arabic], Sheriat el Ghoufa [Arabic], Sheriat el Tahna [Arabic], Deir Maket, [Arabic], Um el Mezabel [Arabic], El Nakhal [Arabic], El Szannamein, Teil Kefrein, Merkasem, Nawa, where are considerable ruins; Heitt [Arabic], El Hara, Akrebbe eddjedour [Arabic], Essbebhara, Djelein [Arabic], Namr [Arabic], Essalemie [Arabic], [Arabic], El Nebhanie [Arabic], Deir el Ades, Deir el Bokht, [Arabic], Kafershamy, Keitta [Arabic], Semlein, Djedeie, Thereya [Arabic], Um Ezzeijtoun [Arabic]. The greater part of Ituraea appears to be comprised within the limits of Djedour. The governor of Djolan usually commands also in Djedour. 4. Djolan [Arabic], which comprises the plain to the south of Djedour, and to the west of Haouran. Its southern frontier is the Nahr Aweired by which it is separated from the district of Erbad, and the Sheriat el Mandhour, which separates it from the district El Kefarat. On the west it is limited by the territory of Feik, and on the northwest by the southern extremity of Djebel Heish. Part of Batanaea, Argob, Hippene, and perhaps Gaulanitis, is comprised within this district. The maps of Syria are in general incorrect with regard to the mountains of Djolan. The mountain El Heish, which is the southern extremity of Djebel el Sheikh, terminates (as I have mentioned before) at Tel el Faras, which is about three hours and a half to the north of the Sheriat or Hieromax; and the mountains begin again at about the same distance to the south of the same river, in TO THE SOUTH OF DAMASCUS [p.287]the district of Wostye; leaving an open country between them, which extends towards the west as far as Akabe Feik, and Akabe Om Keis, which are the steep descents forming the approaches to the lake of Tabaria, and to the Ghor of Tabaria from the east. The maps, on the contrary, make the Djebel Heish join the southern chain of Wostye, instead of leaving an open country of near eight hours between them. The principal villages of Djolan, beginning from the south, are the following: Aabedein [Arabic], Moarrye [Arabic], Shedjara [Arabic], Beiterren [Arabic], Sahhem [Arabic], Seisoun [Arabic], Kefr Essamer [Arabic], Seiatein [Arabic], Beit Akkar [Arabic], Djomra [Arabic], Sheikh Saad [Arabic], near Tel Sheikh Saad, Ayoub [Arabic], Deir Ellebou [Arabic], Kefr Maszer [Arabic], Adouan [Arabic], Tel el Ashaara [Arabic], Tseil, El Djabye [Arabic], Esszefeire [Arabic], Djernein [Arabic], El Kebbash [Arabic], Nowa [Arabic]. The Aga of Haouran is generally at the same time governor of Djolan. 5. El Kanneytra [Arabic] comprises the mountain El Heish, from the neighbourhood of Banias to its southern extremity. It is the Mount Hermon of the ancients. Its chief place is Kanneytra (perhaps the ancient Canatha), where the Aga el Kanneytra resides. 6. Belad Erbad, or Belad Beni Djohma [Arabic], likewise called El Bottein, which name it derives from the family of Bottein, who are the principal men of the country. It is limited on the north by the Aweired, which separates it from the Djolan, on the east by the Hadj route, on the south by the territory of Beni Obeid, and on the west, by the rising ground and the many Wadys which compose the territory of El Kefarat. The greater part of Batanaea is comprised within its limits; and it is remarkable that the name of Bottein has some affinity with that of Batanaea. Its principal villages are: Erbad [Arabic] (the Sheikh's residence), El Bareha [Arabic], Kefr Djayz [Arabic], Tokbol [Arabic], El Aaal [Arabic] (by some reckoned in Djolan), Kefr Youba [Arabic], Djemha POLITICAL DIVISIONS OF THE COUNTRY [p.288][Arabic]. The ruined villages and cities of Belad Erbad are as follows: Djerye [Arabic], Zebde [Arabic], Hanneine [Arabic], Beit el Ras [Arabic], Ain ed Djemel [Arabic]. 7. El Kefarat [Arabic], a narrow strip of land, running along the south borders of the Wady Sheriat el Mandhour from the frontiers of Belad Erbad to Om Keis. Its principal village is Hebras. 8. Esserou [Arabic]. This district lies parallel to El Kefarat, and extends from Belad Erbad to the Ghor. It is watered by Wady el Arab. Its principal village is Fowar [Arabic]. The Kefarat as well as the Serou are situated between the Sheriat and the mountains of Wostye. They may be called flat countries in comparison with Wostye and Adjeloun; and they appear still more so from a distance; but if examined near, they are found to be intersected by numerous deep valleys. There seems, however, a gradual ascent of the ground towards the west. The valleys are inhabited for the greater part by Bedouins. 9. Belad Beni Obeid [Arabic] is on the eastern declivity of the mountains of Adjeloun. It is bordered on the north by Erbad, on the west by the mountain Adjeloun, on the east and south by the district Ezzoueit. The southern parts of Batanaea are comprised within these limits. Its principal village is El Hossn, where the Sheikh resides. Its other villages are: Haoufa [Arabic], Szammad [Arabic], Natefa [Arabic], El Mezar [Arabic], Ham [Arabic], Djehfye [Arabic], Erreikh [Arabic], Habdje [Arabic], Edoun [Arabic]. In the mountain near the summit of Djebel Adjeloun, in that part of the forest which is called El Meseidjed, are the following ruined places: Nahra [Arabic], Kefr Khal [Arabic], Hattein [Arabic], Aablein [Arabic], Keferye [Arabic], Kherbat [Arabic], Esshaara [Arabic], Aabbein [Arabic], Sameta [Arabic], Aabeda [Arabic], Aafne [Arabic], Deir Laouz [Arabic]. 11. El Koura [Arabic] Is separated from Adjeloun on the S.W. COUNTRY TO THE SOUTH OF DAMASCUS [p.289]side by Wady Yabes [Arabic], which empties itself into the Jordan, in the neighbourhood of Beysan. To the west and north-west it borders on Wostye, to the east on Belad Beni Obeid. It is a mountainous country which comprizes the northern parts of the ancient Galaaditis. Its principal villages are, Tobne [Arabic], where resides the Sheikh or el Hakem, who exercises his influence likewise over the villages of Omba [Arabic], Szammoua, [Arabic], Deir Abou Seid [Arabic], Hannein [Arabic], Zemmal [Arabic], Kefer Aabeid [Arabic], Kefer Awan [Arabic], Beit Edes [Arabic], Khanzyre [Arabic], Kefer Radjeb [Arabic], Kefer Elma [Arabic]. 12. El Wostye [Arabic]. To the south of Serou, and east of the Ghor Beysan. 13. Djebel Adjeloun [Arabic]. On the north-east and east, it borders on Beni Obeid, on the south and south-east on the district of Moerad; on the west on the Ghor, and on the north on the Koura. It is throughout a mountainous country, and for the greater part woody. Part of the ancient Galaaditis is comprised within its limits. Its principal place is Kalaat Rabbad, where the Sheikh resides. It contains besides the following villages: Ain Djenne [Arabic], Adjeloun [Arabic], Ain Horra [Arabic], Ardjan [Arabic], Rasoun [Arabic], Baoun [Arabic], Ousera [Arabic], Halawe [Arabic], Khara [Arabic], El Kherbe [Arabic], Kefrendjy [Arabic]. The principal ruined places in this district are, Rostem [Arabic], Seleim [Arabic], Kefer Eddorra [Arabic], Szoan [Arabic], Deir Adjeloun [Arabic]. 14. Moerad [Arabic], is limited on the north by Djebel Adjeloun, on the east by Ezzoueit, on the south by Wady Zerka, on the west by the Ghor. It forms part of Galaaditis, and is in every part mountainous. Its principal village, where the Sheikh lives, is Souf; its other villages are Borma [Arabic], Ettekitte [Arabic], at present POLITICAL DIVISIONS OF THE COUNTRY. [p.290]abandoned; Debein [Arabic], Djezaze [Arabic], Hamthe [Arabic]. The summits of the mountain of Adjeloun, which mark the limits between Adjeloun and Moerad, are called Oeraboun [Arabic]. Half of it belongs to Adjeloun, the other to Moerad. It contains the following ruined places; Szafszaf [Arabic], El Hezar [Arabic], Om Eddjeloud [Arabic], Om Djoze [Arabic], El Haneik [Arabic], Eshkara, [Arabic], Oeraboun [Arabic], El Ehsenye [Arabic], Serabeis [Arabic], Nedjde [Arabic]. 15. Ezzoueit [Arabic] lies to the east of Beni Obeid and Moerad, being separated from the latter by the Wady Deir and Seil Djerash; it is situated to the north of Wady Zerka, and extends eastwards beyond the Hadj route to the southward of the ruined city of Om Eddjemal, between Remtha and El Fedhein. Part of it is mountainous, the remainder a flat country. There are at present no inhabited villages in the Zoueit. Its ruined places are Erhab, Eydoun, Dadjemye, Djebe, Kafkafa, Mytwarnol, Boeidha, Khereysan, Kherbet, Szamara, Khenezein, Remeith, Abou Ayad, El Matouye, Essaherye, Ain Aby, Eddhaleil, Ayoun. It forms the southern parts of the Galaaditis. Beyond the Zerka the chain of mountains increases in breadth, and the Belka begins; it is divided into different districts, of which I may be able to give some account hereafter. The whole country, from Kanneytra (exclusive) to the Zerka, is at present in the government of the Aga of Tabaria; but this can only happen when the Pasha of Acre is at the same time Pasha of Damascus. REMARKS ON THE INHABITANTS OF THE HAOURAN. [p.291] Remarks on the Inhabitants of the Haouran. The Haouran is inhabited by Turks, Druses, Christians, and Arabs, and is visited in spring and summer by several Arab tribes from the desert. The whole country is under the government of the Pasha of Damascus, who generally sends a governor to Mezareib, intituled Agat el Haouran. The Pasha appoints also the Sheikh of every village, who collects the Miri from both Turks and Christians. The Druses are not under the control of the Agat el Haouran, but correspond directly with the Pasha. They have a head Sheikh, whose office, though subject to the confirmation of the Pasha, has been hereditary from a remote period, in the family of Hamdan. The head Sheikh of the Druses nominates the Sheikh of each village, and of these upwards of eight are his own relations: the others are members of the great Druse families. The Pasha constantly maintains a force in the Haouran of between five and six hundred men; three hundred and fifty or four hundred of whom are at Boszra, and the remainder at Mezareib, or patrolling the country. The Moggrebyns are generally employed in this service. I compute the population of the Haouran, exclusive of the Arabs who frequent the plain, the mountain (Djebel Haouran), and the Ledja, at about fifty or sixty thousand, of whom six or seven thousand are Druses; and about three thousand Christians. The Turks and Christians have exactly the same modes of life; but the Druses are distinguished from them in many respects. The two former very nearly resemble the Arabs in their customs and manners; their ordinary dress is precisely that of the Arabs; a coarse white cotton stuff forms their Kombaz or gown, the Keffie round the head is tied with a rope of camel's hair, they wear the Abba over the shoulder, and have the breast and feet naked; they have also adopted, for the greater [p.292]part, the Bedouin dialect, gestures, and phraseology; according to which most articles of housebold furniture have names different from those in the towns; it requires little experience however to distinguish the adults of the two nations from one another. The Arabs are generally of short stature, with thin visage, scanty beard, and brilliant black eyes; while the Fellahs are taller and stouter, with a strong beard, and a less piercing look; but the difference seems chiefly to arise from their mode of life; for the youth of both nations, to the age of sixteen, have precisely the same appearance. The Turks and Christians of the Haouran live and dress alike, and religion seems to occasion very little difference in their respective conditions. When quarrels happen the Christian fears not to strike the Turk, or to execrate his religion, a liberty which in every town of Syria would expose the Christian to the penalty of death, or to a very heavy pecuniary fine. Common sufferings and dangers in the defence of their property may have given rise to the toleration which the Christians enjoy from the Turks in the Haouran; and which is further strengthened by the Druses, who shew equal respect to both religions. Of the Christians four-fifths are Greeks; and the only religious animosities which I witnessed during my tour, were between them and the Catholics. Among the Fellahs of the Haouran, the richest lives like the poorest, and displays his superior wealth only on the arrival of strangers. The ancient buildings afford spacious and convenient dwellings to many of the modern inhabitants, and those who occupy them may have three or four rooms for each family; but in newly built villages, the whole family, with all its household furniture, cooking utensils, and provision chests, is commonly huddled together in one apartment. Here also they keep their wheat and barley in reservoirs formed of clay, called Kawara [Arabic], which are about five feet high and two feet in diameter. The chief articles [p.293]of furniture are, a handmill, which is used in summer, when there is no water in the Wadys to drive the mills; some copper kettles; and a few mats; in the richer houses some woollen Lebaet are met with, which are coarse woollen stuffs used for carpets, and in winter for horse- cloths: real carpets or mattrasses are seldom seen, unless it be upon the arrival of strangers of consequence. Their goat's hair sacks, and horse and camel equipments, are of the same kind as those used by the Bedouins, and are known by the same names. Each family has a large earthen jar, of the manufacture of Rasheiat el Fukhar, which is filled every morning by the females, from the Birket or spring, with water for the day's consumption. In every house there is a room for the reception of strangers, called from this circumstance Medhafe; it is usually that in which the male part of the family sleeps; in the midst of it is a fire place to boil coffee. The most common dishes of these people are Burgoul and Keshk; in summer they supply the place of the latter by milk, Leben, and fresh butter. Of the Burgoul I have spoken on other occasions; there are two kinds of Keshk, Keshk-hammer and Keskh-leben; the first is prepared by putting leaven into the Burgoul, and pouring water over it; it is then left until almost putrid, and afterwards spread out in the sun, to dry; after which it is pounded, and when called for, served up mixed with oil, or butter. The Keskh-leben is prepared by putting Leben into the Burgoul, instead of leaven; in other respects the process is the same. Keskh and bread are the common breakfast, and towards sunset a plate of Burgoul, or some Arab dish, forms the dinner; in honour of strangers, it is usual to serve up at breakfast melted butter and bread, or fried eggs, and in the evening a fowl boiled in Burgoul, or a kid or lamb; but this does not very often happen. The women and children eat up whatever the men have left on [p.294] their plates. The women dress in the Bedouin manner; they have a veil over the head, but seldom veil their faces. Hospitality to strangers is another characteristic common to the Arabs, and to the people of Haouran. A traveller may alight at any house he pleases; a mat will be immediately spread for him, coffee made, and a breakfast or dinner set before him. In entering a village it has often happened to me, that several persons presented themselves, each begging that I would lodge at his house; and this hospitality is not confined to the traveller himself, his horse or his camel is also fed, the first with half or three quarters of a Moud[The Moud is about nineteen pounds English.] of barley, the second with straw; with this part of their hospitality, however, I had often reason to be dissatisfied, less than a Moud being insufficient upon a journey for a horse, which is fed only in the evening, according to the custom of these countries. As it would be considered an affront to buy any corn, the horse must remain ill-fed, unless the traveller has the precaution to carry a little barley in his saddle-bag, to make up the deficiency in the host's allowance. On returning to Aaere to the house of the Sheikh, after my tour through the desert, one of my Druse guides insisted upon taking my horse to his stables, instead of the Sheikh's; when I was about to depart, the Druse brought my horse to the door, and when I complained that he had fallen off greatly in the few days I had remained in the village, the Sheikh said to me in the presence of several persons, "You are ignorant of the ways of this country [Arabic]; if you see that your host does not feed your horse, insist upon his giving him a Moud of barley daily; he dares not refuse it." It is a point of honour with the host never to accept of the smallest return from a guest; I once only ventured to give a few piastres to the child of a very poor family at Zahouet, by whom we had been most hospitably treated, and rode off without [p.295] attending to the cries of the mother, who insisted upon my taking back the money. Besides the private habitations, which offer to every traveller a secure night's shelter, there is in every village the Medhafe of the Sheikh, where all strangers of decent appearance are received and entertained. It is the duty of the Sheikh to maintain this Medhafe, which is like a tavern, with the difference that the host himself pays the bill: the Sheikh has a public allowance to defray these expenses, &c. and hence a man of the Haouran, intending to travel about for a fortnight, never thinks of putting a single para in his pocket; he is sure of being every where well received, and of living better perhaps than at his own home. A man remarkable for his hospitality and generosity enjoys the highest consideration among them. The inhabitant of the Haouran estimates his wealth by the number of Fedhans,[The word Fedhan is applied both to the yoke of oxen and to the quantity of land cultivated by them, which varies according to circumstances. In some parts of Syria, chiefly about Homs, the Fedhan el Roumy, or Greek Fedhan, is used, which means two pair of oxen.] or pairs of cows or oxen which he employs in the cultivation of his fields. If it is asked, whether such a one has piastres (Illou gheroush [ARABIC]), a common mode of speaking, the answer is, "A great deal; he drives six pair of oxen," (Kethiar bimashi sette fedhadhin [Arabic]); there are but few, however, who have six pair of oxen; a man with two or three is esteemed wealthy: and such a one has probably two camels, perhaps a mare, or at least a Gedish (a gelding), or a couple of asses: and forty or fifty sheep or goats. The fertility of the soil in the Haouran depends entirely upon the water applied to it. In districts where there is plenty of water for irrigation, the peasants sow winter and summer seeds; but where they have to depend entirely upon the rainy season [p.296]for a supply, nothing can be cultivated in summer. The harvest in the latter districts, therefore, is in proportion to the abundance of the winter rains. The first harvest is that of horse-beans [Arabic] at the end of April: of these there are vast tracts sown, the produce of which serve as food for the cows and sheep. Camels are fed with the flour made from these beans, mixed with barley meal, and made into a paste. Next comes the barley harvest, and towards the end of May, the wheat: in the interval between the two last, the peasants eat barley bread. In abundant years, wheat sells at fifty piastres the Gharara,[Three Rotola and a half make a Moud, and eighty Moud a Gharara. A Rotola is equal to about five and a halfpounds English.] or about two pounds ten shillings for fifteen cwt. English. In 1811, the Gharara rose as high as to one hundred and ninety piastres. The wheat of the Haouran is considered equal, if not superior to any other in Syria. Barley is generally not more than half the price of wheat. When I was in the Haouran, the price of an ox or cow was about seventy piastres, that of a camel about one hundred and fifty piastres. The lands which are not capable of artificial irrigation are generally suffered to lie fallow one year; a part of them is sometimes sown in spring with sesamum, cucumbers, melons, and pulse. But a large part of the fruit and vegetables consumed in the Haouran is brought from Damascus, or from the Arabs Menadhere, who cultivate gardens on the banks of the Sheriat el Mandhour. The peasants of Haouran are extremely shy in speaking of the produce of their land, from an apprehension that the stranger's enquiries may lead to new extortions. I have reason to believe, however, that in middling years wheat yields twenty-five fold; in some parts of the Haouran, this year, the barley has yielded fifty-fold, and even in some instances eighty. A Sheikh, who formerly [p.297]inhabited the small village of Boreika, on the southern borders of the Ledja, assured me that from twenty Mouds of wheat-seed he once obtained thirty Ghararas, or one hundred and twenty fold. Fields watered by rain (the Arabs call them Boal, [Arabic]), yield more in proportion to the seed sown, than those which are artificially watered; this is owing to the seed being sown thinner in the former. The Haouran crops are sometimes destroyed by mice [Arabic], though not so frequently as in the neighbourhood of Homs and Hamah. Where abundance of water may be conducted into the fields from neighbouring springs, the soil is again sown, after the grain harvests, with vegetables, lentils, peas, sesamums, &c. The Fellahs who own Fedhans often cultivate one another's fields in company: a Turk living in a Druse village often wishes to have a Druse for his companion, to escape in some degree the vexations of the Druse Sheikh. At the Druse Sheikhs, black slaves are frequently met with; but the Turk and Christian proprietors cultivate their lands by hired native labourers. Sometimes the labourer contracts with a townsman, and receives from him oxen, ploughs, and seed. A labourer who has one Fedhan or two oxen under his charge, usually receives at the time of sowing one Gharara of corn. After the harvest he takes one-third of the produce of the field; but among the Druses only a fourth. The master pays to the government the tax called Miri, and the labourer pays ten piastres annually. The rest of the agricultural population of the Haouran consists of those who subsist by daily labour. They in general earn their living very hardly. I once met with a young man who had served eight years for his food only at the expiration of that period he obtained in marriage the daughter of his master, for whom he would, otherwise, have had to pay seven or eight hundred piastres. When I saw him he had been married three years; [p.298]but he complained bitterly of his father-in-law, who continued to require of him the performance of the most servile offices, without paying him any thing; and thus prevented him from setting up for himself and family. Daughters are paid for according to the respectability of their father, sometimes as high as fifteen hundred piastres, and this custom prevails amongst Druses, Turks, and Christians. If her family is rich the girl is fitted out with clothes, and a string of zequins or of silver coin, to tie round her head; after which she is delivered to her husband. I had an opportunity of witnessing an espousal of two Christians at Aaere, in the house of a Christian: the bride was brought with her female friends and relations, from her native village, one day's journey distant, with two camels decorated with tassels, bells, &c., and was lodged with her relations in Aaere. They entered the village preceded by women beating the tamborine, and by the village youths, firing off their musquets. Soon afterwards the bridegroom retired to the spring, which was in a field ten minutes from the village, where he washed, and dressed himself in new clothes. He then entered the village mounted on a caparisoned horse, surrounded by young men, two of whom beat tamborines, and the others fired musquets. He alighted before the Sheikh's house, and was carried for about a quarter of an hour by two men, on their arms, amidst continued singing and huzzaing: the Sheikh then exclaimed, "Mebarek el Aris" [Arabic], Blessed be the bridegroom! which was repeated by all present, after which he was set down, and remained till sunset, exposed to the jests of his friends; after this he was carried to the church, where the Greek priest performed the marriage ceremony, and the young couple retired to their dwelling. The bridegroom's father had slaughtered several lambs and kids, a part of which was devoured by mid- day; but the best pieces were brought in three [p.299]enormous dishes of Bourgul to the Sheikh's Medhafe; two being for the mob, and the third for the Sheikh, and principal men of the village. In the evening paras were collected by one of the bridegroom's friends, who sung verses in praise of all his acquaintance, every one of whom, when named, was expected to make a present. The oppressions of the government on one side, and those of the Bedouins on the other, have reduced the Fellah of the Haouran to a state little better than that of the wandering Arab. Few individuals either among the Druses or Christians die in the same village in which they were born. Families are continually moving from one place to another; in the first year of their new settlement the Sheikh acts with moderation towards them; but his vexations becoming in a few years insupportable, they fly to some other place, where they have heard that their brethren are better treated, but they soon find that the same system prevails over the whole country. Sometimes it is not merely the pecuniary extortion, but the personal enmity of the Sheikh, or of some of the head men of the village, which drives a family from their home, for they are always permitted to depart. This continued wandering is one of the principal reasons why no village in the Haouran has either orchards, or fruit- trees, or gardens for the growth of vegetables. "Shall we sow for strangers?" was the answer of a Fellah, to whom I once spoke on the subject, and who by the word strangers meant both the succeeding inhabitants, and the Arabs who visit the Haouran in the spring and summer. The taxes which all classes of Fellahs in the Haouran pay, may be classed under four heads: the Miri; the expense of feeding soldiers on the march; the tribute to the Arabs; and extraordinary contributions. The Miri is levied upon the Fedhan; thus if a village pay twelve purses to the Miri, and there are thirty pair of [p.300] oxen in it, the master of each pair pays a thirtieth. Every village being rated for the Miri in the land-tax book of the Pasha, at a fixed sum, that sum is levied as long as the village is at all inhabited, however few may be its inhabitants. In the spring of every year, or, if no strangers have arrived and settled, in every second or third spring, the ground of the village is measured by long cords, when every Fellah occupies as much of it as he pleases, there being always more than sufficient; the amount of his tax is then fixed by the Sheikh, at the ratio which his number of Fedhans bears to the whole number of Fedhans cultivated that year. Whether the oxen be strong or weak, or whether the quantity of seed sown or of land cultivated by the owner of the oxen be more or less, is not taken into consideration; the Fellah is supposed to keep strong cattle, and plough as much land as possible. Some sow six Gharara of wheat or barley in the Fedhan, others five, and others seven. The boundaries of the respective fields are marked by large stones [Arabic]. The Miri is paid in kind, or in money, at the will of the Pasha; the Fellahs prefer the latter, by which they are always trifling gainers. From what has been said, it is evidently impossible for the Fellah to foresee the amount of Miri which he shall have to pay in any year; and in addition to this vexation, the Miri for each village, though it is never diminished upon a loss of inhabitants, is sometimes raised upon a supposed increase of population, or upon some other pretext. It may, generally, be remarked, that the villages inhabited by the Druses usually pay more Miri than those in the plain, because some allowance is made to the latter, in consideration of the tribute which they are obliged to pay to the Arabs, and from which the former are exempt. At Aaere, the year before my first visit, the Fedhan had paid one hundred and fifty piastres, at Ezra, one hundred and eighty, and at some villages in the plain, [p.301]one hundred and twenty. In the year 1812, the Miri, including some extra demands, amounted in general to five hundred piastres the Fedhan. The second tax upon the Fellahs is the expense of feeding soldiers on the march; if the number is small they go to the Sheikh's Medhafe; but if they are numerous, they are quartered, or rather quarter themselves, upon the Fellahs: in the former case, barley only for their horses is supplied by the peasant, while the Sheikh furnishes provisions for the men, but the peasant is not much benefited by this regulation, for the soldiers are in general little disposed to be satisfied with the frugal fare of the Sheikh, and demand fowls, or butcher's meat; which must be supplied by the village. On their departure, they often steal some article belonging to the house. The proportion of barley to be furnished by each individual to the soldiers horses, depends of course upon the number of horses to be fed, and of Fedhans in the village: at Aaere, in the year 1809, it amounted to fifty piastres per Fedhan. The Sheikh of Aaere has six pair of oxen, for which he pays no taxes, but the presence of strangers and troops is so frequent at his Medhafe, that this exemption had not been thought a sufficient remuneration, and he is entitled to levy, in addition, every year, two or three Gharara of corn, each Gharara being in common years, worth eighty or one hundred piastres. Some Sheikhs levy as much as ten Gharara, besides being exempted from taxation for eight, ten, or twelve pair of oxen. The third and most heavy contribution paid by the peasants, is the tribute to the Arabs. The Fahely, Serdie, Beni Szakher, Serhhan, who are constant residents in the Haouran, as well as most of the numerous tribes of Aeneze, who visit the country only in the summer, are, from remote times, entitled to certain tributes called Khone (brotherbood), from every village in the Haouran. In return [p.302]for this Khone, the Arabs abstain from touching the harvest of the village, and from driving off its cattle and camels, when they meet them in their way. Each village pays Khone to one Sheikh in every tribe; the village is then known as his Ukhta [Arabic] or Sister, as the Arabs term it, and he protects the inhabitants against all the members of his own tribe. It may easily be imagined, however, that depredations are often committed, without the possibility of redress, the depredator being unknown, or flying immediately towards the desert. The amount of the Khone is continually increasing; for the Arab Sheikh is not always contented with the quantity of corn he received in the preceding year, but asks something additional, as a present, which soon becomes a part of his accustomed dues. If the Pasha of Damascus were guided by sound policy, and a right view of his own interests, he might soon put an end to the exactions of the Arabs, by keeping a few thousand men, well paid, in garrison in the principal places of the Haouran; but instead of this, his object is to make the Khone an immediate source of income to himself; the chief Sheikhs of the Fehely and Serdie receive yearly from the Pasha a present of a pelisse, which entitles them to the tribute of the villages, out of which the Fehely pays about twenty purses, and the Serdie twelve purses into the Pasha's treasury. The Serdie generally regulate the amount of the Khone which they levy, by that which the Fehely receive; and take half as much; but the Khone paid to the Aeneze chiefs is quite arbitrary, and the sum paid to a single Sheikh varies according to his avidity; or the wealth of the Fellahs, from thirty and forty piastres up to four hundred, which are generally paid in corn. These various oppressive taxes, under which the poor Fellah groans, are looked upon as things of course, and just contributions; and he considers himself fortunate, if they form the whole of his [p.303]sufferings: but it too often happens that the Pasha is a man who sets no bounds to his rapacity, and extraordinary sums are levied upon the village, by the simple command issued from the Hakim el Haouran to the village Sheikh to levy three or four hundred piastres upon the peasants of the place. On these occasions the women are sometimes obliged to sell their ear-rings and bracelets, and the men their cattle, to satisfy the demand, and have no other hope than that a rich harvest in the following year shall make amends for their loss. The receipt of the Miri of the whole Pashalik of Damascus is in the hands of the Jew bankers, or Serafs of the Pasha, who have two and a half per cent. upon his revenue, and as much upon his expenditure. They usually distribute the villages amongst their creatures, who repair thither at the time of harvest, to receive the Miri; and who generally extort, besides, something for themselves. The Druses who inhabit the villages in the Loehf, and those on the sides of the Djebel Haouran, are to be classed with the Fellahs of the plain with regard to their mode of living and their relations with the government. Their dress is the same as that of the Fellahs to the W. of Damascus; they seldom wear the Keffie, and the grown up men do not go barefoot like the other Fellahs of the Haouran. I have already mentioned that their chief resides at Soueida, of which village he is also the Sheikh. On the death of the chief, the individual in his family who is in the highest estimation from wealth or personal character succeeds to the title, and is confirmed by the Pasha. It is known that on the death of Wehebi el Hamdan, the present chief, who is upwards of eighty, Shybely el Hamdan, the Sheikh of Aaere, will succeed him. The chief has no income as such, it being derived from the village of which he is Sheikh; and his authority over the others goes no further than to communicate to them the orders of the Pasha. In manners these Druses very much resemble those of the mountains of Kesrouan. [p.304]The families form clans almost independent of each other; and among whom there are frequent quarrels. Insults are studiously avenged by the respective families, and the law of blood-revenge is in full force among them, without being mitigated by the admission of any pecuniary commutation. They all go armed, as do the Turks and Christians of the Haouran in general. Few Druses have more than one wife; but she may be divorced on very slight pretexts. With respect to their religion, the Druses of the Haouran, like those in Mount Libanus, have the class of men called Akoul (sing. Aakel), who are distinguished from the rest by a white turban, and the peculiarity of the folds in which they wear it. The Akoul are not permitted to smoke tobacco; they never swear, and are very reserved in their manners and conversation. I was informed that these were their only obligations; and it appears probable, for I observed Akoul boys of eight or ten years of age, from whom nothing more difficult could well be expected, and to whom it is not likely that any important secret would be imparted. I have seen Akouls of that age, whose fathers were not of the order, because, as they told me, they could not abstain from smoking and swearing. The Sheikhs are for the greater part Akouls. The Druses pray in their chapels, but not at stated periods; these chapels are called Khalawe [Arabic], i.e. an insulated place, and none but Druses are allowed to enter them. They affect to follow the doctrines of Mohammed, but few of them pray according to the Turkish forms: they fast during Ramadan in the presence of strangers, but eat at their own homes, and even of the flesh of the wild boar, which is frequently met with in these districts. It is a singular belief both among the western Druses, and those of the Haouran, that there are a great number of Druses in England; an opinion founded perhaps upon the fanatical opinions of the Christians of Syria, who deny the English to be followers of Christ, because they neither confess nor fast. When I first arrived at the Druse village of Aaere [p.305]there was a large company in the Medhafe, and the Sheikh had no opportunity of speaking to me in private; he therefore called for his inkstand, and wrote upon a piece of paper the following questions, which I answered as well as I could, and returned him the paper: "Where do the five Wadys flow to, in your country?--Do you know the grain of the plant Leiledj [Arabic]; and where is it sown?--What is the name of the Sultan of China?--Are the towns of Hadjar and Nedjran in the Yemen known to you?--Is Hadjar in ruins? and who will rebuild it?--Is the Moehdy (the Saviour) yet come, or is he now upon the earth?". I have not been able to obtain any information concerning the period at which the Druses first settled in these parts. Min Kadim [Arabic], a long time ago, was the general answer of all those whom I questioned on the subject. During my stay at Aaere news arrived there, that a body of one hundred and twenty Druses had left the western mountains, and were coming to settle in Haouran. The Pasha of Damascus has entrusted to the Druses of the Haouran, the defence of the neighbouring villages against such of the Arabs as may be at war with him; but the Druses perform this service very badly: they are the secret friends of all the Arabs, to whom they abandon the villages of the plain, on the condition that their own brethren are not to be molested; and their Sheikhs receive from the Arabs presents in horses, cattle, and butter. While at Aaere I witnessed an instance of the good understanding between the Druses and the Arabs Serdie, whom I have already mentioned as having been at war with the Pasha, at the time of my visit to the Haouran: seeing in the evening some Arabs stealing into the court-yard of the Sheikh's house, I enquired who they were, and was told that they were Serdie, come in search of information, whether any more troops were likely to be sent against them from Damascus. It is for this kind of treachery that the Fellahs in the Haouran hate the Druses. [p.306] The authority both of the Druse and Turkish village Sheikh is very limited, in consequence of the facility with which the Fellahs can transport themselves and families to another village. I was present during a dispute between a Christian Fellah and a Druse chief, who wished to make the former pay for the ensuing year at the rate of the same number of Fedhans that he had paid for the preceding year, though he had now one pair of oxen less. After much wrangling, and high words on both sides, the Christian said, "Very well, I shall not sow a single grain, but retire to another village;" and by the next morning he had made preparation for his departure; when the Sheikh having called upon him, the affair was amicably settled, and a large dish of rice was dressed in token of reconciliation. When disputes happen between Druses, they are generally settled by the interference of mutual friends, or by the Sheikhs or their respective families, or by the great chiefs; or failing these, the two families of the two parties come to blows rather than bring their differences before the court of justice at Damascus. Among the Turks litigations are, in the last extremity, decided by the Kadhi of Damascus, or by the Pasha in person. The Christians often bring their differences before the tribunal of priests or that of the Patriarch of Damascus, and before the Kadhi in times when it is known that Christians can obtain justice, which is not the case under every governor. The Bedouins of the Haouran are of two classes; those who are resident, and those who visit it in the spring and summer only. The resident Arabs are the Fehily [Arabic], Serdie [Arabic], Beni Szakher [Arabic], Serhhan [Arabic]; the Arabs of the mountain Haouran, or Ahl el Djebel [Arabic], and those of the Ledja [Arabic]. By resident, I do not mean a fixed residence in villages, but that their wanderings are confined to the Haouran, or to some particular districts of it. Thus the four first mentioned move through every part of the country from Zerka up to the plains of Ard [p.307]Zeikal, according to their relations with other tribes, their own affairs, and the state of pasturage in the different districts. The Beni Szakher generally encamp at the foot of the western mountains of Belka and the Heish, the Serhhan near them, and the Fehily and Serdie in the midst of the cultivated districts, or at a short distance from them, according to the terms they are upon with the Pasha.[When I was in the Haouran the Fehliy were encamped near the Szaffa, the Beni Szakher near Fedhein, the Serhhan at the foot of the Belka, and the Serdie near Om Eddjemal.] The Ahl el Djebel move about in the mountain; those of the Ledja seldom venture to encamp beyond their usual limits in that district. But I have spoken more largely of these tribes and their mutual interests in another place. The Fehily and Serdie are called Ahl el Dyrel, or national Arabs, and pay tribute to the Pasha, who, however, is often at war with them for withholding it, or for plundering his troops or the Fellahs. If the Pasha happens to be at war with other tribes, they are bound to join his troops; but in this they are guided entirely by the advantage which they are likely to derive from the contest. They receive Khone from all the villages of the Haouran, the Djolan, and many of those in the Djebel Adjeloun. The Ahl el Djebel and the Arabs el Ledja are kept in more strict dependence upon the Pasha than the other tribes; both are subject to an annual tribute, which is levied on each tent according to the wealth of its owner; this is collected from the Arabs el Ledja by the Sheikh of the Fellahs, and ascends from ten to sixty piastres for each tent. It seldom happens that the Arabs el Djebel prove rebels, but those of the Ledja often with-hold the tribute, in the confidence that the recesses of their abode cannot he forced; in this case nothing makes them yield but want of [p.308]water, when their own springs failing, they are obliged to approach the perennial sources of the Loehf. The Arabs of the Djebel Haouran are the shepherds of the people of the plains, who entrust to them in summer and winter their flocks of goats and sheep, which they pasture during the latter season amongst the rocks of the mountains. In spring the Arabs return the flocks to their owners, who sell a part of them at Damascus, or make butter from the milk during the spring months. The Arabs receive for their trouble one-fourth of the lambs and kids, and a like proportion of the butter. Casual losses in the flocks are borne equally by both parties. The following are the different tribes of the Ahl el Djebel; Esshenabele, El Hassan, El Haddie, Ghiath, Essherefat, Mezaid, El Kerad, Beni Adhan, and Szammeral. Of those of the Ledja I have already spoken. The Ahl el Djebel are always at peace with the other Arabs; but those of the Ledja are often at war with the Fehily and Serdie. I come now to the second class, or wandering Arabs. In May the whole Haouran is coverered with swarms of wanderers from the desert, who remain there till after September; these are at present almost exclusively of the tribe of Aeneze. Formerly the Haouran was often visited by the Sherarat, from the Mekka road, at fifteen stations from Damascus; by the Shammor, from Djebel Shammor, and by the Dhofir from the Irak country. On the arrival of the Aeneze, the resident Arabs who may happen to be at war with them, conceal themselves in the neighbourhood of the western mountain or in the Szaffa, or they retire towards Mezareib and Szannamein. The Aeneze come for a two-fold purpose, water and pasturage for the summer, and a provision of corn for the winter. If they are at peace with the Pasha they encamp quietly among the villages, near the springs or wells if at [p.309]war with him, for their relations with the government of Damascus are as uncertain as their own with each other, they keep in the district to the S. of Boszra, towards Om Eddjemal and Fedhein, extending their limits south as far as El Zerka. The Pasha generally permits them to purchase corn from the Haouran, but in years when a scarcity is apprehended, a restriction is put upon them. Till within a few years the Aeneze were the constant carriers of the Hadj, and made yearly contracts with the Pasha for several thousand camels, by which they were considerable gainers, as well as by the fixed tribute which many of their Sheikhs had made themselves entitled to from the pilgrim caravan; and by their nightly plunder of stragglers, and loaded camels during the march. These advantages have made the Aeneze inclined to preserve friendly terms with the Pashalik of Damascus, and to break allegiance to the Wahabi chief, notwithstanding they have been for twelve years converts to his religious doctrines. If, however, they shall become convinced that the Hadj is no longer practicable, they will soon turn their arms against their former friends, an event which is justly dreaded by the people of the Haouran. The tribe of Aeneze which most usually visits the Haouran is the Would Ali, under their chiefs Etteiar and Ibn Ismayr; the latter has at present more interest than any other Arab Sheikh, with the Pasha, from whom he occasionally receives considerable presents, as an indemnification for his losses by the suspension of the Hadj, as well as to induce him to keep his Arabs on good terms with the Turkish governors of the Pashalik. [p.311] DESCRIPTION OF A JOURNEY FROM DAMASCUS THROUGH THE MOUNTAINS OF ARABIA PETRAEA, AND THE DESERT EL TY, TO CAIRO; IN THE SUMMER OF 1812. WISHING to obtain a further knowledge of the mountains to the east of the Jordan, and being still more desirous of visiting the almost unknown districts to the east of the Dead sea, as well as of exploring the country which lies between the latter and the Red sea, I resolved to pursue that route from Damascus to Cairo, in preference to the direct road through Jerusalem and Ghaza, where I could not expect to collect much information important for its novelty. Knowing that my intended way led through a diversity of Bedouin tribes, I thought it advisable to equip myself in the simplest manner. I assumed the most common Bedouin dress, took no baggage with me, and mounted a mare that was not likely to excite the cupidity of the Arabs. After sun-set, on the 18th of June, 1812, I left Damascus, and slept that night at Kefer Souse, a considerable village, at a short distance from the city-gate, in the house of the guide whom I had hired to conduct me to Tabaria. Kefer Souse [Arabic] is noted for its olive plantations; and the oil which they produce is esteemed the best in the vicinity of Damascus. June 19th.--In one hour we passed the village Dareya [Arabic]; OM EL SHERATYTT [p.312] where terminate the gardens and orchards which surround Damascus on all sides to a distance of from six to ten miles. We found the peasants occupied with the corn harvest, and with the irrigation of the cotton fields, in which the plants had just made their appearance above ground. The plain is every where cultivated. In two hours and three quarters we passed Kokab [Arabic], a small village on the western extremity of the chain of low hills known by the appellation of Djebel Kessoue. To the left of the road from Dareya to Kokab are the villages Moattamye [Arabic], Djedeide [Arabic] and Artous [Arabic]; and to the right of it, El Ashrafe [Arabic], and Szahhnaya [Arabic]. The direction of our route was W.S.W. Beyond Kokab, a small part only of the plain is cultivated. At three hours and three quarters, to our left, was the village Wadhye [Arabic], and a little farther the village Zaky [Arabic]. Route S.W. b. W. Four hours and a half, Khan el Sheikh [Arabic], a house for the accommodation of travellers, this being the great road from Akka to Damascus. The Khan is inhabited by a few families, and stands near the river Seybarany [Arabic], which flows towards the Ghoutta of Damascus. We followed the banks of the river over a stony desert; on the opposite bank extends the rocky district called War Ezzaky [Arabic], mentioned in my former Journal.[See p. 284.] In five hours and three quarters we passed a rocky tract called Om el Sheratytt [Arabic]. Several heaps of stones indicate the graves of travellers murdered in this place by the Druses, who, during their wars with Djezzar Pasha, were in the habit of descending from the neighbouring mountain, Djebel el Sheikh, in order to waylay the caravans. The Seybarany runs here in a deep bed of the Haouran black stone. In six hours and a quarter we passed the river, over a solid bridge. At six hours and KANNEYTRA [p.313] three quarters is the village Sasa [Arabic], at the foot of an insulated hill; it is well built, and contains a large Khan, with a good mosque. The former was full of travellers. We slept here till midnight, and then joined a small caravan destined for Akka. June 20th.--Our road lay over a rocky plain, called Nakker Sasa [Arabic], slightly ascending. In one hour we passed a bridge over the river Meghannye [Arabic]. At the end of three hours we issued from the rocks, and entered into a forest of low straggling oak-trees, called Heish Shakkara [Arabic]. Three hours and a half, we passed to the right of an insulated hill, called Tel Djobba. The whole country is uncultivated. In four hours we saw, at about half an hour to our right, the ruined Khan of Kereymbe [Arabic]; the road still ascending. Near Kereymbe begins the mountain called Heish el Kanneytra, a lower ridge of Djebel el Sheikh, (the Mount Hermon of the Scriptures), from which it branches out southwards. At five hours Tel Hara [Arabic] was about one hour and a half to the S. of the road, which from Sasa followed the direction of S.W. and sometimes that of S.W. by W. At seven hours is the village of Kanneytra [Arabic]; from Kereymbe to this place is an open country, with a fertile soil, and several springs. Kanneytra is now in ruins, having been deserted by its inhabitants since the period of the passage of the Visier�s troops into Egypt. It is enclosed by a strong wall, which contains within its circuit a good Khan, a fine mosque with several short columns of gray granite, and a copious spring; there are other springs also near it. On the north side of the village are the remains of a small ancient city, perhaps Canatha; these ruins consist of little more than the foundations of habitations. The caravans coming from Akka generally halt for the night at Kanneytra. We reposed here a few hours, and then continued our journey, over ground RESERVOIRS [p.314] which still continues to rise, until we reached the chain of hills, which form the most conspicuous part of the mountain Heish. The ground being here considerably elevated above the plain of Damascus and the Djolan, these hills, when seen from afar, appear like mountains, although, when viewed from their foot, they are of very moderate height. They are insulated, and terminate, as I have already mentioned, at the hill called Tel Faras, towards the plain of Djolan. The Bedouins who pasture their cattle in these mountains retire in the hot season towards the Djebel el Sheikh. The governor of the Heish el Kanneytra, who receives his charge every year from the Pasha, used formerly to reside at Kanneytra; but since that place has been deserted, he usually encamps with the Turkmans of the Heish, and goes from one encampment to another, to collect the Miri from these Arabs. At the end of seven hours and a half we passed Tel Abou Nedy [Arabic], with the tomb of the Sheikh Abou Nedy. At eight hours is a reservoir of water, a few hundred paces to the S. of the road, which the Bedouins call Birket el Ram [Arabic], and the peasants Birket Abou Ermeil [Arabic]; it lies near the foot of Tel Abou Nedy, is about one hundred and twenty paces in circumference, and is supplied by two springs which are never dry; one of them is in the bottom of a deep well in the midst of the Birket. Just by this reservoir are the ruins of an ancient town, about a quarter of an hour in circuit, of which nothing remains but large heaps of stones. Five minutes farther is another Birket, which is filled by rain water only. The neighbourhood of these reservoirs is covered with a forest of short oak trees. The rock of the mountain consists of sand-stone, and the basalt of Haouran. Beyond the Birkets the road begins to descend gently, and at nine hours and a half, just by the road, on the left, is a large pond called Birket Nefah or Tefah [Arabic] (I am uncertain which), about two hundred paces in DJISSR BENI YAKOUB [p.315] circumference: there are remains of a stone channel communicating with the Birket. Some of my companions asserted that the pond contained a spring, while others denied it; from which I inferred that the water never dries up completely. I take this to be the Lake Phiala, laid down in the maps of Syria, as there is no other lake or pond in the neighbourhood. From hence towards Feik, upon the mountains to the E. of the lake of Tiberias, is an open country intersected by many Wadys. At ten hours we passed a large hill to the left, called Tel el Khanzyr [Arabic], the boar�s hill. The ground was here covered with the finest pasturage; the dry grass was as high as a horse, and so thick, that we passed through it with difficulty. At ten hours and a half are several springs by the side of the road, called Ayoun Essemmam [Arabic]. Eleven hours and a quarter, are the ruins of a city called Noworan [Arabic], with a copious spring near it. Some walls yet remain, and large hewn stones are lying about. At thirteen hours is the bridge over the Jordan, called Djissr Beni Yakoub [Arabic]; the road continues in an easy slope till a quarter of an hour above the bridge, where it becomes a steep descent. The river flows in a narrow bed, and with a rapid stream; for the lake Houle, whose southern extremity is about three quarters of an hour north of the bridge, is upon a level considerably higher than that of the lake of Tiberias. The bridge is of a solid construction, with four arches: on its E. side is a Khan, much frequented by travellers, in the middle of which are the ruins of an ancient square building constructed with basalt, and having columns in its four angles. The Khan contains also a spring. The Pasha of Damascus here keeps a guard of a few men, principally for the purpose of collecting the Ghaffer, or tax paid by all Christians who cross the bridge. The ordinary Ghaffer is about nine-pence a head, but the pilgrims who pass here about Easter, in their way to Jerusalem, pay seven AIN FERAEIN [p.316] shillings. The bridge divides the Pashaliks of Damascus and Akka. On the west of it is a guard-house belonging to the latter. Banias (Caesarea Philippi) bears from a point above the bridge N. by E. The lake of Houle, or Samachonitis, is inhabited only on the eastern borders; there we find the villages of Esseira [Arabic] and Eddeir [Arabic]; and between them a ruined place called Kherbet Eddaherye [Arabic] complete. The south-west shore bears the name of Melaha, from the ground being covered with a saline crust. The fisheries of the lake are rented of the Mutsellim of Szaffad by some fishermen of that town. The narrow valley of the Jordan continues for about two hours S. of the bridge, at which distance the river falls into the lake of Tiberias. About an hour and a quarter from the bridge, on the E. side of the river, is the village Battykha (Arabic); its inhabitants cultivate large quantities of cucumbers and gourds, which they carry to the market of Damascus, three weeks before the same fruits ripen there; the village is also noted for its excellent honey. June 21st.--We ascended the western banks of the valley of the Jordan, and then continued upon a plain, called Ard Aaseifera (Arabic), a small part of which is cultivated by the inhabitants of Szaffad. There are several springs in the plain. In an hour and a quarter, we began to ascend the chain of mountains known by the name of Djebel Szaffad, which begin on the N.W. side of the lake of Houle, being a southern branch of the Djebel el Sheikh, or rather of the Anti-Libanus. On the steep acclivity of this mountain we passed to the left of the village Feraab (Arabic). The road ascends through a narrow valley, called Akabet Feraein, and passes by the spring of Feraein (Arabic). In two hours and three quarters from the bridge, we reached the summit of the mountain, from whence the Djebel el Sheik bears N.E. The whole is calcareous, SZAFFAD [p.317] with very little basalt or tufwacke. At the end of three hours and a half, after a short descent, we reached Szaffad (Arabic), the ancient Japhet; it is a neatly built town, situated round a hill, on the top of which is a castle of Saracen structure. The castle appears to have undergone a thorough repair in the course of the last century, it has a good wall, and is surrounded by a broad ditch. It commands an extensive view over the country towards Akka, and in clear weather the sea is visible from it. There is another but smaller castle, of modern date, with halfruined walls, at the foot of the hill. The town is built upon several low hills, which divide it into different quarters; of these the largest is inhabited exclusively by Jews, who esteem Szaffad as a sacred place. The whole may contain six hundred houses, of which one hundred and fifty belong to the Jews, and from eighty to one hundred to the Christians. In 1799 the Jews quarter was completely sacked by the Turks, after the retreat of the French from Akka; the French had occupied Szaffad with a garrison of about four hundred men, whose outposts were advanced as far as the bridge of Beni Yakoub. The town is governed by a Mutsellim, whose district comprises about a dozen villages. The garrison consists of Moggrebyns, the greater part of whom have married here, and cultivate a part of the neighbouring lands. The town is surrounded with large olive plantations and vineyards, but the principal occupations of the inhabitants are indigo dyeing, and the manufacture of cotton cloth. On every Friday a market is held, to which all the peasants of the neighbourhood resort. Mount Tabor bears from Szaffad S.S.W. June 22d.--As there is no Khan for travellers at Szaffad, and I had no letters to any person in the town, I was obliged to lodge at the public coffee house. We left the town early in the morning, and descended the side of the mountain towards the lake; here the AIN TABEGHA [p.318] ground is for the greater part uncultivated and without trees. At two hours and a quarter is Khan Djob Yousef (Arabic), or the Khan of Joseph�s Well, situated in a narrow plain. The Khan is falling rapidly into ruin; near it is a large Birket. Here is shewn the well into which Joseph was let down by his brothers; it is in a small court-yard by the side of the Khan, is about three feet in diameter, and at least thirty feet deep. I was told that the bottom is hewn in the rock: its sides were well lined with masonry as far as I could see into it, and the water never dries up, a circumstance which makes it difficult to believe that this was the well into which Joseph was thrown. The whole of the mountain in the vicinity is covered with large pieces of black stone; but the main body of the rock is calcareous. The country people relate that the tears of Jacob dropping upon the ground while he was in search of his son turned the white stones black, and they in consequence call these stones Jacob�s tears (Arabic). Joseph�s well is held in veneration by Turks as well as Christians; the former have a small chapel just by it, and caravan travellers seldom pass here without saying a few prayers in honour of Yousef. The Khan is on the great road from Akka to Damascus. It is inhabited by a dozen Moggrebyn soldiers, with their families, who cultivate the fields near it. We continued to descend from Djob Yousef; the district is here called Koua el Kerd (Arabic), and a little lower down Redjel el Kaa (Arabic). At one hour and a half from the Djob Yousef we came to the borders of the lake of Tiberias. At a short distance to the E. of the spot where we reached the plain, is a spring near the border of the lake, called Ain Tabegha (Arabic), with a few houses and a mill; but the water is so strongly impregnated with salt as not to be drinkable. The few inhabitants of this miserable place live by fishing. To the N.E. of Tabegha, HOTTEIN [p.319] between it and the Jordan, are the ruins called Tel Houm (Arabic), which are generally supposed to be those of Capernaum. Here is a well of salt water, called Tennour Ayoub (Arabic). The rivulet El Eshe (Arabic) empties itself into the lake just by. Beyond Tabegha we came to a ruined Khan, near the borders of the lake, called Mennye (Arabic), a large and well constructed building. Here begins a plain of about twenty minutes in breadth, to the north of which the mountain stretches down close to the lake. That plain is covered with the tree called Doum (Arabic) or Theder (Arabic), which bears a small yellow fruit like the Zaarour. It was now about mid-day, and the sun intensely hot, we therefore looked out for a shady spot, and reposed under a very large fig-tree, at the foot of which a rivulet of sweet water gushes out from beneath the rocks, and falls into the lake at a few hundred paces distant. The tree has given its name to the spring, Ain-et-Tin (Arabic); near it are several other springs, which occasion a very luxuriant herbage along the borders of the lake. The pastures of Mennye are proverbial for their richness among the inhabitants of the neighbouring countries. High reeds grow along the shore, but I found none of the aromatic reeds and rushes mentioned by Strabo.[Greek. l.16, p.755] The N.W. and S. shores are generally sandy, without reeds, but large quantities grow at the mouths of the Wadys on the E. side. In thirty-eight minutes from Khan Mennye we passed a small rivulet, which waters Wady Lymoun. At about one hour�s distance from our road, up in the mountain, we saw the village Sendjol (Arabic), about half an hour to the west of which lies the village Hottein (Arabic). In forty-five minutes we passed the large branch of the Wady Lymoun. The mountains which border the lake here terminate TABARIA [p.320] in a perpendicular cliff, which is basaltish with an upper stratum of calcareous rock; and the shore changes from the direction S.W. by S. to that of S. by E. In the angle stands the miserable village El Medjdel (Arabic), one hour distant from Ain-et-Tin, and agreeing both in name and position with the ancient Magdala. The Wady Hammam, in which stands the Kalaat ibn-Maan, branches off from Medjdel. Proceeding from hence the shore of the lake is overgrown with Defle (Solanum furiosum), and there are several springs close to the water�s side. At the end of two hours and a quarter from Ain-et-Tin, we reached Tabaria (Arabic). June 23d.--There being no Khan for travellers at Tabaria I went to the Catholic priest, and desired him to let me have the keys of the church, that I might take up my quarters there; he gave them to me, but finding the place swarming with vermin, I removed into the open churchyard. Tabaria, the ancient Tiberias,[Tel el Faras, the southern extremity of Djebel Heish, bears from a point above Tabaria N.E. by E.] stands close to the lake, upon a small plain, surrounded by mountains. Its situation is extremely hot and unhealthy, as the mountain impedes the free course of the westerly winds which prevail throughout Syria during the summer. Hence intermittent fevers, especially those of the quartan form, are very common in the town in that season. Little rain falls in winter, snow is almost unknown on the borders of the lake, and the temperature, on the whole, appears to be very nearly the same as that of the Dead sea. The town is surrounded towards the land by a thick and well built wall, about twenty feet in height, with a high parapet and loop-holes. It surrounds the city on three sides, and touches the water at its two [p.321] extremities; but there are some remains on the shore of the lake, which seem to indicate that the town was once inclosed on this side also. I observed, likewise, some broken columns of granite in the water close to the shore. The town wall is flanked by twenty round towers standing at unequal distances. Both towers and walls are built with black stones of moderate size, and seem to be the work of not very remote times; the whole being in a good state of repair, the place may be considered as almost impregnable to Syrian soldiers. [Map not included] a, The town gate; b, the Serai or palace of the Mutsellim, a spacious building, which has lately been repaired; c, the mosque, a fine building, but in bad condition; d, the Catholic church; e, the gate of the Jews quarter; f, a mosque; g, a range of large vaults; h, a small town-gate now walled up; i, a newly built Bazar. The mosque (f) is a handsome arched building, and was anciently a church. The range of vaults at g, which are close to the sea shore, communicate with each other by cross alleys and have very low roofs, which terminate at top in a point: they are well built with stones joined with a very thick cement, and appear to have been destined for warehouses; in summer they are almost the only cool places in the town. I could not find any inscriptions, that might assist in determining their date. Tabaria, with its district of ten or twelve villages, forms a part of the Pashalik of Akka. Being considered one of the principal points of defence of the Pashalik, a garrison of two or three hundred [p.322] men is constantly kept here, the greater part of whom are married, and settled. During the reign of Djezzar a colony of two hundred Afghan soldiers were persuaded by the Pasha to establish themselves at Tabaria; many of them were natives of Kashmir: and among others their Aga, who was sent for expressly by Djezzar. After the Pasha�s death they dispersed over Syria, but I found two Kashmirines still remaining, who gave me the history of their colony in broken Arabic. The Christian church is dedicated to St. Peter, and is said to have been founded on the spot where St. Peter threw his net. It belongs to the community of Terra Santa and is visited annually on St. Peter�s day by the Frank missionaries of Nazaret, who celebrate mass in it on this occasion. In the street, not far from the church, is a large stone, formerly the architrave of some building; upon which are sculptured in bas-relief two lions seizing two sheep. There are about four thousand inhabitants in Tabaria, one-fourth of whom are Jews. The Christian community consists only of a few families, but they enjoy great liberty, and are on a footing of equality with the Turks. The difference of treatment which the Christians experience from the Turks in different parts of Syria is very remarkable. In some places a Christian would be deprived of his last farthing, if not of his life, were he to curse the Mohammedan religion when quarrelling with a Turk; while in others but a few hours distant, he retorts with impunity upon the Mohammedan, every invective which he may utter against the Christian religion. At Szaffad, where is a small Christian community, the Turks are extremely intolerant; at Tiberias, on the contrary, I have seen Christians beating Turks in the public Bazar. This difference seems chiefly to depend upon the character of the local [p.323] government. That of Soleiman Pasha of Akka, the successor of Djezzar, is distinguished for its religious tolerance; while Damascus still continues to be the seat of fanatism, and will remain so as long as there are no Frank establishments or European agents in that city. A Bazar has lately been built at Tabaria, in which I counted about a dozen retail shops. The traffic of the inhabitants is principally with the Bedouins of the Ghor, and of the district of Szaffad. The shopkeepers repair every Monday to the Khan at the foot of Mount Tabor, where a market, called Souk el Khan (Arabic) is held, and where the merchandize of the town is bartered chiefly for cattle. The far greater part of the inhabitants of Tabaria cultivate the soil; they sow the narrow plain to the west of the town, and the declivity of the western mountain, which they irrigate artificially by means of several springs. The heat of the climate would enable them to grow almost any tropical plant, but the only produce of their fields are wheat, barley, Dhourra, tobacco, melons, grapes, and a few vegetables. The melons are of the finest quality, and are in great demand at Akka and Damascus, where that fruit is nearly a month later in ripening. Knowing how fond the Syrians in general are of the early fruits, I sent to my friends at Damascus a mule load of these melons, which, according to eastern fashion, is a very acceptable and polite present. About three hundred and fifty pounds weight English of melons sell at Tabaria for about eight shillings. I was informed that the shrub which produces the balm of Mecca succeeds very well here, and that several people have it in their gardens.[Strabo mentions the [Greek], as growing on the lake, p. 755. Ed.] It was described to me as a low shrub, with leaves resembling those of the vine, the fruit about three inches long and in the form of a cucumber, changing from green to a yellow colour when ripe; it is gathered in June, oil is then poured over [p.324] it, and in this state it is exposed to the sun, after which the juic[e] forming the balm is expressed from it. The Jews of Tiberias occupy a quarter on the shore of the lake in the middle of the town, which has lately been considerably enlarged by the purchase of several streets: it is separated from the rest of the town by a high wall, and has only one gate of entrance, which is regularly shut at sunset, after which no person is allowed to pass. There are one hundred and sixty, or two hundred families, of which forty or fifty are of Polish origin, the rest are Jews from Spain, Barbary, and different parts of Syria. Tiberias is one of the four holy cities of the Talmud; the other three being Szaffad, Jerusalem, and Hebron. It is esteemed holy ground, because Jacob is supposed to have resided here, and because it is situated on the lake Genasereth, from which, according to the most generally received opinion of the Talmud, the Messiah is to rise. The greater part of the Jews who reside in these holy places do not engage in mercantile pursuits; but are a society of religious persons occupied solely with their sacred duties. There are among them only two who are merchants, and men of property, and these are styled Kafers or unbelievers by the others, who do nothing but read and pray. Jewish devotees from all parts of the globe flock to the four holy cities, in order to pass their days in praying for their own salvation, and that of their brethren, who remain occupied in worldly pursuits. But the offering up of prayers by these devotees is rendered still more indispensible by a dogma contained in the Talmud, that the world will return to its primitive chaos, if prayers are not addressed to the God of Israel at least twice a week in these four cities; this belief produces considerable pecuniary advantage to the supplicants, as the missionaries sent abroad to collect alms for the support of these religious fraternities plead the danger of the threatened chaos, to induce the rich Jews to send supplies of money, in [p.325] order that the prayers may be constantly offered up. Three or four missionaries are sent out every year; one to the coasts of Africa from Damietta to Mogadore, another to the coasts of Europe from Venice to Gibraltar, a third to the Archipelago, Constantinople, and Anatolia; and a fourth through Syria. The charity of the Jews of London is appealed to from time to time; but the Jews of Gibraltar have the reputation of being more liberal than any others, and, from four to five thousand Spanish dollars are received annually from them. The Polish Jews settled at Tabaria send several collectors regularly into Bohemia and Poland, and the rich Jewish merchants in those countries have their pensioners in the Holy Land, to whom they regularly transmit sums of money. Great jealousy seems to prevail between the Syrian and Polish Jews. The former being in possession of the place, oblige the foreighers to pay excessively high for their lodgings; and compel them also to contribute considerable sums towards the relief of the indigent Syrians, while they themselves never give the smallest trifle to the poor from Poland. The pilgrim Jews, who repair to Tiberias, are of all ages from twelve to sixty. If they bring a little money with them the cunning of their brethren here soon deprives them of it; for as they arrive with the most extravagant ideas, of the holy cities, they are easily imposed upon before their enthusiasm begins to cool. To rent a house in which some learned Rabbin or saint died, to visit the tombs of the most renowned devotees, to have the sacred books opened in their presence, and public prayers read for the salvation of the new-comers, all these inestimable advantages, together with various other minor religious tricks, soon strip the stranger of his last farthing; he then becomes dependent upon the charity of his nation, upon foreign subsidies, or upon the fervour of some inexperienced pilgrim. Those who go abroad as [p.326] missionaries generally realise some property, as they are allowed ten per cent. upon all alms collected, besides their travelling expenses. The Jewish devotees pass the whole day in the schools or the synagogue, reciting the Old Testament and the Talmud, both of which many of them know entirely by heart. They all write Hebrew; but I did not see any fine hand-writing amongst them; their learning, seems to be on the same level as that of the Turks, among whom an Olema thinks he has attained the pinnacle of knowledge if he can recite all the Koran together with some thousand of Hadeath, or sentences of the Prophet, and traditions concerning him; but neither Jews, nor Turks, nor Christians, in these countries, have the slightest idea of that criticism, which might guide them to a rational explanation or emendation of their sacred books. It was in vain that I put questions to several of the first Rabbins, concerning the desert in which the children of Israel sojourned for forty years; I found that my own scanty knowledge of the geography of Palestine, and of its partition amongst the twelve tribes, was superior to theirs. There are some beautiful copies of the books of Moses in the Syrian synagogue, written upon a long roll of leather, not parchment, but no one could tell me when or where they were made; I suspect, however, that they came from Bagdad, where the best Hebrew scribes live, and of whose writings I had seen many fine specimens at Aleppo and Damascus. The libraries of the two schools at Tiberias are moderately stocked with Hebrew books, most of which have been printed at Vienna and Venice. Except some copies of the Old Testament and the Talmud, they have no manuscripts. They observe a singular custom here in praying; while the Rabbin recites the Psalms of David, or the prayers extracted from them, the congregation frequently imitate by their voice or gestures, [p.327] the meaning of some remarkable passages; for example, when the Rabbin pronounces the words, �Praise the Lord with the sound of the trumpet,� they imitate the sound of the trumpet through their closed fists. When �a horrible tempest� occurs, they puff and blow to represent a storm; or should he mention �the cries of the righteous in distress,� they all set up a loud screaming; and it not unfrequently happens that while some are still blowing the storm, others have already begun the cries of the righteous, thus forming a concert which it is difficult for any but a zealous Hebrew to hear with gravity. The Jews enjoy here perfect religious freedom, more particularly since Soleiman, whose principal minister, Haym Farkhy, is a Jew, has succeeded to the Pashalik of Akka. During the life of Djezzar Pasha they were often obliged to pay heavy fines; at present they merely pay the Kharadj. Their conduct, however, is not so prudent as it ought to be, in a country where the Turks are always watching for a pretext to extort money; they sell wine and brandy to the soldiers of the town, almost publicly, and at their weddings they make a very dangerous display of their wealth. On these occasions they traverse the city in pompous procession, carrying before the bride the plate of almost the whole community, consisting of large dishes, coffee pots, coffee cups, &c., and they feast in the house of the bridegroom for seven successive days and nights. The wedding feast of a man who has about fifty pounds a year, and no Jew can live with his family on less, will often cost more than sixty pounds. They marry at a very early age, it being not uncommon to see mothers of eleven and fathers of thirteen years. The Rabbin of Tiberias is under the great Rabbin of Szaffad, who pronounces final judgment on all contested points of law and religion. I found amongst the Polish Jews, one from Bohemia, an honest [p.328] German, who was overjoyed on hearing me speak his own language, and who carried me through the quarter, introducing me to all his acquaintance. In every house I was offered brandy, and the women appeared to be much less shy than they are in other parts of Syria. It may easily be supposed that many of these Jews are discontented with their lot. Led by the stories of the missionaries to conceive the most exalted ideas of the land of promise, as they still call it, several of them have absconded from their parents, to beg their way to Palestine, but no sooner do they arrive in one or other of the four holy cities, than they find by the aspect of all around them, that they have been deceived. A few find their way back to their native country, but the greater number remain, and look forward to the inestimable advantage of having their bones laid in the holy land. The cemetery of the Jews of Tiberias is on the declivity of the mountain, about half an hour from the town; where the tombs of their most renowed persons are visited much in the same manner as are the sepulchres of Mussulman saints. I was informed that a great Rabbin lay buried there, with fourteen thousand of his scholars around him. The ancient town of Tiberias does not seem to have occupied any part of the present limits of Tabaria, but was probably situated at a short distance farther to the south, near the borders of the lake. Its ruins begin at about five minutes walk from the wall of the present town, on the road to the hot-wells. The only remains of antiquity are a few columns, heaps of stones, and some half ruined walls and foundations of houses. On the sea-side, close to the water, are the ruins of a long thick wall or mole, with a few columns of gray granite, lying in the sea. About mid-way between the town and the hot-wells, in the midst of the plain, I saw seven columns, of which two only are standing upright; and there may probably be more lying on the ground, hid among the high [p.329] grass with which the plain is covered; they are of gray granite, about twelve or fourteen feet long, and fifteen inches in diameter; at a short distance from them is the fragment of a beautiful column of red Egyptian granite, of more than two feet in diameter. These ruins stretch along the sea-shore, as far as the hot springs, and extend to about three hundred yards inland. The springs are at thirty-five minutes from the modern town, and twenty paces from the water�s edge; they were probably very near the gate of the ancient town. No vestiges of buildings of any size are visible here; nothing being seen but the ruins of small arched buildings, and heaps of stone. There are some other remains of ancient habitations on the north side of the town, upon a hill close to the sea, which is connected with the mountain; here are also some thick walls which indicate that this point, which commands the town, was anciently fortified. None of the ruined buildings in Tiberias or the neighbourhood are constructed with large stones, denoting a remote age; all the walls, of which any fragments yet remain, being of small black stones cemented together by a very thick cement. Upon a low hill on the S.W. side of the town stands a well built mosque, and the chapel of a female saint. The present hot-bath is built over the spring nearest the town, and consists of two double rooms, the men�s apartment being separated from that of the women. The former is a square vaulted chamber, with a large stone basin in the centre, surrounded by broad stone benches; the spring issues from the wall, and flows into the basin or bath. After remaining in the water for about ten minutes, the bathers seat themselves naked upon the stone benches, where they remain for an hour. With this chamber a coffee room cummunicates, in which a waiter lives during the bathing season, and where visitors from a distance may lodge. The spring [p.330] which has thus been appropriated to bathing, is the largest of four hot sources; the volume of its water is very considerable, and would be sufficient to turn a mill. Continuing along the shore for about two hundred paces, the three other hot-springs are met with, or four, if we count separately two small ones close together. The most southern spring seems to be the hottest of all; the hand cannot be held in it. The water deposits upon the stones over which it flows in its way towards the sea, a thick crust, but the colour of the deposit is not the same from all the springs; in some it is white, in the others it is of a red yellowish hue, a circumstance which seems to indicate that the nature of the water is not the same in all the sources. There are no remains whatever of ancient buildings near the hottest spring. People from all parts of Syria resort to these baths, which are reckoned most efficacious in July; they are recommended principally for rheumatic complaints, and cases of premature debility. Two patients only were present when I visited them. Some public women of Damascus, who were kept by the garrison of Tabaria, had established themselves in the ruined vaults and caverns near the baths. In the fourteenth century, according to the testimony of the Arabian geographers, the tomb of Lokman the philosopher was shewn at Tiberias. Not having been immediately able to find a guide to accompany me along the valley of the Jordan, I visited a fortress in the mountain near Medjdel,[See page 320.] of which I had heard much at Tabaria. It is called Kalaat Ibn Maan (Arabic), the castle of the son of Maan, or Kalaat Hamam (Arabic), the Pigeon�s castle, on account of the vast quantity of wild pigeons that breed there. It is situated half KALAAT HAMAM [p.331] An hour to the west of Medjdel, on the cliff which borders the Wady Hamam. In the calcareous mountain are many natural caverns, which have been united together by passages cut in the rock, and enlarged, in order to render them more commodious for habitation; walls have also been built across the natural openings, so that no person could enter them except through the narrow communicating passages; and wherever the nature of the almost perpendicular cliff permitted it, small bastions were built, to defend the entrance of the castle, which has been thus rendered almost impregnable. The perpendicular cliff forms its protection above, and the access from below is by a narrow path, so steep as not to allow of a horse mounting it. In the midst of the caverns several deep cisterns have been hewn. The whole might afford refuge to about six hundred men; but the walls are now much damaged. The place was probably the work of some powerful robber, about the time of the Crusades; a few vaults of communication, with pointed arches, denote Gothic architecture. Below in the valley runs a small rivulet, which empties itself into the Wady Lymoun. Here the peasants of Medjdel cultivate some gardens. In returning from the Kalaat Hamam I was several times reprimanded by my guide, for not taking proper care of the lighted tobacco that fell from my pipe. The whole of the mountain is thickly covered with dry grass, which readily takes fire, and the slightest breath of air instantly spreads the conflagration far over the country, to the great risk of the peasant�s harvest. The Arabs who inhabit the valley of the Jordan invariably put to death any person who is known to have been even the innocent cause of firing the grass, and they have made it a public law among themselves, that even in the height of intestine warfare, no one shall attempt to set his enemy�s harvest on fire. One evening, while at Tabaria, I saw a large fire on the opposite side of the lake, which LAKE OF TIBERIAS [p.332] spread with great velocity for two days, till its progress was checked by the Wady Feik. The water of the lake of Tiberias along its shores from Medjdel to the hot-wells, is of considerable depth, with no shallows. I was told that the water rises during the rainy season, three or four feet above its ordinary level, which seems not at all improbable, considering the great number of winter torrents which empty themselves into the lake. The northern part is full of fish, but I did not see a single one at Szammagh at the southern extremity.[See p. 276] The most common species are the Binni, or carp, and the Mesht (Arabic), which is about a foot long, and five inches broad, with a flat body, like the sole. The fishery of the lake is rented at seven hundred piastres per annum: but the only boat that was employed on it by the fishermen fell to pieces last year, and such is the indolence of these people, that they have not yet supplied its loss. The lake furnishes the inhabitants of Tiberias with water, there being no spring of sweet water near the town. Several houses have salt wells. June 26th.�I took a guide to Mount Tabor. The whole of this country, even to the gates of Damascus, is in a state of insecurity, which renders it very imprudent to travel alone. Merchants go only in large caravans. We ascended the mountain to the west of the town, and in thirty-five minutes passed the ruined vil[lage] of Szermedein (Arabic), on the declivity of the mountain, where is a fine spring, and the tomb of a celebrated saint. The people of Tabaria here cultivate Dhourra, melons, and tobacco. At the end of one hour we reached the top of the steep mountain, from whence Mount Tabor, or Djebel Tor (Arabic), as the natives call it, bears S.W. by S. From hence the road continues on a gentle MOUNT TABOR [p.333] declivity, in the midst of well cultivated Dhourra fields, as far as a low tract called Ardh el Hamma (Arabic). The whole district is covered with the thorny shrub Merar (Arabic). On the west side of Ardh el Hamma we again ascended, and reached the village of Kefer Sebt (Arabic), distant two hours and a half from Tabaria, and situated on the top of a range of hills which run parallel to those of Tabaria. About half an hour to the N.E. is the spring Ain Dhamy (Arabic), in a deep valley. From hence a wide plain extends to the foot of Djebel Tor; in crossing it, we saw on our right, about three quarters of an hour from the road, the village Louby (Arabic), and a little farther on, the village Shedjare (Arabic). The plain was covered with the wild artichoke, called Khob (Arabic); it bears a thorny violet coloured flower, in the shape of an artichoke, upon a stem five feet in height. In three hours and a quarter, we arrived at the Khan of Djebel Tor (Arabic), a large ruinous building, inhabited by a few families. On the opposite side of the road is a half ruined fort. A large fair is held here every Monday. Though the Khan is at no great distance from the foot of Mount Tabor, the people could not inform us whether or not the Mount was inhabited at present; nor were they hospitable enough either to lend or sell us the little provision we might want, should there be no inhabitants. At a quarter of an hour from the Khan is a fine spring, where we found an encampment of Bedouins of the tribe of Szefeyh (Arabic), whose principal riches consist in cows. My guide went astray in the valleys which surround the lower parts of Djebel Tor, and we were nearly three hours, from our departure from the Khan, in reaching the top of the Mount. Mount Tabor is almost insulated, and overtops all the neighbouring summits. On its south and west sides extends a large [p.334] plain, known by the name of Merdj Ibn Aamer (Arabic), the Plain of Esdrelon of the Scriptures. To the S. of the plain are the mountains of Nablous, and to the N. of it, those of Nazareth, which reach to the foot of Mount Tabor, terminating at the village of Daboury. The plain of Esdrelon is about eight hours in length and four in breadth, it is very fertile, but at present almost entirely deserted. The shape of Mount Tabor is that of a truncated cone; its sides are covered to the top with a forest of oak and wild pistachio trees; its top is about half an hour in circuit. The mountain is entirely calcareous. We found on the top a single family of Greek Christians, refugees from Ezra, a village in the Haouran, where I had known them during my stay there in November, 1810. They had retired to this remote spot, to avoid paying taxes to the government, and expected to remain unnoticed; they rented the upper plain at the rate of fifty piastres per annum from the Sheikh of Daboury, to which village the mountain belongs; the harvest, which they were now gathering in, was worth about twelve hundred piastres, and they had had the good fortune not to be disturbed by any tax-gatherers, which will certainly not be the case next year, should they remain here. On the top of Mount Tabor are found the remains of a large fortress. A thick wall, constructed with large stones, may be traced quite round the summit, close to the edge of the precipice; on several parts of it are the remains of bastions. On the west side a high arched gate, called Bab el Haoua (Arabic), or the gate of the winds, is shewn, which appears to have been the principal entrance. The area is overspread with the ruins of private dwellings, built of stone with great solidity. There are no springs, but a great number of reservoirs have been cut in the rock, two of which are still of service in supplying water. The Christians consider [p.335] Mount Tabor a holy place, in honour of the Transfiguration, but the exact spot at which it took place is not known; and the Latins and Greeks are at variance upon the subject. The Latins celebrate the sacred event in a small cavern, where they have formed a chapel; at about five minutes walk from which, the Greeks have built a low circular wall, with an altar before it, for the same purpose. The Latin missionaries of the Frank convent of Nazareth send annually two fathers to celebrate a mass in their chapel; they generally choose St. Peter�s day for making this visit, and arrive here in the morning, in order that they may read the evening mass in the church of St. Peter at Tabaria. The Greek priests of Nazareth visit their chapel of Mount Tabor on the festival of the Virgin, on which occasion several thousand pilgrims repair to the mountain, where they pass the night under tents with their families, in mirth and feasting. During the greater part of the summer Mount Tabor is covered in the morning with thick clouds, which disperse towards mid-day. A strong wind blows the whole of the day, and in the night dews fall, more copious than any I had seen in Syria. In the wooded parts of the mountain are wild boars and ounces. I lodged with my old acquaintance the Arab of Ezra, who had taken up his quarters in one of the ruined habitations. June 27th.�After mid-day we returned to Tabaria by the same road. On entering the church-yard of St. Peter�s, my old lodgings, I was not a little surprised to find it full of strangers. Mr. Bruce, an English traveller, had arrived from Nazareth, in company with several priests of the Frank convent, who intended to celebrate mass at night, this being St. Peter�s day. I was easily prevailed on by Mr. Bruce to accompany him on his return to Nazareth the following morning, the more so, as I there hoped to find a guide for the valley of the Jordan; for no person at Tabaria NAZARETH [p.336] seemed to be inclined to undertake the journey, except in the company of an armed caravan. June 28th.�We left Tabaria two hours before sun-rise. There are two direct roads to Nazareth; one by Kefer Sebt and El Khan, the other by Louby. We took a third, that we might visit some spots recorded in the New Testament. In one hour from Tabaria we passed a spring called Ain el Rahham (Arabic). At two hours and a half, the road leads over a high uncultivated plain, to Hedjar el Noszara (Arabic), the Stones of the Christians, four or five blocks of black stone, upon which Christ is said to have reclined while addressing the people who flocked around him. The priests of Nazareth stopped to read some prayers over the stones. Below this place, towards the N.E. extends a small plain, called Sahel Hottein (Arabic). The country is intersected by Wadys. About one hour distant from the stones, upon the same level, stands a hill of an oblong shape, with two projecting summits on one of its extremities; the natives call it Keroun Hottein (Arabic), the Horns of Hottein. The Christians have given it the appellation of Mons Beatitudinis, and pretend that the five thousand were there fed. We travelled over an uneven, uncultivated ground, until we arrived at Kefer Kenna (Arabic), four hours and a quarter from Tabaria, a neat village with a copious spring surrounded by plantations of olive and other fruit trees, and chiefly inhabited by Catholic Christians. This is the Cana celebrated in the New Testament for the miracle at the marriage feast; and the house is shewn in which Our Saviour performed it. We rested under an immense fig-tree, which afforded shelter from the sun to a dozen men and as many horses and mules. From hence the road ascends, and continues across chalky hills, overgrown with low shrubs, as far as Naszera (Arabic) or Nazareth, eight hours from Tabaria, by the road we travelled. I alighted at the convent [p.337] belonging to the missionaries of Terra Santa. Here Mr. Bruce introduced me to Lady Hester Stanhope, who had arrived a few days before from Jerusalem and Akka, and was preparing to visit the northern parts of Syria, and among other places Palmyra. The manly spirit and enlightened curiosity of this lady ought to make many modern travellers ashamed of the indolent indifference with which they hurry over foreign countries. She sees a great deal, and carefully examines what she sees; but it is to be hoped that the polite and distinguished manner in which she is every where received by the governors of the country, will not impress her with too favourable an opinion of the Turks in general, and of their disposition towards the nations of Europe. Naszera is one of the principal towns of the Pashalik of Akka; its inhabitants are industrious, because they are treated with less severity than those of the country towns in general; two-thirds of them are Turks, and one-third Christians; there are about ninety Latin families; together with a congregation of Greek Catholics and another of Maronites. The house of Joseph is shewn to pilgrims and travellers; but the principal curiosity of Nazareth is the convent of the Latin friars, a very spacious and commodious building, which was thoroughly repaired, and considerably enlarged in 1730. Within it is the church of the Annunciation, in which the spot is shewn where the angel stood, when he announced to the Virgin Mary the tidings of the Messiah; behind the altar is a subterraneous cavern divided into small grottos, where the Virgin is said to have lived: her kitchen, parlour, and bedroom, are shewn, and a narrow hole in the rock, in which the child Jesus once hid himself from his persecutors; for the Syrian Christians have a plentiful stock of such traditions, unfounded upon any authority of Scripture. The pilgrims who visit these holy spots are in the habit of knocking off small pieces of stone from the [p.338] walls of the grottos, which are thus continually enlarging. In the church a miracle is still exhibited to the faithful; a fine granite column, the base and upper part of which remain, has lost the middle part of its shaft. According to the tradition, it was destroyed by the Saracens, ever since which time, the upper part has been miraculously suspended from the roof, as if attracted by a load-stone. All the Christians of Nazareth, with the friars of course at their head, affect to believe in this miracle, although it is perfectly evident that the upper part of the column is connected with the roof. The church is the finest in Syria, next to that of the Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem, and contains two tolerably good organs. Within the walls of the convent are two gardens, and a small burying ground; the walls are very thick, and serve occasionally as a fortress to all the Christians of the town. There are at present eleven friars in the convent. The yearly expenses of the establishment amount to upwards of £900. sterling, a small part of which is defrayed by the rent of a few houses in the town, and by the produce of some acres of corn land; the rest is remitted from Jerusalem. The whole annual expenses of the Terra Santa convents are about £15,000. They have felt very sensibly the occupation of Spain by the French, and little has been received from Europe for the last four years; while the Turkish authorities exact the same yearly tribute and extraordinary contributions, as formerly;[The Terra Santa pays to the Pasha of Damascus about £12000. a year; the Greek convent of Jerusalem pays much more, as well to maintain its own privileges, as with a view to encroach upon those of the Latins.] so that if Spain be not speedily liberated, it is to be feared that the whole establishment of the Terra Santa must be abandoned. This would be a great calamity, for it cannot be doubted that they have done honour to the European [p.339] name in the Levant, and have been very beneficial to the cause of Christianity under the actual circumstances of the East. The friars are chiefly Spanjards; they are exasperated against France, for pretending to protect them, without affording them the smallest relief from the Pasha�s oppressions:[I understood from the Spanish consul at Cairo, that when the news of the capture of Madrid, in August, 1812, reached Jerusalem, the Spanish priests celebrated a public Te Deum, and took the oaths prescribed by the new constitution of the Cortes.] but they are obliged to accept this protection, as the Spanish ambassador at Constantinople is not yet acknowledged by the Porte. They are well worth the attention of any ambassador at the Porte, whose government is desirous of maintaining an influence in Syria, for they command the consciences of upwards of eighty thousand souls. When the French invaded Syria, Nazareth was occupied by six or eight hundred men, whose advanced posts were at Tabaria and Szaffad. Two hours from hence, General Kleber sustained with a corps not exceeding fifteen hundred men, the attack of the whole Syrian army, amounting to at least twenty-five thousand. He was posted in the plain of Esdrelon, near the village of Foule, where he formed his battalion into a square, which continued fighting from sun-rise to mid-day, until they had expended almost all their ammunition. Bonaparte, informed of Kleber�s perilous situation, advanced to his support with six hundred men. No sooner had he come in sight of the enemy and fired a shot over the plain, than the Turks, supposing that a large force was advancing, took precipitately to flight, during which several thousands were killed, and many drowned in the river Daboury, which then inundated a part of the plain. Bonaparte dined at Nazareth, the most northern point that he reached in Syria, and returned the same day to Akka. [p.340] After the retreat of the French from Akka, Djezzar Pasha resolved on causing all the Christians in his Pashalik to be massacred, and had already sent orders to that effect to Jerusalem and Nazareth; but Sir Sidney Smith being apprized of his intentions reproached him for his cruelty in the severest terms, and threatened that if a single Christian head should fall, he would bombard Akka and set it on fire. Djezzar was thus obliged to send counter orders, but Sir Sidney�s interference is still remembered with heartfelt gratitude by all the Christians, who look upon him as their deliverer. �His word,� I have often heard both Turks and Christians exclaim, �was like God�s word, it never failed.� The same cannot be said of his antagonist at Akka, who maliciously impressed the Christians, certainly much inclined in his favour, with the idea of his speedy return from Egypt. On retreating from Akka he sent word to his partizans at Szaffad and Nazareth, exhorting them to bear up resolutely against the Turks but for three months, when, he assured them upon his honour, and with many oaths, that he would return with a much stronger force, and deliver them from their oppressors. The inhabitants of Nazareth differ somewhat in features and colour from the northern Syrians; their physiognomy approaches that of the Egyptians, while their dialect and pronunciation differ widely from those of Damascus. In western Palestine, especially on the coast, the inhabitants, seem in general, to bear more resemblance to the natives of Egypt, than to those of northern Syria. Towards the east of Palestine, on the contrary, especially in the villages about Nablous, Jerusalem, and Hebron, they are evidently of the true Syrian stock, in features, though not in language. It would be an interesting subject for an artist to pourtray accurately the different character of features of the Syrian nations; the Aleppine, the Turkman, the native of Mount [p.341] Libanus, the Damascene, the inhabitant of the sea-coast from Beirout to Akka, and the Bedouin, although all inhabiting the same country, have distict national physiognomies, and a slight acquaintance with them enables one to determine the native district of a Syrian, with almost as much certainty as an Englishman may be distinguished at first sight from an Italian or an inhabitant of the south of France. The Christians of Nazareth enjoy great liberty. The fathers go a shooting alone in their monastic habits to several hours distance from the convent, without ever being insulted by the Turks. I was told that about thirty years ago the padre guardiano of the convent was also Sheikh or chief justice of the town, an office for which he paid a certain yearly sum to the Pasha of Akka; the police of the place was consequently in his hands, and when any disturbance happened, the reverend father used to take his stick, repair to the spot, and lay about him freely, no matter whether upon Turks or Christians. The guardian has still much influence in the town, because he is supposed, as usual, to be on good terms with the Pasha, but at present the chief man at Nazareth is M. Catafago, a merchant of Frank origin, born at Aleppo. He has rented from the Pasha about twelve villages situated in the neighbourhood of Nazareth and the plain of Esdrelon, for which he pays yearly upwards of £3000.[The villages in the Pashalik of Akka are all of the description which the Turkish law calls Melk. They are all assessed at certain yearly sums, which each is obliged to pay, whatever may be the number of its inhabitants. This is one of the chief causes of the depopulation of many parts of Syria.] His profits are very considerable, and as he meddles much in the politics and intrigues of the country, he has become a person of great consequence. His influence and recommendations may prove very useful to travellers in Palestine, especially to those who visit the dangerous districts of Nablous. NABLOUS [p.342] It happened luckily during my stay at Nazareth, that two petty merchants arrived there from Szalt, to take up some merchandize which they sell at Szalt on account of their principals at this place. Szalt was precisely the point I wished to reach, not having been able to visit it during my late tour in the mountains of Moerad; on their return therefore I gladly joined their little carayan, and we left Nazareth at midnight, on the 1st of July. July 2d.�Our road lay over a mountainous country. In two hours from Nazareth we passed a small rivulet. Two hours and a half, the village Denouny (Arabic), and near it the ruins of Endor, where the witch�s grotto is shewn. From hence the direction of our route was S.S.E. Leaving Mount Tabor to the left we passed along the plain of Esdrelon: meeting with several springs in our road; but the country is a complete desert, although the soil is fertile. At five hours and a half is the village of Om el Taybe (Arabic), belonging to the district of Djebel Nablous, or as it is also called Belad Harthe (Arabic). The inhabitants of Nablous are governed by their own chiefs, who are invested by the Pasha. It is said that the villages belonging to the district can raise an army of five thousand men. They are a restless people, continually in dispute with each other, and frequently in insurrection against the Pasha. Djezzar never succeeded in completely subduing them, and Junot, with a corps of fifteen hundred French soldiers, was defeated by them. The principal chief of Nablous at present is of the family of Shadely (Arabic). In six hours and three quarters we passed the village of Meraszrasz (Arabic), upon the summit of a chain of hills on the side of Wady Oeshe (Arabic), which falls into the Jordan. At about half an hour to the north of this Wady runs another, called Wady Byre (Arabic), likewise falling into that river. Between these two valleys are situated the villages of Denna (Arabic) and Kokab (Arabic). Beyond Meraszrasz BYSAN [p.343] we began to descend, and reached the bottom of the valley El Ghor in seven hours and three quarters from our departure from Nazareth. We now turned more southward, and followed the valley as far as Bysan, distant eight hours and a quarter from Nazareth. The two merchants and myself had left the caravan at Meraszrasz, and proceeded to Bysan, there to repose till the camels came up: but the drivers missed the road, and we continued almost the whole day in search of them. Bysan (Bethsan, Scythopolis) is situated upon rising ground, on the west side of the Ghor, where the chain of mountains bordering the valley declins considerably in height, and presents merely elevated ground, quite open towards the west. At one hour distant, to the south, the mountains begin again. The ancient town was watered by a river, now called Moiet Bysan (Arabic), or the water of Bysan, which flows in different branches towards the plain. The ruins of Scythopolis are of considerable extent, and the town, built along the banks of the rivulet and in the valleys formed by its several branches, must have been nearly three miles in circuit. The only remains are large heaps of black hewn stones, many foundations of houses, and the fragments of a few columns. I saw only a single shaft of a column standing. In one of the valleys is a large mound of earth, which appeared to me to be artificial; it was the site perhaps of a castle for the defence of the town. On the left bank of the stream is a large Khan, where the caravans repose which take the shortest road from Jerusalem to Damascus. The present village of Bysan contains seventy or eighty houses; its inhabitants are in a miserable condition, from being exposed to the depredations of the Bedouins of the Ghor, to whom they also pay a heavy tribute. After waiting here some time for the arrival of the caravan, we rode across the valley, till we reached the VALLEY OF THE JORDAN [p.344] banks of the Jordan, about two hours distant from Bysan, which bore N.N.W. from us. We here crossed the river at a ford, where our companions arrived soon afterwards. The valley of the Jordan, or El Ghor (Arabic), which may be said to begin at the northern extremity of the lake of Tiberias, has near Bysan a direction of N. by E. and S. by W. Its breadth is about two hours. The great number of rivulets which descend from the mountains on both sides, and form numerous pools of stagnant water, produce in many places a pleasing verdure, and a luxuriant growth of wild herbage and grass; but the greater part of the ground is a parched desert, of which a few spots only are cultivated by the Bedouins. In the neighbourhood of Bysan the soil is entirely of marle; there are very few trees; but wherever there is water high reeds are found. The river Jordan, on issuing from the lake of Tiberias, flows for about three hours near the western hills, and then turns towards the eastern, on which side it continues its course for several hours. The river flows in a valley of about a quarter of an hour in breadth, which is considerably lower than the rest of the plain of Ghor; this lower valley is covered with high trees and a luxuriant verdure, which affords a striking contrast with the sandy slopes that border it on both sides. The trees most frequently met with on the banks of the Jordan are of the species called by the Arabs Gharab (Arabic) and Kottab (Arabic) [The following are the names or the rivulets which descend from the western mountains into the Ghor, to the north or Bysan. Beginning at the southern extremity of the lake of Tiberias are Wady Fedjaz (Arabic), Ain el Szammera (Arabic), Wady Djaloud (Arabic), Wady el Byre (Arabic), and Wady el Oeshe (Arabic). To the south of Bysan are Wady el Maleh (Arabic), Wady Medjedda (Arabic), with a ruined town so called, Wady el Beydhan (Arabic), coming from the neighbourhood of Nablous, and Wady el Farah (Arabic). On the east side of the Jordan, beginning at the Sheriat el Mandhour, and continuing to the place where we crossed the river, the following Wadys empty themselves into it: Wady el Arab (Arabic), Wady el Koszeir (Arabic), Wady el Taybe (Arabic), Wady el Seklab (Arabic), which last falls into the Jordan near the village Erbayn, about one hour�s distance north of the place where we crossed. This Wady forms the boundary between the districts; called El Koura and El Wostye. On the west side of the river, to the north of Bysan, are the following ruined places in the Ghor: beginning at the lake, Faszayl (Arabic), El Odja (Arabic), Ayn Sultan (Arabic). Near where we crossed, to the south, are the ruins of Sukkot (Arabic). On the western banks of the river, farther south than Ayn Sultan, which is about one hour distant from Bysan, there are no ruins, as far as Rieha, or Jericho, the yalley in that direction being full of rocks, and little susceptible of cultivation.]. [p.345] The river, where we passed it, was about eighty paces broad, and about three feet deep; this, it must be recollected, was in the midst of summer. In the winter it inundates the plain in the bottom of the narrow valley, but never rises to the level of the upper plain of the Ghor, which is at least forty feet above the level of the river. The river is fordable in many places during summer, but the few spots where it may be crossed in the rainy season are known only to the Arabs. After passing the river we continued our route close to the foot of the eastern mountain. In half an hour from the ford we crossed Wady Mous (Arabic), coming from the mountains of Adjeloun. In one hour and a quarter we passed Wady Yabes, and near it, the Mezar, or saint�s tomb called Sherhabeib (Arabic). In two hours we came to a stony and hilly district, intersected by several deep but dry Wadys, called Korn el Hemar (Arabic), the Ass�s Horn. Our direction was alternately S. and S. by W. Here the Jordan returns to the western side of the valley. The Korn el Hemar ABOU OBEIDA [p.346] projects into the Ghor about four miles, so that when seen from the north the valley seems to be completely shut up by these hills. From thence a fertile tract commences, overgrown with many Bouttom (Arabic) or wild pistachio trees. Large tracts of ground were burnt, owing probably to the negligence of travellers who had set the dry grass on fire. At the end of six hours, and late at night, we passed to the right, the ruins of an ancient city standing on the declivity of the mountain and still bearing its original name Amata (Arabic). My companions told me that several columns remain standing, and also some large buildings. A small rivulet here descends into the plain. In six hours and a half we reached the Mezar Abou Obeida (Arabic), where we rested for two hours. The tomb of the Sheikh is surrounded by a few peasant�s houses; but there are no inhabitants at present, except the keeper of the tomb and his wife, who live upon the charity of the Bedouins. It appears from the account given by the great Barbary traveller, Ibn Batouta, that in the sixteenth century this part of the Ghor was well cultivated, and full of villages. The valley of the Jordan affords pasturage to numerous tribes of Bedouins. Some of them remain here the whole year, considering it as their patrimony; others visit it only in winter; of the latter description are the Bedouins who belong to the districts of Naszera and Nablous, as well as those of the eastern mountains. We met with several encampments of stationary Bedouins, who cultivate a few fields of wheat, barley, and Dhourra. They are at peace with the people of Szalt, to many of whom the greater part of them are personally known; we therefore passed unmolested; but a stranger who should venture to travel here unaccompanied by a guide of the country would most certainly be stripped.[For the names of the Bedouin tribes see the classification, in the Appendix.] ELMEYSERA [p.347]July 3d.�We departed from Abou Obeida long before sun-rise, proceeding from thence in a more western direction. In a quarter of an hour we passed the northern branch of the river El Zerka, near a mill, which was at work. In one hour we passed the principal stream, a small river, which empties itself into the Jordan about one hour and a half to the S.W. of the spot where it issues from the mountain. Its banks are overgrown with Defle (Solanum furiosum). On the other side of the Zerka we ascended the mountain by a steep acclivity, but the road, from being much frequented, is tolerably good. The mountain consists of calcareous rock, with layers of various coloured sand-stone, and large blocks of the black Haouran stone, or basalt, which forms a principal feature in the mineralogy of Eastern Syria. In two hours and three quarters we arrived at the top of the mountain, from whence Abou Obeida bore N.N.W. Here we had a fine view over the valley below. On the west side of the Jordan, between the river and the mountains of Nablous, I remarked a chain of low calcareous rocky heights which begin at about three hours north of Abou Obeida, and continue for several hours distance to the S. of that place on the opposite side of the river. The highest point of Djebel Nablous bore N.W.; the direction of Nablous itself was pointed out to me as W.N.W. On the summit where we stood are some large heaps of hewn stones, and several ruined walls, with the fragments of three large columns. The Arabs call the spot El Meysera (Arabic). The Zerka, or Jabock of the Scriptures, divides the district of Moerad from the country called El Belka (Arabic). The highest summit of the mountains of Moerad seems to be considerably higher than any part of the mountains of Belka. From Meysera the road continues over an uneven tract, along the summit of the lower ridge of mountains which form the northern limits of MOUNT OSHA [p.348] the Belka. We had now entered a climate quite different from that of the Ghor. During the whole of yesterday we had been much oppressed by heat, which was never lessened by the slightest breeze; in the Belka mountains, on the contrary, we were refreshed by cool winds, and every where found a grateful shade of fine oak and wild pistachio trees, with a scenery more like that of Europe than any I had yet seen in Syria. In three quarters of an hour from Meysera we passed a spring. I was told that in the valley of the Zerka, at about one hour above its issue from the mountains into the plain, are several hills, called Telloul el Dahab (Arabic) (the Hills of Gold), so called, as the Arabs affirm, from their containing a gold mine. In one hour and a quarter we passed the ruined place called El Herath (Arabic). The Arabs cultivate here several fields of Dhourra and cucumbers. My companions seeing no keepers in the neighbouring wood carried off more than a quintal of cucumbers. About one hour to the S.E. of Herath are the ruined places called Allan (Arabic), and Syhhan (Arabic). At the end of two hours we reached the foot of the mountain called Djebel Djelaad and Djebel Djelaoud (Arabic), the Gilead of the Scriptures, which runs from east to west, and is about two hours and a half in length. Upon it are the ruined towns of Djelaad and Djelaoud. We ascended the western extremity of the mountain, and then reached the lofty mountain called Djebel Osha, whose summit overtops the whole of the Belka. In three hours and a quarter from Meysera we passed near the top of Mount Osha (Arabic), our general direction being still S.S.E. The forest here grows thicker; it consists of oak, Bouttom, and Balout (Arabic) trees. The Keykab is also very common. In three hours and three quarters we descended the southern side of the mountain, near the tomb of Osha, and reached Szalt (Arabic), four hours and a half distant from Meysera. Near the tomb of Osha was an encampment of about sixty tents SZALT [p.349] of the tribe of Abad (Arabic); they had lately been robbed of almost all their cattle by the Beni Szakher, and were reduced to such misery that they could not afford to give us a little sour milk which we begged of them. They were still at war with the Beni Szakher, and were in hopes of recovering a part of their property; but as they were too weak to act openly, they had encamped, for protection, in the neighbourhood of their friends the inhabitants of Szalt. They intended to make from hence some plundering excursions against their enemies, for they had now hardly any thing more to lose in continuing at war with them. I alighted at Szalt at the house of one of my companions, where I was hospitably entertained during the whole of my stay at this place. The town of Szalt is situated on the declivity of a hill, crowned by a castle, and is surrounded on all sides by steep mountains. It is the only inhabited place in the province of Belka, and its inhabitants are quite independent. The Pashas of Damascus have several times endeavoured in vain to subdue them. Abdulla Pasha, the late governor, besieged the town for three months, without success. The population consists of about four hundred Musulman and eighty Christian families of the Greek church, who live in perfect amity and equality together: the Musulmans are composed of three tribes, the Beni Kerad (Arabic), the Owamele (Arabic), and the Kteyshat (Arabic), each of which has its separate quarter in the town; the principal Sheikhs, at present two in number, live in the castle; but they have no other authority over the rest than such as a Bedouin Sheikh exercises over his tribe. The castle was almost wholly rebuilt by the famous Dhaher el Omar,[See the history of Sheikh Dhaher, the predecessor of Djezzar Pasha in the government of Akka, in Volney. Voyage en Egypte et en Syrie, vol. ii. chap. 25. Ed.] who resided here several years. He obtained possession by the assistance of the weakest of the two parties into which the place AIN DJEDOUR [p.350] was divided, but he was finally driven out by the united efforts of both parties. The castle is well built, has a few old guns, and is surrounded by a wide ditch. In the midst of the town is a fine spring, to which there is a secret subterraneous passage from the castle, still made use of in times of siege. In a narrow valley about ten minutes walk from the town, is another spring called Ain Djedour (Arabic), the waters of both serve to irrigate the gardens and orchards which lie along the valley. Opposite to Ain Djedour is a spacious sepulchral cave cut in the rock, which the people affirm to have been a church. In the town, an old mosque is the only object that presents itself to the antiquary. The Christians have a small church, dedicated to the Virgin, where divine service is performed by two priests, who each receive annually from their community about £4. They are not very rigid observers either of their prayers or fasts; and although it was now the time of Lent with the Greeks, I daily saw the most respectable Christians eating flesh and butter. The greater part of the population of Szalt is agricultural, a few are weavers, and there are about twenty shops, which sell on commission for the merchants of Nazareth, Damascus, Nablous, and Jerusalem, and furnish the Bedouins with articles of dress and furniture. The prices are at least fifty per cent. higher than at Damascus. The culture consists of wheat and barley, the superfluous produce of which is sold to the Bedouins; vast quantities of grapes are also grown, which are dried and sold at Jerusalem. The arable fields are at least eight miles distant from Szalt, in the low grounds of the neighbouring mountains, where they take advantage of the winter torrents. In the time of harvest the Szaltese transport their families thither, where they live for several months under tents, like true Bedouins. The principal encampment SZALT [p.351] is at a place called Feheis, about one bour and a half to the S.E. of Szalt. In addition to the means of subsistence just mentioned the inhabitants of Szalt have several others: in July and August they collect, in the mountains of the Belka the leaves of the Sumach, which they dry and carry to the market at Jerusalem, for the use of the tanneries; upwards of five hundred camel loads are yearly exported, at the rate of fifteen to eighteen piastres the cwt. The merchants also buy up ostrich feathers from the Bedouins, which they sell to great advantage at Damascus. The food and clothing of the Szaltese are inferior in quality to those of the peasants of northern Syria. Their dress, especially the women�s approaches to that of the Bedouins: their language is the true Bedouin dialect. The only public expense incurred by them is that of entertaining travellers: for this purpose there are four public taverns (Menzel, or Medhafe), three belonging to the Turks and one to the Christians; and whoever enters there is maintained as long as he chooses, provided his stay be not prolonged to an unreasonable period, without reasons being assigned for such delay. Breakfast, dinner, and supper, with a proportionate number of cups of coffee, are served up to the stranger, whoever he may be. For guests of respectability a goat or lamb is slaughtered, and some of the inhabitants then partake of the supper. The expenses incurred by these Menzels are shared among the heads of families, according to their respective wealth, and every tavern has a kind of landlord, who keeps the accounts, and provides the kitchen out of the common stock. I was told that every respectable family paid about fifty piastres per annum into the hands of the master of the Menzels, which makes altogether a sum of about £1000. spent in the entertainment of strangers. Were the place dependent on any Turkish government, [p.352] more than triple that sum would be extorted from its inhabitants for the support of passengers. Besides the Menzels every family is always ready to receive any acquaintances who may prefer their house to the public inn. It will readily be conceived, that upon these terms the people of Szalt are friends of the neighbouring Bedouins; who moreover fear them because they have a secure retreat, and can muster about four hundred fire-locks, and from forty to fifty horses. The powerful tribe of Beni Szakher alone is fearless of the people of Szalt; on the contrary, they exact a small yearly tribute from the town, which is willingly paid, in order to secure the harvest against the depredations of these formidable neighbours; disputes nevertheless arise, and Szalt is often at war with the Beni Szakher. While I remained at Szalt I was told of a traveller of whom I had also heard in the Haouran; he was a Christian of Abyssinia, whose desire it was to end his days at Jerusalem; he first sailed from Massoua to Djidda, where he was seized by the Wahabi, and carried to their chief Ibn Saoud at Deraye, where he remained two years. From Deraye he crossed the desert with the encampments of wandering Bedouins, in the direction of Damascus, and last year he reached Boszra in the Haouran, from whence he was sent by the Christians to Szalt, where he remained a few days, and then proceeded for Jerusalem. When he arrived at the Jordan, he declared to his companions that he was a priest, a circumstance which he had always kept secret; he continued two days on the banks of the river fasting and praying, and from thence made his way alone to Jerusalem. He never tasted animal food, and although he had experienced no sickness on the road, he died soon after his arrival in the holy city. It was not my intention to tarry at Szalt; I wished to proceed by the first opportunity to Kerek, a town on the eastern side of the MEZAR OSHA [p.353] Dead sea; but the communications in these deserted countries are far from being regular, and the want of a proper guide obliged me to delay my departure for ten days; during this delay I had the good fortune to see the ruins of Amman, which I had not been able to visit in the course of my late tour in the Decapolis. But before I describe Amman I shall subjoin some notes on the neighbourhood of Szalt. A narrow valley leads up from Szalt towards the Mezar Osha, which I have already mentioned. Half way up, the valley is planted with vines, which are grown upon terraces as in Mount Libanus, to prevent their being washed away by the winter torrents. The Mezar Osha is supposed to contain the tomb of Neby Osha, or the prophet Hosea, equally revered by Turks and Christians, and to whom the followers of both religions are in the habit of offering prayers and sacrifices. The latter consist generally of a sheep, to be slain in honour of the saint, or of some perfumes to be burnt over his tomb. I was invited to partake of a sheep presented by a suppliant, to whose prayers the saint had been favourable. There was a large party, and we spent a very pleasant day under a fine oak-tree just by the tomb. The wives and daughters of those who were invited were present, and mixed freely in the conversation. The tomb is covered by a vaulted building, one end of which serves as a mosque; the tomb itself, in the form of a coffin, is thirty-six feet long, three feet broad, and three feet and a half in height, being thus constructed in conformity with the notion of the Turks, who suppose that all our forefathers were giants, and especially the prophets before Mohammed. The tomb of Noah in the valley of Coelo-Syria is still longer. The coffin of Osha is covered with silk stuffs of different colours, which have been presented to him as votive offerings. Visitors generally throw a couple of paras upon the tomb. These are [p.354] collected by the guardian, and pay the expenses of illuminating the apartment during the summer months; for in the winter season hardly any body seeks favours at the shrine of the saint. In one corner stands a small plate, upon which some of the most devout visitors place a piece of incense. A wooden partition separates the tomb from the mosque, where the Turks generally say a few prayers before they enter the inner apartment. On the outside of the building is a very large and deep cistern much frequented by the Bedouins. Here is a fine view over the Ghor. Rieha, or Jericho, is visible at a great distance to the southward. About half an hour to the N.W. of Osha, on the lower part of the mountain, is the ruined place called Kafer Houda (Arabic). As pilgrimage in the east is generally coupled with mercantile speculations, Osha�s tomb is much resorted to for commercial purposes, and like Mekka and Jerusalem, is transformed into a fair at the time of the visit of the pilgrims. The Arabs of the Belka, especially the Beni Szakher, bring here Kelly or soap-ashes, which they burn during the summer in large quantities: these are bought up by a merchant of Nablous, who has for many years monopolized the trade in this article. The soap-ashes obtained from the herb Shiman, of the Belka, are esteemed the best in the country, to the S. of Damascus, as those of Palmyra are reckoned the best in northern Syria. They are sold by the Arabs for about half a crown the English cwt., but the purchaser is obliged to pay heavy duties upon them. The chief of the Arabs of El Adouan, who is looked upon as the lord of the Belka, although his tribe is at present considerably weakened, exacts for himself five piastres from every camel load, two piastres for his writer, and two piastres for his slave. The town of Szalt takes one piastre for every load, the produce of which duty is divided among the public taverns of the town. The quantity of soap-ashes brought to [p.355] the Osha market amounts, one year with another, to about three thousand camel loads. The Nablous merchant is obliged to come in person to Szalt in autumn. According to old customs, he alights at a private house, all the expenses of which he pays during his stay; he is bound also to feed all strangers who arrive during the same period at Szalt; in consequence of which the Menzels remain shut; and he makes considerable presents on quitting the place. In order that all the inhabitants may share in the advantages arising from his visits, he alights at a different house every year. In descending the narrow valley to the south of Szalt, the ruins of a considerable town are met with, consisting of foundations of buildings and heaps of stones. The Arabs call the place Kherbet el Souk (Arabic). Near it is a fine spring called Ain Hazeir (Arabic) (perhaps the ancient Jazer), which turns several mills, and empties itself into the Wady Shoeb (Arabic). The latter joins the Jordan near the ruined city of Nymrein (Arabic). In a S.W. direction from Szalt, distant about two hours and a half, are the ruined places called Kherbet Ayoub (Arabic), Heremmela (Arabic), Ayra (Arabic), one of the towns built by the tribe of Gad, and Yerka (Arabic). East of Szalt, about one hour, are the ruins called El Deir (Arabic). I found it impossible at Szalt to procure a guide to Amman; the country was in a state which rendered it very dangerous to travel through it: the Beni Szakher were at war with the Arabs of Adouan, with the government of Damascus, and with the Rowalla, a branch of the Aeneze; and we heard daily of skirmishes taking place between the contending parties, principally near the river Zerka. Amman being a noted spring, was frequented by both the hostile parties; and although, the people of Szalt were now at peace with the Beni Szakher, having concluded it on the day of my arrival, yet they were upon very indifferent terms with the FEHEIS [p.356] Adouan and Rowalla. I had once engaged four armed men to accompany me on foot to the place, but when we were just setting out, after sunset, their wives came crying to my lodging, and upbraided their husbands with madness in exposing their lives for a couple of piastres. Being equally unsuccessful in several other attempts, and tired of the exaggerations of my land-lord, who pretended that I should be in danger of being stripped, and even killed, I at length became impatient, and quitting Szalt in the evening of the 6th, I rode over to Feheis, where the greater part of the Szaltese were encamped, for the labours of the harvest, and where it was more likely that I should meet with a guide. On my way I passed the deep Wady Ezrak (Arabic), where is a rivulet and several mills. El Feheis is a ruined city, with a spring near it; here are the remains of an arched building, in which the Christians sometimes perform divine service. Below Feheis, upon the top of a lower mountain, is the ruined place called El Khandok (Arabic), which appears to have been a fort; it is surrounded with a wall of large stones, and the remains of several bastions are visible. From a point near Khandok, the Dead sea, which I saw for the first time, bears S.W. b. W. At Feheis I was so fortunate as to find a guide who five years ago had served in the same capacity to Mousa, the name assumed by M. Seetzen. As he was well acquainted with all the Bedouins, and on friendly terms with them, he engaged to take me to Amman, in company with another horseman. July 7th.�We set off before sunrise. On leaving Feheis we crossed a mountainous country, passed through a thick forest of oak trees, and in three quarters of an hour reached the Ardh el Hemar, which is the name of a district extending north and south for about two hours. Here are a number of springs, which have rendered it a AMMAN [p.357] favourite place of resort of the Bedouins: the valley was covered with a fine coat of verdant pasture. From hence the road ascended through oak woods and pleasant hills, over flinty ground, till we reached, after a march of two hours and a half, an elevated plain, from whence we had an extensive view towards the east. The plain, which in this part is called El Ahma (Arabic), is a fertile tract, interspersed with low hills; these are for the greater part crowned with ruins, but they are of irregular forms, unlike the Tels or artificial heights of the Haouran, and of northern Syria. Just by the road, at the end of three hours, are the ruins called El Kholda (Arabic). To the left are the ruins of Kherbet Karakagheish (Arabic); and to the right, at half an hour�s distance, the ruins of Sar (Arabic), and Fokhara (Arabic). At about one hour south of Sar begins the district called Kattar (Arabic) or Marka (Arabic). The ruins which we passed here, as well as all those before mentioned in the mountains of Belka, present no objects of any interest. They consist of a few walls of dwelling houses, heaps of stones, the foundations of some public edifices, and a few cisterns now filled up; there is nothing entire, but it appears that the mode of building was very solid, all the remains being formed of large stones. It is evident also, that the whole of the country must have been extremely well cultivated, in order to have afforded subsistence to the inhabitants of so many towns. At the end of three hours and a half we entered a broad valley, which brought us in half an hour to the ruins of Amman, which lies about nineteen English miles to the S.E. by E. of Szalt. The annexed plan [not included] will give an idea of the situation and ruins of Amman, one of the most ancient of the cities recorded in Jewish history. The town lies along the banks of a river called Moiet Amman, which has its source in a pond (a), at a few hundred paces from the south-western end of the town; I was informed that this river is [p.358] lost in the earth one hour below the pond, that it issues again, and takes the name of Ain Ghazale (Arabic); then disappears a second time and rises again near a ruined place called Reszeyfa (Arabic); beyond which it is said to be lost for a third time, till it reappears about an hour to the west of Kalaat Zerka, otherwise called Kaszr Shebeib (Arabic), near the river Zerka, into which it empties itself. Ain Ghazale is about one hour and a half distant from Amman, Kalaat Zerka is four hours distant. The river of Amman runs in a valley bordered on both sides by barren hills of flint, which advance on the south side close to the edge of the stream. The edifices which still remain to attest the former splendour of Amman are the following: a spacious church (b), built with large stones, and having a steeple of the shape of those which I saw in several ruined towns in the Haouran. There are wide arches in the walls of the church.�A small building (c), with niches, probably a temple.�A temple (d), of which a part of the side walls, and a niche in the back wall are remaining; there are no ornaments either on the walls, or about the niche.��A curved wall (e) along the water side, with many niches: before it was a row of large columns, of which four remain, but without capitals, I conjecture this to have been a kind of stoa, or public walk; it does not communicate with any other edifice.�A high arched bridge (f) over the river; this appears to have been the only bridge in the town, although the river is not fordable in the winter. The banks of the river, as well as its bed, are paved, but the pavement has been in most places carried away by the violence of the winter torrent. The stream is full of small fish. On the south side of the river is a fine theatre, the largest that I have seen in Syria. It has forty rows of seats; between the tenth and eleventh from the bottom occurs a row of eight boxes or small apartments, capable of holding about twelve spectators each; fourteen rows higher, a similar row [p.359] of boxes occupies the place of the middle seats, and at the top of all there is a third tier of boxes excavated in the rocky side of the hill, upon the declivity of which the theatre is built. On both wings of the theatre are vaults. In front was a colonnade, of which eight Corinthian columns yet remain, besides four fragments of shafts; they are about fifteen feet high, surmounted by an entablature still entire. This colonnade must have had at least fifty columns; the workmanship is not of the best Roman times. Near this theatre is a building (h), the details of which I was not able to make out exactly; its front is built irregularly, without columns, or ornaments of any kind. On entering I found a semi-circular area, enclosed by a high wall in which narrow steps were formed, running all round from bottom to top. The inside of the front wall, as well as the round wall of the area, is richly ornamented with sculptured ornaments. The roof, which once covered the whole building, has fallen down, and choaks up the interior in such a way as to render it difficult to determine whether the edifice has been a palace, or destined for public amusements. Nearly opposite the theatre, to the northward of the river, are the remains of a temple (k), the posterior wall of which only remains, having an entablature, and several niches highly adorned with sculpture. Before this building stand the shafts of several columns three feet in diameter. Its date appears to be anterior to that of all the other buildings of Amman, and its style of architecture is much superior. At some distance farther down the Wady, stand a few small columns (i), probably the remains of a temple. The plain between the river and the northern hills is covered with ruins of private buildings, extending from the church (c) down to the columns (i); but nothing of them remains, except the foundations and some of the door posts. On the top of the highest of the northern hills stands the castle of Amman, a very extensive [p.360] building; it was an oblong square, filled with buildings, of which, about as much remains as there does of the private dwellings in the lower town. The castle walls are thick, and denote a remote antiquity: large blocks of stone are piled up without cement, and still hold together as well as if they had been recently placed; the greater part of the wall is entire, it is placed a little below the crest of the hill, and appears not to have risen much above the level of its summit. Within the castle are several deep cisterns. At (m) is a square building, in complete preservation, constructed in the same manner as the castle wall; it is without ornaments, and the only opening into it is a low door, over which was an inscription now defaced. Near this building are the traces of a large temple (n); several of its broken columns are lying on the ground; they are the largest I saw at Amman, some of them being three feet and a half in diameter; their capitals are of the Corinthian order. On the north side of the castle is a ditch cut in the rock, for the better defence of this side of the hill, which is less steep than the others. The ruins of Amman being, with the exception of a few walls of flint, of calcareous stone of moderate hardness, have not resisted the ravages of time so well as those of Djerash. The buildings exposed to the atmosphere are all in decay, so that there is little hope of finding any inscriptions here, which might illustrate the history of the place. The construction shews that the edifices were of different ages, as in the other cities of the Decapolis, which I have examined. I am sensible that the above description of Amman, though it notices all the principal remains, is still very imperfect; but a traveller who is not accompanied with an armed force can never hope to give very satisfactory accounts of the antiquities of these deserted countries. My guides had observed some fresh horse-dung near the water�s side, which greatly alarmed them, as it was a proof that SZAFOUT [p.361] some Bedouins were hovering about. They insisted upon my returning immediately, and refusing to wait for me a moment, rode off while I was still occupied in writing a few notes upon the theatre. I hastily mounted the castle hill, ran over its ruins, and galloping after my guides, joined them at half an hour from the town. When I reproached them for their cowardice, they replied that I certainly could not suppose that, for the twelve piastres I had agreed to give them, they should expose themselves to the danger of being stripped and of losing their horses, from a mere foolish caprice of mine to write down the stones. I have often been obliged to yield to similar reasoning. A true Bedouin, however, never abandons his companion in this manner; whoever, therefore, wishes to travel in these parts, and to make accurate observations, will do well to take with him as many horsemen as may secure him against any strolling party of robbers. About four or five bours S.S.W. from Amman are the ruins called El Kohf (Arabic), with a large temple, and many columns. About eight hours S.S.E. is the ruined city of Om el Reszasz (Arabic), i.e. the Mother of Lead, which, according to all accounts, is of great extent, and contains large buildings. In my present situation it was impossible for me to visit these two places. I hope that some future traveller will be more fortunate. We returned from Amman by a more northern route. At one hour and three quarters, we passed the ruined place called Djebeyha (Arabic); in two hours the ruins of Meraze (Arabic). The hills which rise over the plain are covered to their tops with thick heath. At two hours and a half are the ruins of Om Djouze (Arabic), with a spring. Sources of water are seldom met with in this upper plain of the Belka, a circumstance that greatly enhances the importance of the situation of Amman. At three hours and a half is SZALT [p.362] Szafout (Arabic), where are ruins of some extent, with a spring; the gate of a public edifice is still standing. To the north and north- east of this place, at the foot of the mountain on which it stands, extends a broad valley called El Bekka (Arabic); it is extremely fertile, and is in part cultivated by the people of Szalt, and the Arabs of the Belka. The Beni Szakher had burnt up the whole of the crops before they concluded peace with Szalt. In the Bekka is a ruined place called Ain el Basha (Arabic), with a spring. From Szafout we returned by Ardh el Hemar to Feheis, which we reached in four hours and a half from Szafout. Near the springs of Hemar we found a cow that had gone astray from some Bedouin encampment; my guides immediately declared her to be a fair prize, and drove her off before them to Feheis, where she was killed, to prevent the owner from claiming her, and the encampment feasted upon the flesh for two days. N.E. from Szafout, distant about two hours, is a ruined city, with several edifices still standing, called Yadjoush (Arabic). N. of Amman, two hours, is a ruined building called El Nowakys (Arabic), on the interior wall of which are some busts in relief, according to the report of one who had seen them, but whose veracity was rather doubtful. On my return to Szalt I was obliged to remain there several days longer, for want of a guide; for the road to Kerek is a complete desert, and much exposed to the inroads of the Arabs. At last I found a man who engaged to serve me, but his demands were so exorbitant, that I was several days in bargaining with him. Mousa, (M. Seetzen), he said, had paid his guide twenty-five piastres for the trip from hence to Kerek, and he would not, therefore, go the same road for less than twenty- three; this was an enormous sum for a journey of two days, in a country where an Arab will toil for a fortnight without obtaining so great a sum. My principal MEKABBELY [p.363] objection to paying so much was, that it would become known at Kerek, which, besides other difficulties it might bring me into, would have obliged me to pay all my future guides in the same proportion. My landlord, however, removed this objection by making the guide take a solemn oath that he would never confess to having received more than six piastres for his trouble. There was no other proper guide to be got, and I began to be tired of Szalt, for I saw that my landlord was very earnest in his endeavours to get me away; I resolved therefore to trust to my good fortune, and to set out with no other company than that of an armed horseman. In the evening I returned to Feheis, from whence we departed early the next morning. July 13th.�We passed Ardh el Hemar, in the neighbourhood of which are the ruined places El Ryhha (Arabic), Shakour (Arabic), Meghanny (Arabic), and Mekabbely (Arabic); and at a short distance farther on in the wood, we met two men quite naked. Whenever the Bedouins meet any other Arabs in the desert, of inferior force, and who are unknown to them, they level their lances, and stop their horses within about ten yards of the strangers, to enquire whether they are friends or not. My guide had seen the two men at a great distance among the trees; be called to me to get my gun ready, and we galloped towards them; but they no sooner saw us than they stopped, and cried out, �We are under your protection!� They then told us that they were peasants of a village near Rieha or Jericho; that they had been carried away from their own fields by a party of Beni Szakher, with whom their village happened to be at war, as far as Yadjoush, where the latter had encampments; that after being required to pay the price of blood of one of the tribe slain by the inhabitants of their village, they had been beaten, and stripped naked; but that at last they had found means to escape. Their bruises and sores bore testimony MERDJ EKKE [p.364] to the truth of their story; instances of such acts of violence frequently occur in the desert. In one hour and three quarters we came to the ruins of Kherbet Tabouk (Arabic), which seems to have been a place of some importance. Many wild fig-trees grow here. The direction of our road was S. b. E. Here the woody country terminates, and we found ourselves again upon the high plain called El Ahma, which has fertile ground, but no trees. At two hours and a quarter is a ruined Birket, or reservoir of rain water, called Om Aamoud (Arabic), from some fragments of columns, which are found here. In two hours and a half we passed, on our right, the Wady Szyr (Arabic), which has its source near the road, und falls below into the Jordan. Above the source, on the declivity of the valley, are the ruins called Szyr. We continued to travel along a well trodden road for the greater part of the day. At three hours were the ruins of Szar, to our left. At three hours and a half, and about half an hour west of the road, are the ruins of Fokhara, on the side of the Wady Eshta (Arabic), which empties itself into the Jordan. Here are a number of wild fig-trees. The whole of the country to the right of the road is intersected with deep Wadys and precipices, and is overgrown in many parts with fine woods. We had at intervals a view of the Ghor below. To the left of the road is the great plain, with many insulated hillocks. In three hours and a half we passed a hill called Dhaheret el Hemar (Arabic), or the Ass�s Back. At three hours and three quarters, to the right, are the ruins of Meraszas (Arabic), with a heap of stones called Redjem Abd Reshyd (Arabic), where, according to Bedouin tradition, a wonderful battle took place between a slave of an Arab called Reshyd, and a whole party of his master�s enemies. Here terminates the district El Ahma. To the left are the ruins called Merdj Ekke (Arabic). The soil in this vicinity is chalky. Last year a battle was fought here between the troops of the Pasha of Damascus, EL AAL [p.365] and the Beni Szakher, in which the former were routed. At four hours and a half, and about three quarters of an hour to our right, we saw the ruins of Naour (Arabic) on the side of a rivulet of that name, which falls into the Jordan opposite Rieha, or Jericho, driving in its course several mills, where the Bedouins of the Belka grind their corn. On both sides of the road are many vestiges of ancient field-enclosures. From Naour our road lay S. At five hours and three quarters are the ruins of El Aal (Arabic), probably the Eleale of the Scriptures: it stands upon the summit of a hill, and takes its name from its situation, Aal meaning �the high.� It commands the whole plain; and the view from the top of the hill is very extensive, comprehending the whole of the southern Belka. From hence the mountain of Shyhhan (Arabic), behind which lies Kerek, bears S. by W. El Aal was surrounded by a well built wall, of which some parts yet remain. Among the ruins are a number of large cisterns, fragments of walls, and the foundations of houses; but nothing worth particular notice. The plain around is alternately chalk and flint. At six hours and a quarter is Hesban (Arabic), upon a hill, bearing S.W. from El Aal. Here are the ruins of a large ancient town, together with the remains of some edifices built with small stones; a few broken shafts of columns are still standing, a number of deep wells cut in the rock, and a large reservoir of water for the summer supply of the inhabitants. At about three quarters of an hour S.E. of Hesban are the ruins of Myoun (Arabic), the ancient Baal Meon (Arabic), of the tribe of Ruben. In order to see Medaba, I left the great road at Hesban, and proceeded in a more eastern direction. At six hours and three quarters, about one hour distant from the road, I saw the ruins of Djeloul (Arabic), at a short distance to the east of which, are the ruined places called El Samek (Arabic), El Mesouh (Arabic), and MADEBA [p.366] Om el Aamed (Arabic), situated close together upon low elevations. At about four hours distant, to the east of our road, I observed a chain of hills, which begins near Kalaat Zerka, passes to the east of Amman, near the Kalaat el Belka, (a station of the Syrian Hadj, called by the Bedouins Kalaat Remeydan [Arabic]), and continues as far as Wady Modjeb. The mountains bear the name of El Zoble (Arabic); the Hadj route to Mekka lies along their western side. At seven hours and a quarter is El Kefeyrat (Arabic), a ruined town of some extent. In seven hours and a half we came to the remains of a well paved ancient causeway; my guide told me that this had been formerly the route of the Hadj, and that the pavement was made by the Mohammedans; but it appeared to me to be a Roman work. At the end of eight hours we reached Madeba, built upon a round hill; this is the ancient Medaba, but there is no river near it. It is at least half an hour in circumference; I observed many remains of the walls of private houses, constructed with blocks of silex; but not a single edifice is standing. There is a large Birket, which, as there is no spring at Madeba might still be of use to the Bedouins, were the surrounding ground cleared of the rubbish, to allow the water to flow into it; but such an undertaking is far beyond the views of the wandering Arab. On the west side of the town are the foundations of a temple, built with large stones, and apparently of great antiquity. The annexed is its form and dimensions. A part of its eastern wall remains, constructed in the same style as the castle wall at Amman. At the entrance of one of the courts stand two columns of the Doric order, each of two pieces, without bases, and thicker in the centre than at either extremity, a peculiarity of which this is the only instance I have seen in Syria. More modern capitals have been added, one of [p.367] which is Corinthian and the other Doric, and an equally coarse architrave has been laid upon them. In the centre of one of the courts is a large well. About half an hour west of Madeba (Arabic), are the ruins of El Teym (Arabic), perhaps the Kerjathaim of the Scripture, where, according to my guide, a very large Birket is cut entirely in the rock, and is still filled in the winter with rain water. As there are no springs in this part of the upper plain of the Belka, the inha[bi]tants were obliged to provide by cisterns for their supply of water during the summer months. We returned from Madeba towards the great road, where we fell in with a large party of Bedouins, on foot, who were going to rob by night an encampment of Beni Szakher, at least fourteen hours distant from hence. Each of them had a small bag of flower on his back, some were armed with guns and others with sticks. I was afterwards informed that they drove off above a dozen camels belonging to the Beni Szakher. They pointed out to us the place where their tribe was encamped, and as we were then looking out for some place where we might get a supper, of which we stood in great need, we followed the direction they gave us. In turning a little westwards we entered the mountainous country which forms the eastern border of the valley of the Jordan, and descending in a S.W. direction along the windings of a Wady, we arrived at a large encampment of Bedouins, at the end of ten hours and a half from our setting out in the morning. The upper part of the mountains consists entirely of siliceous rock. We passed on the road several spots where the Bedouins cultivate Dhourra. We were well received by the Bedouins of the encampment; who are on good terms with the people of Szalt: one of the principal Sheikhs of which place is married to the daughter of the chief of this tribe. They belong to the Ghanemat, whose Sheikh, called THE BELKA [p.368] Abd el Mohsen (Arabic), is one of the first men in the Belka. The chief tribe in this province, for many years, was the Adouan, but they are now reduced to the lowest condition by their inveterate enemies the Beni Szakher. The latter, whose abode had for a long space of time been on the Hadj road, near Oella (Arabic), were obliged, by the increasing power of the Wahabi, to retire towards the north. They approached the Belka, and obtained from the Adouan, who were then in possession of the excellent pasturage of this country, permission to feed their cattle here, on paying a small annual tribute. They soon proved, however, to be dangerous neighbours; having detached the greater part of the other tribes of the Belka from their alliance with the Adouan, they have finally succeeded in driving the latter across the Zerka, notwithstanding the assistance which they received from the Pasha of Damascus. Peace had been made in 1810, and both tribes had encamped together near Amman, when Hamoud el Szaleh, chief of the Adouan, made a secret arrangement with the Pasha�s troops, and the tribe of Rowalla, who were at war with the Beni Szakher to make a united attack upon them. The plot was well laid, but the valour of the Beni Szakher proved a match for the united forces of their enemies; they lost only about a dozen of their horsemen, and about two thousand sheep, and since that time an inveterate enmity has existed between the Beni Szakher and the Adouan. The second chief of Adouan, an old man with thirteen sons, who always accompany him to the field, joined the Beni Szakher, as did also the greater part of the Arabs of the Belka. In 1812, the Adouan were driven into the mountains of Adjeloun, and to all appearance will never be able to re-enter the Belka.[For the enumeration of the Belka Arabs, see the classification of Syrian Bedouins, in the Appendix.] The superiority of the pasturage of the Belka over that of all southern Syria, is the cause of its possession being thus contested. ZERKA MAYN [p.369] The Bedouins have this saying, �Thou canst not find a country like the Belka.��Methel el Belka ma teltaka (Arabic); the beef and mutton of this district are preferred to those of all others. The Bedouins of the Belka are nominally subject to an annual tribute to the Pasha of Damascus; but they are very frequently in rebellion, and pay only when threatened by a superior force. For the last two years Abd el Mohsen has not paid any thing. The contribution of the Adouan is one- tenth of the produce of their camels, sheep, goats, and cows, besides ten pounds of butter for every hundred sheep.[The hundred of any kind of cattle is here called Shilleie (Arabic).] The Arabs of the Belka have few camels; but their herds of cows, sheep, and goats are large; and whenever they have a prospect of being able to secure the harvest against the incursions of enemies, they cultivate patches of the best soil in their territory. In summer they remain in the valleys on the side of the Ghor, in the winter a part of them descend into the Ghor itself, while the others encamp upon the upper plain of the Belka. July 14th.�We left the encampment of Abd el Mohsen early in the morning, and at one hour from it, descending along a winding valley, we reached the banks of the rivulet Zerka Mayn (Arabic), which is not to be confounded with the northern Zerka. Its source is not far from hence; it flows in a deep and barren valley through a wood of Defle trees, which form a canopy over the rivulet impenetrable to the meridian sun. The red flowers of these trees reflected in the river gave it the appearance of a bed of roses, and presented a singular contrast with the whitish gray rocks which border the wood on either side. All these mountains are calcareous, mixed with some flint. The water of the Zerka Mayn is almost warm, and has a disagreeable taste, occasioned probably by the quantity of Defle flowers that fall into it. Having crossed the river we ascended the steep side of the mountain Houma (Arabic), WADY WALE [p.370] at the top of which we saw the summit of Djebel Attarous (Arabic), about half an hour distant to our right; this is the highest point in the neighbourhood, and seems to be the Mount Nebo of the Scripture. On its summit is a heap of stones overshaded by a very large wild pistachio tree. At a short distance below, to the S.W. is the ruined place called Kereyat (Arabic). The part of the mountain over which we rode was completely barren, with an uneven plain on its top. In two hours and a half we saw at about half an hour to our right, the ruins of a place called Lob, which are of some extent. We passed an encampment of Arabs Ghanamat. At the end of three hours and three quarters, after an hour�s steep descent, we reached Wady Wale (Arabic); the stream contains a little more water than the Zerka Mayn; it runs in a rocky bed, in the holes of which innumerable fish were playing; I killed several by merely throwing stones into the water. The banks of the rivulet are overgrown with willows, Defle, and tamarisks (Arabic), and I saw large petrifactions of shells in the valley. About one hour to the west of the spot where we passed the Wale are the ruins of a small castle, situated on the summit of a lower ridge of mountains; the Arabs call it Keraoum Abou el Hossein (Arabic). In the valley of Wale a large party of Arabs Sherarat was encamped, Bedouins of the Arabian desert, who resort hither in summer for pasturage. They are a tribe of upwards of five thousand tents; but not having been able to possess themselves of a district fertile in pasturage, and being hemmed in by the northern Aeneze, the Aeneze of the Nedjed, the Howeytat, and Beni Szakher, they wander about in misery, have very few horses, and are not able to feed any flocks of sheep or goats. They live principally on the Hadj route, towards Maan, and in summer approach the Belka, pushing northward sometimes as far as Haouran. They WADY MODJEB [p.371] are obliged to content themselves with encamping on spots where the Beni Szakher and the Aeneze, with whom they always endeavour to live at peace, do not choose to pasture their cattle. The only wealth of the Sherarat consists in camels. Their tents are very miserable; both men and women go almost naked, the former being only covered round the waist, and the women wearing nothing but a loose shirt hanging in rags about them. These Arabs are much leaner than the Aeneze, and of a browner complexion. They have the reputation of being very sly and enterprising thieves, a title by which they think themselves greatly honoured. In four hours and a half, after having ascended the mountain on the S. side of the Wale, we reached a fine plain on its summit. All the country to the southward of the Wale, as far as the Wady Modjeb, is comprised under the appellation of El Koura, a term often applied in Syria to plains: El Koura is the �Plains of Moab� of the Scripture; the soil is very sandy, and not fertile. The Haouran black stone, or basalt, if it may be so called, is again met with here. The river El Wale rises at about three hours distance to the E. of the spot where we passed it, near which it takes a winding course to the south until it approaches the Modjeb, where it again turns westwards. The lower part of the river changes its name into that of Seyl Heydan (Arabic), which empties itself into the Modjeb at about two hours distant from the Dead sea, near the ruined place called Dar el Ryashe (Arabic). The Wale seems to be the same called Nahaliel in D�Anville�s map, but this name is unknown to the Arabs; its source is not so far northward as in the map. Between the Wady Zerka Mayn and the Wale is another small rivulet called Wady el Djebel (Arabic). At the end of six hours and a half we reached the banks of the Wady Modjeb, the Arnon of the Scriptures, which divides the [p.372] province of Belka from that of Kerek, as it formerly divided the small kingdoms of the Moabites and the Amorites. When at about one hour�s distance short of the Modjeb I was shewn to the N.E. of us, the ruins of Diban (Arabic), the ancient Dibon, situated in a low ground of the Koura. On the spot where we reached the high banks of the Modjeb are the ruins of a place called Akeb el Debs (Arabic). We followed, from thence, the top of the precipice at the foot of which the river flows, in an eastern direction, for a quarter of an hour, when we reached the ruins of Araayr (Arabic), the Aroer of the Scriptures, standing on the edge of the precipice; from hence a foot-path leads down to the river. In the Koura, about one hour to the west of Araayr, are some hillocks called Keszour el Besheir (Arabic). The view which the Modjeb presents is very striking: from the bottom, where the river runs through a narrow stripe of verdant level about forty yards across, the steep and barren banks arise to a great height, covered with immense blocks of stone which have rolled down from the upper strata, so that when viewed from above, the valley looks like a deep chasm, formed by some tremendous convulsion of the earth, into which there seems no possibility of descending to the bottom; the distance from the edge of one precipice to that of the opposite one, is about two miles in a straight line. We descended the northern bank of the Wady by a foot-path which winds among the masses of rock, dismounting on account of the steepness of the road, as we had been obliged to do in the two former valleys which we had passed in this day�s march; this is a very dangerous pass, as robbers often waylay travellers here, concealing themselves behind the rocks, until their prey is close to them. Upon many large blocks by the side of the path I saw heaps of small stones, placed there as a sort of weapon for the traveller, [p.373] in case of need. No Arab passes without adding a few stones to these heaps. There are three fords across the Modjeb, of which we took that most frequented. I had never felt such suffocating heat as I experienced in this valley, from the concentrated rays of the sun and their reflection from the rocks. We were thirty-five minutes in reaching the bottom. About twelve minutes above the river I saw on the road side a heap of fragments of columns, which had been about eight feet in height. A bridge has been thrown across the stream in this place, of one high arch, and well built; but it is now no longer of any use, though evidently of modern date. At a short distance from the bridge are the ruins of a mill. The river, which flows in a rocky bed, was almost dried up, having less water than the Zerka Mayn and Wale, but its bed bears evident marks of its impetuosity during the rainy season, the shattered fragments of large pieces of rock which had been broken from the banks nearest the river, and carried along by the torrent, being deposited at a considerable height above the present channel of the stream. A few Defle and willow trees grow on its banks. The principal source of the Modjeb is at a short distance to the N.E. of Katrane, a station of the Syrian Hadj; there the river is called Seyl Sayde [Seyl means rivulet in this country.] (Arabic), lower down it changes its name to Efm el Kereim (Arabic), or, as it is also called, Szefye (Arabic). At about one hour east of the bridge it receives the waters of the Ledjoum, which flow from the N.E. in a deep bed; the Ledjoum receives a rivulet caled Seyl el Mekhreys (Arabic), and then the Baloua (Arabic), after which it takes the name of Enkheyle (Arabic). Near the source of the Ledjoum is the ruined place called Tedoun [p.374] (Arabic); and near the source of the Baloua is a small ruined castle called Kalaat Baloua. The rivulet Salyhha (Arabic), coming from the south, empties itself into the Modjeb below the bridge. Near the confluence of the Ledjoum and the Modjeb there seemed to be a fine verdant pasture ground, in the midst of which stands a hill with some ruins upon it, and by the side of the river are several ruined mills. In mounting the southern ascent from the Modjeb, we passed, upon a narrow level at about five minutes from the bridge, the ruins of a small castle, of which nothing but the foundations remains: it is called Mehatet el Hadj (Arabic), from the supposition that the pilgrim route to Mekka formerly passed here, and that this was a station of the Hadj. Near the ruin is a Birket, which was filled by a canal from the Ledjoum, the remains of which are still visible. This may, perhaps, be the site of Areopolis. My guide told me that M. Seetzen had been partly stripped at this place, by some Arabs. We did not meet with any living being in crossing the Wady. Near the ruins is another heap of broken columns, like those on the opposite bank of the river; I conjecture that the columns were Roman milliaria, because a causeway begins here, and runs all the way up the mountain, and from thence as far as Rabba; it is about fifteen feet broad, and was well paved, though at present in a bad state, owing to a torrent which rushes along it from the mountain in winter time. At twenty-eight minutes from the Mehatet el Hadj are three similar columns, entire, but lying on the ground. We were an hour and three quarters in ascending from the bridge to the top; on this side the road might easily be made passable for horses. In several places the rock has been cut through to form the path. The lower part of the mountains is calcareous; I found great numbers of small petrified shells, and small pieces of mica are likewise met with. Towards ARABS HAMAIDE [p.375] the upper part of the mountain the ground is covered with large blocks of the black Haouran stone,[It is from this black and heavy stone, (which M. Seetzen calls basalt, but which I rather conceive to belong to the species called tufwacke by the Germans), that the ancient opinion of there having been mountains of iron on the east side of the Jordan appears to have arisen. Even now the Arabs believe that these stones consist chiefly of iron, and I was often asked if I did not know how to extract it.] which I found to be more porous than any specimens of it which I had seen further northward. On the summit of this steep southern ascent are the ruins of a large square building, of which the foundations only remain, covered with heaps of stone; they are directly opposite Araayr, and the ruins above mentioned are also called Mehatet el Hadj. I believe them to be of modern date. We had now again reached a high plain. To our right, about three quarters of an hour, was the Djebel Shyhhan, an insulated mountain, with the ruined village of that name on its summit. To our left, on the E. side of the Ledjoum, about two or three hours distant, is a chain of low mountains, called El Ghoweythe (Arabic), running from N. to S. about three or four hours. To the south of El Ghoweythe begins a chain of low hills, called El Tarfouye (Arabic), which farther south takes the name of Orokaraye (Arabic); it then turns westward, and terminates to the south-west of Kerek. From the Mehatet el Hadj we followed the paved road which leads in a straight line towards Rabba, in a S.W. direction; in half an hour, we met some shepherds with a flock of sheep, who led us to the tents of their people behind a hill near the side of the road. We were much fatigued, but the kindness of our hosts soon made us forget our laborious day�s march. We alighted under the tent of the Sheikh, who was dying of a wound he had received a few days before from a thrust of a lance; but such is the hospitality of these people, and their attention to the comforts BEIT KERM [p.376] of the traveller, that we did not learn the Sheikh�s misfortune till the following day. He was in the women�s apartment, and we did not hear him utter any complaints. They supposed, with reason, that if we were informed of his situation it would prevent us from enjoying our supper. A lamb was killed, and a friend of the family did the honours of the table: we should have enjoyed our repast had there not been an absolute want of water, but there was none nearer than the Modjeb, and the daily supply which, according to the custom of the Arabs, had been brought in before sun-rise, was, as often happens, exhausted before night; our own water skins too, which we had filled at the Modjeb, had been emptied by the shepherds before we reached the encampment. This loss was the more sensible to me, as in desert countries where water seldom occurs, not feeling great thirst during the heat of the day, I was seldom in the habit of drinking much at that time; but in the evening, and the early part of the night, I always drank with great eagerness. July 15th.�We left our kind hosts, who belonged to the Arabs Hamaide, early in the morning, and continued our route along the ancient road. At half an hour from the encampment we passed the ruined village El Ryhha (Arabic), in one hour and a half we arrived at the ruins of an ancient city called Beit Kerm (Arabic), belonging to which, on the side of the road, are the remains of a temple of remote antiquity. Its shape is an oblong square, one of the long sides forming the front, where was a portica of eight columns in antis: the columns, three feet in diameter, are lying on the ground. Within the temple, a great part of the walls of which are fallen, there are fragments of smaller columns. The stones used in the construction of the walls are about five feet long, and two feet broad. At one hour and three quarters is the ruined village of Hemeymat (Arabic). This district, which is an even plain, is KEREK [p.377] very fertile, and large tracts are here cultivated by the inhabitants of Kerek, and the Arabs Hamaide. At two hours and a half is Rabba (Arabic), probably the ancient Rabbath Moab, where the ancient causeway terminates. The ruins of Rabba are about half an hour in circuit, and are situated upon a low hill, which commands the whole plain. I examined a part of them only, but the rest seemed to contain nothing remarkable. On the west side is a temple, of which one wall and several niches remain, by no means distinguished for elegance. Near them is a gate belonging to another building, which stood on the edge of a Birket. Distant from these ruins about thirty yards stand two Corinthian columns of middling size, one higher than the other. In the plain, to the west of the Birket, stands an insulated altar. In the town many fragments are lying about; the walls of the larger edifices are built like those of Heit Kerm. There are many remains of private habitations, but none entire. There being no springs in this spot, the town had two Birkets, the largest of which is cut entirely out of the rocky ground, together with several cisterns. About three quarters of an hour to the S.E. of Rabba, are two copious springs, called El Djebeyba (Arabic), and El Yaroud (Arabic). From Rabba our road lay S. by E. At four hours are the ruins of Kereythela (Arabic). At the end of five hours we entered a mountainous district, full of Wadys; and after a march of six hours we reached the town of Kerek. I hesitated where I should alight at Kerek, and whether I should announce myself as a Turk or a Christian, for I knew that the success of my progress southward depended upon the good will of the people of this place. I had a letter of recommendation to the Sheikh of the town, given to me by a Turkish gentleman of Damascus, whose wife was a native of Kerek, and he had mentioned me in such terms as led me to anticipate a good reception; but as I knew that I should be much harassed by inquisitive visitors, were [p.378] I to take up my lodgings at the Sheikh�s house, I determined to alight at some Christian�s, and then consult upon my future proceeding with the Greek priest, whom I knew by report. I no sooner entered the north gate of the town, where is the quarter of the Christians, than I was surrounded by several of these hospitable people, who took hold of the bridle of my horse, every one insisting upon my repairing to his dwelling; I followed one, and the whole neighbourhood was soon assembled, to partake of the sheep that was slaughtered in honour of my arrival; still no one had asked me who I was, or whither I was going. After some conversation with the priest, I thought it expedient to pay a visit of ceremony to the Sheikh, in order to deliver my letter; I soon however had reason to repent: he received me very politely; but when he heard of my intention of proceeding southward, he told me that he could not allow of my going forward with one guide only, and that as he was preparing to visit the southern districts himself, in a few days, I should wait for him or his people to conduct me. His secretary then informed me, that it was expected I should make some present to the Sheikh, and pay him, besides, the sum which I must have given for a guide. The present I flatly refused to make, saying that it was rather the Sheikh�s duty to make a present to the guest recommended to him by such a person as my Damascene friend was. With respect to the second demand, I answered that I had no more money with me than was absolutely necessary for my journey. Our negotiations on this point lasted for several days; when seeing that I could obtain no guide without an order from the Sheikh, I at last agreed to pay fifteen piastres for his company as far as Djebel Sherah. If I had shewn a disposition to pay this sum immediately, every body would have thought that I had plenty of money, and more considerable sums would have been extorted; in every part of Turkey it is a prudent rule not [p.379] to grant the Turks their demands immediately, because they soon return to the charge. Had I not shewn my letter to the Sheikh, I should have procured a guide with little trouble, I should have had it in my power to see the borders of the Dead sea, and should have been enabled to depart sooner; but having once made my agreement with him, I was obliged to wait for his departure, which was put off from day to day, and thus I was prevented from going to any distance from the town, from the fear of being left behind. I remained therefore at Kerek for twenty successive days, changing my lodgings almost every day, in order to comply with the pressing invitations of its hospitable inhabitants. The town of Kerek (Arabic), a common name in Syria, is built upon the top of a steep hill, surrounded on all sides by a deep and narrow valley, the mountains beyond which command the town. In the valley, on the west and north sides, are several copious springs, on the borders of which the inhabitants cultivate some vegetables, and considerable plantations of olive trees. The principal of these sources are, Ain Sara (Arabic), which issues from the rock in a very romantic spot, where a mosque has been built, now in ruins; this rivulet turns three mills: the other sources are Ain Szafszaf (Arabic), Ain Kobeyshe (Arabic), and Ain Frandjy (Arabic), or the European spring, in the rock near which, as some persons told me, is an inscription in Frank characters, but no one ever would, or could, shew it me. The town is surrounded by a wall, which has fallen down in several places; it is defended by six or seven large towers, of which the northern is almost perfect, and has a long Arabic inscription on its wall, but too high to be legible from the ground; on each side of the inscription is a lion in bas-relief, similar to those seen on the walls of Aleppo and Damascus. The town had originally only two entrances, one to the south and the other to the north; they are [p.380] dark passages, forty paces in length, cut through the rock. An inscription on the northern gate ascribes its formation to Sultan Seyf- eddin (Arabic). Besides these two gates, two other entrances have been formed, leading over the ruins of the town wall. At the west end of the town stands a castle, on the edge of a deep precipice over the Wady Kobeysha. It is built in the style of most of the Syrian castles, with thick walls and parapets, large arched apartments, dark passages with loop-holes, and subterraneous vaults; and it probably owes its origin, like most of these castles, to the prudent system of defence adopted by the Saracens against the Franks during the Crusades. In a large Gothic hall are the remains of paintings in fresco, but so much defaced that nothing can be clearly distinguished. Kerek having been for some time in the hands of the Franks, this hall may have been built at that time for a church, and decorated with paintings. Upon an uncouth figure of a man bearing a large chain I read the letters IONI, painted in large characters; the rest of the inscription was effaced. On the side towards the town the castle is defended by a deep fosse cut in the rock; near which are seen several remains of columns of gray and red granite. On the south side the castle hill is faced with stone in the same manner as at Aleppo, El Hossn, Szalkhat, &c. On the west side a wall has been thrown across the Wady, to some high rocks, which project from the opposite side; a kind of Birket has thus been formed, which formerly supplied the garrison with water. In the castle is a deep well, and many of the private houses also have wells, but their water is brackish; others have cisterns, which save the inhabitants the trouble of fetching their water from the Wady below. There are no antiquities in the town, excepting a few fragments of granite columns. A good mosque, built by Melek el Dhaher, is now in ruins. The Christians have a church, dedicated to St. George, or El Khuder, which has been [p.381] lately repaired. On the declivity of the Wady to the south of the town are some ancient sepulchral caves, of coarse workmanship, cut in the chalky rock. Kerek is inhabited by about four hundred Turkish, and one hundred and fifty Christian families; the former can furnish upwards of eight hundred firelocks, the latter about two hundred and fifty. The Turks are composed of settlers from all parts of southern Syria, but principally from the mountains about Hebron and Nablous. The Christians are, for the greater part, descendants of refugees from Jerusalem, Bethlehem, and Beit Djade. They are free from all exactions, and enjoy the same rights with the Turks. Thirty or forty years ago Kerek was in the hands of the Bedouin tribe called Beni Ammer, who were accustomed to encamp around the town and to torment the inhabitants with their extortions. It may be remarked generally of the Bedouins, that wherever they are the masters of the cultivators, the latter are soon reduced to beggary, by their unceasing demands. The uncle of the present Sheikh of Kerek, who was then head of the town, exasperated at their conduct, came to an understanding with the Arabs Howeytat, and in junction with these, falling suddenly upon the Beni Ammer, completely defeated them in two encounters. The Ammer were obliged to take refuge in the Belka, where they joined the Adouan, but were again driven from thence, and obliged to fly towards Jerusalem. For many years afterwards they led a miserable life, from not being sufficiently strong to secure to their cattle good pasturing places. About six years ago they determined to return to Kerek, whatever might be their fate; in their way round the southern extremity of the Dead sea they lost two thirds of their cattle by the attacks of their inveterate enemies, the Terabein. When, at last, they arrived in the neighbourhood of Kerek, they threw themselves upon the mercy of the present Sheikh [p.382] of the town, Youssef Medjaby, who granted them permission to remain in his district, provided they would obey his commands. They were now reduced, from upwards of one thousand tents, to about two hundred, and they may at present be considered as the advanced guard of the Sheikh of Kerek, who employs them against his own enemies, and makes them encamp wherever he thinks proper. The inhabitants of Kerek have thus become formidable to all the neighbouring Arabs; they are complete masters of the district of Kerek, and have great influence over the affairs of the Belka. The Christians of Kerek are renowned for their courage, and more especially so, since an action which lately took place between them and the Rowalla, a tribe of Aeneze; a party of the latter had on a Sunday, when the men were absent, robbed the Christian encampment, which was at about an hour from the town, of all its cattle. On the first alarm given by the women, twenty-seven young men immediately pursued the enemy, whom they overtook at a short distance, and had the courage to attack, though upwards of four hundred men mounted on camels, and many of them armed with firelocks. After a battle of two hours the Rowalla gave way, with the loss of forty-three killed, a great many wounded, and one hundred and twenty camels, together with the whole booty which they had carried off. The Christians had only four men killed. To account for the success of this heroic enterprise, I must mention that the people of Kerek are excellent marksmen; there is not a boy among them who does not know how to use a firelock by the time he is ten years of age. The Sheikh of Kerek has no greater authority over his people than a Bedouin Sheikh has over his tribe. In every thing which regards the Bedouins, he governs with the advice of the most respectable individuals of the town; and his power is not absolute enough to deprive the meanest of his subjects of the smallest part [p.383] that prevails prevents the increase of wealth, and the richest man in the town is not worth more than about £1000. sterling. Their custom of entertaining strangers is much the same as at Szalt; they have eight Menzels, or Medhafe (Arabic), for the reception of guests, six of which belong to the Turks, and two to the Christians; their expenses are not defrayed by a common purse: but whenever a stranger takes up his lodging at one of the Medhafes, one of the people present declares that he intends to furnish that day�s entertainment, and it is then his duty to provide a dinner or supper, which he sends to the Medhafe, and which is always in sufficient quantity for a large company. A goat or a lamb is generally killed on the occasion, and barley for the guest�s horse is also furnished. When a stranger enters the town the people almost come to blows with one another in their eagerness to have him for their guest, and there are Turks who every other day kill a goat for this hospitable purpose. Indeed it is a custom here, even with respect to their own neighbours, that whenever a visitor enters a house, dinner or supper is to be immediately set before him. Their love of entertaining strangers is carried to such a length, that not long ago, when a Christian silversmith, who came from Jerusalem to work for the ladies, and who, being an industrious man, seldom stirred out of his shop, was on the point of departure after a two months residence, each of the principal families of the town sent him a lamb, saying that it was not just that he should lose his due, though he did not choose to come and dine with them. The more a man expends upon his guests, the greater is his reputation and influence; and the few families who pursue an opposite conduct are despised by all the others. Kerek is filled with guests every evening; for the Bedouins, knowing that they are here sure of a good supper for themselves and their horses, visit it as often as they can; they alight at one Medhafe, [p.385] go the next morning to another, and often visit the whole before they depart. The following remarkable custom furnishes another example of their hospitable manners: it is considered at Kerek an unpardonable meanness to sell butter or to exchange it for any necessary or convenience of life; so that, as the property of the people chiefly consists in cattle, and every family possesses large flocks of goats and sheep, which produce great quantities of butter, they supply this article very liberally to their guests. Besides other modes of consuming butter in their cookery, the most common dish at breakfast or dinner, is Fetyte, a sort of pudding made with sour milk, and a large quantity of butter. There are families who thus consume in the course of a year, upwards of ten quintals of butter. If a man is known to have sold or exchanged this article, his daughters or sisters remain unmarried, for no one would dare to connect himself with the family of a Baya el Samin (Arabic), or seller of butter, the most insulting epithet that can be applied to a man of Kerek. This custom is peculiar to the place, and unknown to the Bedouins. The people of Kerek, intermarry with the Bedouins; and the Aeneze even give the Kerekein their girls in marriage. The sum paid to the father of the bride is generally between six and eighthundred piastres; young men without property are obliged to serve the father five or six years, as menial servants, in compensation for the price of the girl. The Kerekein do not treat their wives so affectionately as the Bedouins; if one of them falls sick, and her sickness is likely to prevent her for some time from taking care of the family affairs, the husband sends her back to her father�s house, with a message that �he must cure her;� for, as he says, �I bought a healthy wife of you, and it is not just that I should be at the trouble and expense of curing her.� This is a rule with both Mohammedans and Christians. It is not the custom for the [p.386] husband to buy clothes or articles of dress for his wife; she is, in consequence, obliged to apply to her own family, in order to appear decently in public, or to rob her husband of his wheal and barley, and sell it clandestinely in small quantities; nor does she inherit the smallest trifle of her husband�s property. The Kerekein never sleep under the same blanket with their wives; and to be accused of doing so, is considered as great an insult as to be called a coward. The domestic manners of the Christians of Kerek are the same as those of the Turks; their laws are also the same, excepting those relating to marriage; and in cases of litigation, even amongst themselves, they repair to the tribunal of the Kadhy, or judge of the town, instead of submitting their differences to their own Sheikhs. The Kadhy is elected by the Sheikhs. With respect to their religious duties, they observe them much less than any other Greeks in Syria; few of them frequent the church, alleging, not without reason, that it is of no use to them, because they do not understand one word of the Greek forms of prayer. Neither are they rigid observers of Lent, which is natural enough, as they would be obliged to live almost entirely on dry bread, were they to abstain wholly from animal food. Though so intimately united with the Turks both by common interests and manners, as to be considered the same tribe, yet there exists much jealousy among the adherents of the two religions, which is farther increased by the Sheikh�s predilection for the Christians. The Turks seeing that the latter prosper, have devised a curious method of participating in the favours which Providence may bestow on the Christians on account of their religion: many of them baptise their male children in the church of St. George, and take Christian godfathers for their sons. There is neither Mollah nor fanatic Kadhy to prevent this practice, and the Greek priest, who [p.387] is handsomely paid for baptising, reconciles his conscientious scruples by the hope that the boy so baptized may perhaps die a Christian; added to this, he does not give the child entire baptism, but dips the hands and feet only in the water, while the Christian child receives total immersion, and this pious fraud sets all his doubts at rest as to the legality of the act. The priests pretend nevertheless that such is the efficacy of the baptism that these baptised Turks have never been known to die otherwise than by old age. Kerek is the see of a Greek bishop, who generally resides at Jerusalem. The diocese is called Battra (Arabic) in Arabic, and [Greek] in Greek; and it is the general opinion among the clergy of Jerusalem, that Kerek is the ancient Petra;[The Greek bishops belonging to the Patriarchal see of Jerusalem are: 1. Kaisaryet Filistin; 2. Bysan: 3. Battra; 4. Akka; 5. Bethlehem; 6. Nazareth. The Greek bishops in partibus (Arabic) are; 1. Lyd; 2. Gaza; 3. Syna; 4. Yaffa; 5. Nablous; 6. Shabashye; 7. Tor Thabour: 8. Djebel Adjeloun.] but it will be seen in the sequel of this journal that there is good reason to think they are mistaken; Kerek therefore is probably the Charax Omanorum of Pliny. The bishop�s revenue is about six pounds sterling per annum; he visits his diocese every five or six years. During my stay, a Greek priest arrived from Jerusalem, to collect for his convent, which had been at a great expense in rebuilding the church of the Holy Sepulchre. The Greeks delivered to him in sheep to the value of about fifteen pounds sterling. The Kerekein cultivate the plains in the neighbouring mountains and feed their cattle on the uncultivated parts. One-third of the people remain encamped the whole year at two or three hours distant from the town, to superintend the cattle; the rest encamp in the harvest time only. During the latter period the Christians have two large camps or Douars, and the Turks five. Here they [p.388] live like Bedouins, whom they exactly resemble, in dress, food, and language. The produce of their fields is purchased by the Bedouins, or exchanged for cattle. The only other commercial intercourse carried on by them is with Jerusalem, for which place a caravan departs every two months, travelling either by the route round the southern extremity of the Dead sea, which takes three days and a half, or by crossing the Jordan, a journey of three days. At Jerusalem they sell their sheep and goats, a few mules, of which they have an excellent breed, hides, wool, and a little Fowa or madder (Rubia tinctorum), which they cultivate in small quantities; in return they take coffee, rice, tobacco, and all kinds of articles of dress, and of household furniture. This journey, however, is undertaken by few of the natives of Kerek, the trade being almost wholly in the hands of a few merchants of Hebron, who keep shops at Kerek, and thus derive large profits from the indolence or ignorance of the Kerekein. I have seen the most common articles sold at two hundred per cent. profit. The trade is carried on chiefly by barter: and every thing is valued in measures of corn, this being the readiest representative of exchange in the possession of the town�s-people; hence the merchants, make their returns chiefly in corn and partly in wool. The only artizans in Kerek who keep shops are a blacksmith, a shoemaker, and a silversmith. When the Mekka caravan passes, the Kerekein sell provisions of all kinds to the Hadj, which they meet at the castle of Katrana. Many Turks, as well as Christians, in the town, have negro slaves, whom they buy from the Bedouins, who bring them from Djidda and Mekka: there are also several families of blacks in Kerek, who have obtained their liberty, and have married free black women. The houses of Kerek have only one floor, and three or four are generally built in the same court-yard. The roof of the apartment [p.389] is supported by two arches, much in the same way as in the ancient buildings of the Haouran, which latter however have generally but one arch. Over the arches thick branches of trees are laid, and over the latter a thin layer of rushes. Along the wall at the extremity of the room, opposite to the entrance, are large earthen reservoirs of wheat (Kowari Arabic). There is generally no other aperture in these rooms than the door, a circumstance that renders them excessively disagreeable in the winter evenings, when the door is shut and a large fire is kindled in the middle of the floor. Some of the Arab tribes in the territory of Kerek pay a small annual tribute to the Sheikh of Kerek, as do likewise the peasants who cultivate the shores of the Dead sea. In order, however, to secure their harvests against any casualties, the Kerekein have deemed it expedient to pay, on their, part, a tribute to the Southern Arabs called El Howeytat, who are continually passing this way in their expeditions against the Beni Szakher. The Christians pay to one of the Howeytat Sheikhs one Spanish dollar per family, and the Turks send them annually about fifteen mule loads of carpets which are manufacured at Kerek. Whenever the Sheikhs of the Beni Szakher visit the town, they receive considerable presents by way of a friendly tribute. The district of Kerek comprises three other villages, which are under the orders of the Sheikh of Kerek: viz. Ketherabba (Arabic), Oerak (Arabic), and Khanzyre (Arabic). There are besides a great number of ruined places in the district, the principal of which are the following; Addar (Arabic), Hedjfa (Arabic), Hadada (Arabic), Thenye (Arabic), three quarters of an hour to the S. of the town; Meddyn (Arabic), Mouthe (Arabic), Djeldjoun (Arabic), Djefeiras (Arabic), Datras (Arabic), about an hour and a half S.E. of the town, where some walls of houses remain; Medjdelein (Arabic), Yarouk (Arabic), Seraf [p.390] (Arabic), Meraa (Arabic), and Betra, where is a heap of stones on the foot of a high hill, distant from Kerek to the southward and westward about five hours. Several Wadys descend from the mountains of Kerek into the plain on the shore of the Dead sea, and are there lost, either in the sands or in the fields of the peasants who cultivate the plain, none of them reaching the lake itself in the summer. To the S. of Modjeb is the Seyl Djerra (Arabic), and farther south, Wady Beni Hammad (Arabic). In the valley of this river, perhaps the Zared of Scripture, are hot-wells, with some ruined buildings near them, about five hours from Kerek, in a northern direction. Next follow Seyl el Kerek, Wady el Draah (Arabic), Seyl Assal (Arabic), perhaps Assan, which rises nearer Ketherabba; El Nemeyra (Arabic), coming from Oerak; Wady Khanzyre (Arabic), and El Ahhsa, a river which divides the territory of Kerek from the district to the S. of it, called El Djebel. Not having had an opportunity of descending to the borders of the Dead sea, I shall subjoin here a few notes which I collected from the people of Kerek. I have since been informed that M. Seetzen, the most indefatigable traveller that ever visited Syria, has made the complete tour of the Dead sea; I doubt not that he has made many interesting discoveries in natural history. The mountains which inclose the Ghor, or valley of the Jordan, open considerably at the northern extremity of the Dead sea, and encompassing it on the W. and E. sides approach again at its S. extremity, leaving only a narrow plain between them. The plain on the west side, between the sea and the mountains, is covered with sand, and is unfit for cultivation; but on the E. side, and especially towards the S. extremity, where it continues to bear the appellation of El Ghor (Arabic), the plain is in many places very fertile. Its breadth [p.391] varies from one to four and five miles; it is covered with forests, in the midst of which the miserable peasants build their huts of rushes, and cultivate their Dhourra and tobacco fields. These peasants are called El Ghowárene (Arabic), and amount to about three hundred families; they live very poorly, owing to the continual exactions of the neighbouring Bedouins, who descend in winter from the mountains of Belka and Kerek, and pasture their cattle amidst the fields. The heat of the climate of this low valley, during the summer, renders it almost uninhabitable; the people then go nearly naked; but their low huts, instead of affording shelter from the mid-day heat rather increase it. At this period violent intermittent fevers prevail, to which, however, they are so much accustomed, that they labour in the fields during the intervals of the paroxysms of the disease. The principal settlement of the Ghowárene is at the southern extremity of the sea, near the embouchure of the Wady el Ahhsa; their village is called Ghor Szafye (Arabic), and is the winter rendezvous of more than ten large tribes of Bedouins. Its situation corresponds with that of Zoar. The spots not cultivated being for the greater part sandy, there is little pasturage, and the camels, in consequence, feed principally upon the leaves of the trees. About eight hours to the N. of Szafye is the Ghor el Mezra (Arabic), a village much frequented by the people of Kerek, who there buy the tobacco which they smoak. About the middle of the lake on the same eastern shore, are some ruins of an ancient city, called Towahein el Sukkar (Arabic) i.e. the Sugar Mills. Farther north the mountains run down to the lake, and a steep cliff overhangs the sea for about an hour, shutting out all passage along the shore. Still farther to the north are the ruined places called Kafreyn (Arabic), and Rama (Arabic), and in the valley of the Jordan, south of Abou Obeida, are the ruins of Nemrin (Arabic), probably PRODUCTIONS OF THE GHOR [p.392] the Bethnimra of the Scriptures. In the vegetable productions of this plain the botanist would perhaps discover several unknown species of trees and plants; the reports of the Arabs on this subject are so vague and incoherent, that it is almost impossible to obtain any precise information from them; they speak, for instance, of the spurious pomegranate tree, producing a fruit exactly like that of the pomegranate, but which, on being opened, is found to contain nothing but a dusty powder; this, they pretend, is the Sodom apple-tree; other persons however deny its existence. The tree Asheyr (Arabic), is very common in the Ghor. It bears a fruit of a reddish yellow colour, about three inches in diameter, which contains a white substance, resembling the finest silk, and enveloping some seeds. The Arabs collect the silk, and twist it into matches for their fire-locks, preferring it to the common match, because it ignites more readily. More than twenty camel loads might be annually procured, and it might perhaps be found useful in the silk and cotton manufactories of Europe. At present the greater part of the fruit rots on the trees. On making an incision into the thick branches of the Asheyr a white juice exsudes, which is collected by putting a hollow reed into the incision; the Arabs sell the juice to the druggists at Jerusalem, who are said to use it in medicine as a strong cathartic.[It is the same plant called Oshour by the people of Upper Egypt and Nubia. Norden, who has given a drawing of it, as found by him near the first cataract of the Nile, improperly denominates it Oshar.] Indigo is a very common production of the Ghor; the Ghowárene sell it to the merchants of Jerusalem and Hebron, where it is worth twenty per cent. more than Egyptian indigo. One of the most interesting productions of this valley is the Beyrouk honey, or as the Arabs call it, Assal Beyrouk (Arabic). I suppose it to be the manna, but I never had an opportunity of seeing it myself. It was described to me, as a juice dropping from the [p.393] leaves and twigs of a tree called Gharrab (Arabic), of the size of an olive tree, with leaves like those of the poplar, but somewhat broader. The honey collects upon the leaves like dew, and is gathered from them, or from the ground under the tree, which is often found completely covered with it. According to some its colour is brownish; others said it was of a grayish hue; it is very sweet when fresh, but turns sour after being kept two days. The Arabs eat it like honey, with butter, they also put it into their gruel, and use it in rubbing their water skins, in order to exclude the air. I enquired whether it was a laxative, but was answered in the negative. The Beyrouk honey is collected only in the months of May and June. Some persons assured me that the same substance was likewise produced by the thorny tree Tereshresh (Arabic), and collected at the same time as that from the Gharrab. In the mountains of Shera grows a tree called Arar (Arabic), from the fruit of which the Bedouins extract a juice, which is extremely nutritive. The tree Talh (Arabic), which produces the gum arabic (Arabic), is very common in the Ghor; but the Arabs do not take the trouble to collect the gum. Among other vegetable productions there is a species of tobacco, called Merdiny (Arabic), which has a most disagreeable taste; but, for want of a better kind, it is cultivated in great quantity, and all the Bedouins on the borders of the Dead sea are supplied with it. The coloquintida (Arabic or Arabic), grows wild every where in great quantities. The tree Szadder (Arabic), which is a species of the cochineal tree, is also very common. As to the mineral productions of the borders of the Dead sea, it appears that the southern mountains are full of rock salt, which is washed off by the winter rains, and carried down into the lake. In the northern Ghor pieces of native sulphur are found at a small DEAD SEA [p.394] depth beneath the surface, and are used by the Arabs to cure diseases in their camels. The asphaltum (Arabic), Hommar, which is collected by the Arabs of the western shore, is said to come from a mountain which blocks up the passage along the eastern Ghor, and which is situated at about two hours south of wady Modjeb. The Arabs pretend that it oozes from the fissures in the cliff, and collects in large pieces on the rock below, where the mass gradually increases and hardens, until it is rent asunder by the heat of the sun, with a loud explosion, and falling into the sea, is carried by the waves in considerable quantities to the opposite shores. At the northern extremity of the sea the stink-stone is found; its combustible properties are ascribed, by the Arabs, to the magic rod of Moses, whose tomb is not far from thence. The stones are thrown into the fires made of camel�s dung, to encrease the heat. Concerning the lake itself, I was informed that no visible increase of its waters takes place in winter time, as the greater part of the torrents which descend from the eastern mountains do not reach the lake, but are lost in the sandy plain. About three hours north of Szaffye is a ford, by which the lake is crossed in three hours and a half. Some Arabs assured me that there are spots in this ford where the water is quite hot, and where the bottom is of red earth. It is probable that there are hot springs in the bottom of the lake, which near the ford is nowhere deeper than three or four feet; and generally only two feet. The water is so strongly impregnated with salt, that the skin of the legs of those who wade across it soon afterwards peels entirely off. The mountains about Kerek are all calcareous, with flint; they abound with petrified shells, and some of the rocks consist entirely of small shells. Fine specimens of calcareous spath, called by the Arabs Hadjar Ain el Shems (Arabic), the Sun�s eye, are found [p.395] here. Ancient coins of copper, silver, and even of gold are found in the fields near Kerek; in general they are bought by the silversmiths, and immediately melted. I procured a few of copper upon which was the Greek legend of [Greek]. The direction of Jerusalem from Kerek, as pointed out to me several times, is N. by W. The direction of Katrane, a station of the pilgrim caravan to Mekka, is E.S.E. distant about eight hours. That of Szaffye, or the S. point of the Dead sea, is W. by S. distant about twelve hours. The Dead sea is here called Bahret Lout, the Sea of Lot. August 4th.�After having remained nearly three weeks at Kerek, waiting from day to day for the departure of the Sheikh, he at last set out, accompanied by about forty horsemen. The inhabitants of Kerek muster about one hundred horsemen, and have excellent horses; the Sheikh himself possessed the finest horse I had seen in Syria; it was a gray Saklawy, famous all over the desert. We descended into the valley of Ain Frandjy, and ascended the mountain on the other side, our road lying nearly S.S.W. In one hour and a half from Kerek we reached the top of the mountain, from whence we had a fine view of the southern extremity of the Dead sea, which presented the appearance of a lake, with many islands or shoals covered with a white saline crust. The water is very shallow for about three hours from its south end. Where narrowest, it may be about six miles across. The mountain which we had passed was a barren rock of flint and chalk. We met with an encampment of Beni Hamyde, where we breakfasted. At the end of two hours and a half we reached, on the descent of the mountain, Ain Terayn (Arabic), a fine spring, with the ruins of a city near it. The rivulet which takes its rise here joins that of Ketherabba, and descends along a narrow valley into the Ghor, which it reaches near the ruined place called Assal, from which it takes the name of Wady KHANZYRE [p.396] Assal. Near the rivulet are some olive plantations. At two hours and three quarters is Ketherabba (Arabic), a village with about eighty houses. Many of its inhabitants live under tents pitched in the square open spaces left among the houses of the village. The gardens contain great numbers of large fig trees. The mountains in the neighbourhood are cultivated in some parts by the Beni Ammer. The village of Szaffye in the Ghor bears from hence W. August 5th.�We left Ketherabba early in the morning. Our road lay through a wild and entirely barren rocky country, ascending and descending several Wadys. In one hour and a quarter we came to Oerak (Arabic), a village of the same size as the former, very picturesquely situated; it is built at the foot of a high perpendicular cliff, down which a rivulet rushes into the Wady below. Many immense fragments have separated from the cliff, and fallen down; and amongst these rocks the houses of the village are built. Its inhabitants cultivate, besides wheat, barley, and dhourra, olives, figs, and tobacco, which they sell to advantage. We rested here the greater part of the day, under a large Kharnoub tree. Our Sheikh had no pressing business, but like all Arabs, fond of idleness, and of living well at other people�s expense, he by no means hastened his journey, but easily found a pretext for stopping; wherever we alighted a couple of sheep or goats were immediately killed, and the best fruits, together with plenty of tobacco, were presented to us. Our company increased at every village, as all those Arabs who had horses followed us, in order to partake of our good fare, so that our party amounted at last to eighty men. At two hours and a quarter is a fine spring; two hours and a half, the village Khanzyre (Arabic), which is larger than Oerak and Ketherabba. Here we stopped a whole day, our Sheikh having a house in the village, and a wife, whom he dared not carry to Kerek, having another family there. In the evening he held a court [p.397] of justice, as he had done at Ketherabba, and decided a number of disputes between the peasants; the greater part of these were concerning money transactions between husbands and the families of their wives; or related to the mixed property of the Arabs in mares, in consequence of the Bedouin custom of selling only one-half, or one-third of those animals. August 6th.���Khanzyre is built on the declivity of one of the highest mountains on the eastern side of the Dead sea; in its neighbourhood are a number of springs whose united waters form a rivulet which irrigates the fields belonging to the village, and an extensive tract of gardens. The villages of this country are each governed by its own Sheikh, and the peasants are little better than Bedouins; their manners, dress, and mode of living are exactly the same. In the harvest time they live in the mountains under tents, and their cattle is entrusted during the whole year to a small encampment of their own shepherds. In the afternoon of this day we were alarmed by loud cries in the direction of the opposite mountain. The whole of our party immediately mounted, and I also followed. On reaching the spot from whence the cries came, we found two shepherds of Khanzyre quite naked; they had been stripped by a party of the Arabs Terabein, who live in the mountains of Hebron, and each of the robbers had carried off a fat sheep upon his mare. They were now too far off to be overtaken; and our people, not being able to engage the enemy, amused themselves with a sham-fight in their return home. They displayed superior strength and agility in handling the lance, and great boldness in riding at full speed over rugged and rocky ground. In the exercise with the lance the rider endeavours to put the point of it upon the shoulder of his adversary, thus showing that his life is in his power. When the parties become heated, they often bear off upon their lances the turbands of their adversaries, and carry them [p.398] about with insolent vociferation. Our Sheikh of Kerek, a man of sixty, far excelled all his people in these youthful, exercises; indeed he seemed to be an accomplished Bedouin Sheikh; though he proved to be a treacherous friend to me. As I thought that I had settled matters with him, to his entire satisfaction, I was not a little astonished, when he took me aside in the evening to announce to me, that unless he received twenty piastres more, he would not take charge of me any farther. Although I knew it was not in his power to hinder me from following him, and that he could not proceed to violence without entirely losing his reputation among the Arabs, for ill-treating his guest, yet I had acquired sufficient knowledge of the Sheikh�s character to be persuaded that if I did not acquiesce in his demand, he would devise some means to get me into a situation which it would have perhaps cost me double the sum to escape from; I therefore began to bargain with him; and brought him down to fifteen piastres. I then endeavoured to bind him by the most solemn oath used by the Bedouins; laying his hand upon the head of his little boy, and on the fore feet of his mare, he swore that he would, for that sum, conduct me himself, or cause me to be conducted, to the Arabs Howeytat, from whence I might hope to find a mode of proceeding in safety to Egypt. My precautions, however, were all in vain. Being satisfied that my cash was reduced to a few piastres, he began his plans for stripping me of every other part of my property which had excited his wishes. The day after his oath, when we were about to depart from Ayme, he addressed me in the presence of the whole company, saying that his saddle would fit my horse better than my own did, and that he would therefore change saddles with me. Mine was worth nearly forty piastres, his was not worth more than ten. I objected to the exchange, pretending that I was not accustomed to ride upon the low Bedouin saddle; he replied, by assuring [p.399] me that I should soon find it much more agreeable than the town saddle; moreover, said he, you may depend upon it that the Sheikh of the Howeytat will take your saddle from you, if you do not give it to me. I did not dare to put the Sheikh in mind of his oath, for had I betrayed to the company his having extorted from me so much, merely for the sake of his company, he would certainly have been severely reprimanded by the Bedouins present, and I should thus have exposed myself to the effects of his revenge. All the bye-standers at the same time pressed me to comply with his request: �Is he not your brother?� said they. �Are not the best morsels of his dish always for you? Does he not continually fill your pipe with his own tobacco? Fie upon your stinginess.� But they did not know that I had calculated upon paying part of the hire of a guide to Egypt with the value of the saddle, nor that I had already handsomely paid for my brotherhood. I at last reluctantly complied; but the Sheikh was not yet satisfied: the stirrups he had given me, although much inferior to those he had taken from me, were too good in his eyes, to form part of my equipment. In the evening his son came to me to propose an exchange of these stirrups against a pair of his own almost unfit for use, and which I knew would wound my ankles, as I did not wear boots; but it was in vain to resist. The pressing intreaties of all my companions in favour of the Sheikh�s son lasted for two whole days; until tired at length with their importunity, I yielded, and, as had expected, my feet were soon wounded. I have entered into these details in order to shew what Arab cupidity is: an article of dress, or of equipment, which the poorest townsman would be ashamed to wear, is still a covetable object with the Bedouins; they set no bounds to their demands, delicacy is unknown amongst them, nor have they any word to express it; if indeed one persists in refusing, they never take the thing by force; but it is extremely WADY EL AHSA [p.400] difficult to resist their eternal supplications and compliments without yielding at last. With regard to my behaviour towards the Bedouins, I always endeavoured, by every possible means, to be upon good terms with my companions, whoever they were, and I seldom failed in my endeavours. I found, by experience, that putting on a grave face, and talking wisely among them was little calculated to further the traveller�s views. On the contrary, I aspired to the title of a merry fellow; I joked with them whenever I could, and found that by a little attention to their ways of thinking and reasoning, they are easily put into good humour. This kind of behaviour, however, is to be observed only in places where one makes a stay of several days, or towards fellow travellers: in passing rapidly through Arab encampments, it is better for the traveller not to be too talkative in the tents where he alights, but to put on a stern countenance. We left Khanzyre late in the evening, that we might enjoy the coolness of the night air. We ascended for a short time, and then began to descend into the valley called Wady el Ahsa. It had now become dark, and this was, without exception, the most dangerous route I ever travelled in my life. The descent is steep, and there is no regular road over the smooth rocks, where the foot slips at every step. We had missed our way, and were obliged to alight from our horses, after many of us had suffered severe falls. Our Sheikh was the only horseman who would not alight from his mare, whose step, he declared, was as secure as his own. After a march of two hours and a half, we halted upon a narrow plain, on the declivity of the Wady, called El Derredje (Arabic), where we lighted a fire, and remained till day-break. August 7th.�In three quarters of an hour from Derredje, we reached the bottom of the valley. The Wady el Ahsa (Arabic), which takes its rise near the castle El Ahsa, or El Hassa, on the EL KERR [p.401] Syrian Hadj road, runs here in a deep and narrow bed of rocks, the banks of which are overgrown with Defle. There was more water in the rivulet than in any of those I had passed south of Zerka; the water was quite tepid, caused by a hot spring, which empties itself into the Ahsa from a side valley higher up the Wady. This forms the third hot spring on the east of the Dead sea, one being in the Wady Zerka Mayn, and another in the Wady Hammad. The valley of El Ahsa divides the district of Kerek from that of Djebal (plur. of Djebel), the ancient Gebalene. In the Ghor the river changes its name into that of Kerahy (Arabic), and is likewise called Szafye (Arabic). This name is found in all the maps of Arabia Petræa, but the course of the river is not from the south, as there laid down; Djebal also, instead of being laid down at the S.E. extremity of the lake, is improperly placed as beginning on the S.W. of it. The rock of the Wady el Ahsa is chiefly sand-stone, which is seldom met with to the N. of this valley; but it is very common in the southern mountains. We ascended the southern side of the valley, which is less steep and rocky than the northern, and in an hour and a half reached a fine spring called El Kaszrein (Arabic) surrounded by verdant ground and tall reeds. The Bedouins of the tribe of Beni Naym, here cultivate some Dhourra fields and there are some remains of ancient habitations. In two hours and a quarter we arrived at the top of the mountain, when we entered upon an extensive plain, and passed the ruins of an ancient city of considerable extent called El Kerr (Arabic), perhaps the ancient Kara, a bishopric belonging to the diocese of Rabba Moabitis;[See Reland. Palæst. Vol. i. p. 226.] nothing remains but heaps of stones. The plain, which we crossed in a S.W. by S. direction, consists of a fertile soil, and contains the ruins of several villages. At the end of two hours and three quarters we descended by a steep road, into a Wady, and in three hours reached the village of AYME [p.402] Ayme (Arabic), situated upon a narrow plain at the foot of high cliffs. In its neighbourhood are several springs, and wherever these are met with, vegetation readily takes place, even among barren sandrocks. Ayme is no longer in the district of Kerek, its Sheikh being now under the command of the Sheikh of Djebal, whose residence is at Tafyle. One half of the inhabitants live under tents, and every house has a tent pitched upon its terrace, where the people pass the mornings and evenings, and sleep. The climate of all these mountains, to the southward of the Belka, is extremely agreeable; the air is pure, and although the heat is very great in summer, and is still further increased by the reflexion of the sun�s rays from the rocky sides of the mountains, yet the temperature never becomes suffocating, owing to the refreshing breeze which generally prevails. I have seen no part of Syria in which there are so few invalids. The properties of the climate seem to have been well known to the ancients, who gave this district the appellation of Palæstina tertia, sive salutaris. The winter is very cold; deep snow falls, and the frosts sometimes continue till the middle of March. This severe weather is doubly felt by the inhabitants, as their dress is little fitted to protect them from it. During my stay in Gebalene, we had every morning a fog which did not disperse till mid- day. I could perceive the vapours collecting in the Ghor below, which, after sun-set, was completely enveloped in them. During the night they ascend the sides of the mountains, and in general are not entirely dissipated until near mid-day. From Khanzyre we had the Ghor all the way on our right, about eight or ten hours distant; but, in a straight line, not more than six hours. August 8th.�At one hour and a quarter from Ayme, route S. b. W. we reached Tafyle (Arabic), built on the declivity of a mountain, at the foot of which is Wady Tafyle. This name bears some resemblance to that of Phanon or Phynon, which, according TAFYLE [p.403] to Eusebius, was situated between Petra and Zoara.[Euseb. de nom. S.S.] Tafyle contains about six hundred houses; its Sheikh is the nominal chief of Djebal, but in reality the Arabs Howeytat govern the whole district, and their Sheikh has lately constructed a small castle at Tafyle at his own expense. Numerous springs and rivulets (ninety-nine according to the Arabs), the waters of which unite below and flow into the Ghor, render the vicinity of this town very agreeable. It is surrounded by large plantations of fruit trees: apples, apricots, figs, pomegranates, and olive and peach trees of a large species are cultivated in great numbers. The fruit is chiefly consumed by the inhabitants and their guests, or exchanged with the Bedouin women for butter; the figs are dried and pressed together in large lumps, and are thus exported to Ghaza, two long days journey from hence. The inhabitants of Djebal are not so independent as the Kerekein, because they have not been able to inspire the neighbouring Bedouins with a dread of their name. They pay a regular tribute to the Beni Hadjaya, to the Szaleyt, but chiefly to the Howeytat, who often exact also extraordinary donations. Wars frequently happen between the people of Djebal and of Kerek, principally on account of persons who having committed some offence, fly from one town to seek an asylum in the other. At the time of my visit a coolness had existed between the two districts for several months, on account of a man of Tafyle, who having eloped with the wife of another, had taken refuge at Kerek; and one of the principal reasons which had induced our Sheikh to undertake this journey, was the hope of being able to bring the affair to an amicable termination. Hence we were obliged to remain three days at Tafyle, tumultuous assemblies were held daily, upon the subject, and the meanest Arab might give his opinion, though in direct [p.404] opposition to that of his Sheikh. The father of the young man who had eloped had come with us from Kerek, for the whole family had been obliged to fly, the Bedouin laws entitling an injured husband to kill any of the offender�s relations, in retaliation for the loss of his wife. The husband began by demanding from the young man�s father two wives in return for the one carried off, and the greater part of the property which the emigrant family possessed in Tafyle. The father of the wife and her first cousin also made demands of compensation for the insult which their family had received by her elopement. Our Sheikh, however, by his eloquence and address, at last got the better of them all: indeed it must in justice be said that Youssef Medjaly was not more superior to the other mountaineers in the strength of his arm, and the excellence of his horsemanship, than he was by his natural talents. The affair was settled by the offender�s father placing his four infant daughters, the youngest of whom was not yet weaned, at the disposal of the husband and his father-in-law, who might betrothe them to whomsoever they chose, and receive themselves the money which is usually paid for girls. The four daughters were estimated at about three thousand piastres, and both parties seemed to be content. In testimony of peace being concluded between the two families, and of the price of blood being paid, the young man�s father, who had not yet shewn himself publickly, came to shake hands with the injured husband, a white flag was suspended at the top of the tent in which we sat, a sheep was killed, and we passed the whole night in feasting and conversation. The women of Tafyle are much more shy before strangers than those of Kerek. The latter never, or at least very seldom, veil themselves, and they discourse freely with all strangers; the former, on the contrary, imitate the city ladies in their pride, and reserved manners. The inhabitants of Tafyle, who are of the tribe [p.405] of Djowabere (Arabic), supply the Syrian Hadj with a great quantity of provisions, which they sell to the caravan at the castle El Ahsa; and the profits which they derive from this trade are sometimes very great. It is much to be doubted whether the peasants of Djebal and Shera will be able to continue their field-labour, if the Syrian pilgrim caravan be not soon re-established. The produce of their soil hardly enables them to pay their heavy tribute to the Bedouins, besides feeding the strangers who alight at their Menzels: for all the villages in this part of the country treat their guests in the manner, which has already been described. The people of Djebal sell their wool, butter, and hides at Ghaza, where they buy all the little luxuries which they stand in need of; there are, besides, in every village, a few shopkeepers from El Khalyl or Hebron, who make large profits. The people of Hebron have the reputation of being enterprising merchants, and not so dishonest as their neighbours of Palestine: their pedlars penetrate far into the desert of Arabia, and a few of them remain the whole year round at Khaibar in the Nedjed. The fields of Tafyle are frequented by immense numbers of crows; the eagle Rakham is very common in the mountains, as are also wild boars. In all the Wadys south of the Modjeb, and particularly in those of Modjeb and El Ahsa, large herds of mountain goats, called by the Arabs Beden (Arabic), are met with. This is the Steinbock, or Bouquetin of the Swiss and Tyrol Alps they pasture in flocks of forty or fifty together; great numbers of them are killed by the people of Kerek and Tafyle, who hold their flesh in high estimation. They sell the large knotty horns to the Hebron merchants, who carry them to Jerusalem, where they are worked into handles for knives and daggers. I saw a pair of these horns at Kerek three feet and a half in length. The Arabs told [p.406] me that it is very difficult to get a shot at them, and that the hunters hide themselves among the reeds on the banks of streams where the animals resort in the evening to drink; they also asserted, that when pursued, they will throw themselves from a height of fifty feet and more upon their heads without receiving any injury. The same thing is asserted by the hunters in the Alps. In the mountains of Belka, Kerek, Djebal, and Shera, the bird Katta [This bird is a species of partridge, Tetrao Alkatta, and is found in large flocks in May and June in every part of Syria. It has been particularly described in Russel�s Aleppo, vol. ii. p. 194.] is met with in immense numbers; they fly in such large flocks that the Arab boys often kill two and three at a time, merely by throwing a stick amongst them. Their eggs, which they lay in the rocky ground, are collected by the Arabs. It is not improbable that this bird is the Seloua (Arabic), or quail, of the children of Israel. The peasants of Tafyle have but few camels; they till the ground with oxen and cows, and use mules for the transport of their provisions. At half an hour south of Tafyle is the valley of Szolfehe (Arabic). From a point above Tafyle the mountains of Dhana (which I shall have occasion to mention hereafter) bore S.S.W. August 11th.�During our stay at Tafyle we changed our lodgings twice every day, dining at one public house and supping at another. We were well treated, and had every evening a musical party, consisting of Bedouins famous for their performance upon the Rababa, or guitar of the desert, and who knew all the new Bedouin poetry by heart. I here met a man from Aintab, near Aleppo, who hearing me talk of his native town, took a great liking to me, and shewed me every civility. We left Tafyle on the morning of the 11th. In one hour we reached a spring, where a party of Beni Szaleyt was encamped. At two hours was a ruined village, with a fine spring, at the head of BESZEYRA [p.407] a Wady. Two hours and three quarters, the village Beszeyra (Arabic). Our road lay S.W. along the western declivity of the mountains, having the Ghor continually in view. The Wadys which descend the mountains of Djebal south of Tafyle do not reach the lowest part of the plain in the summer, but are lost in the gravelly soil of the valley. Beszeyra is a village of about fifty houses. It stands upon an elevation, on the summit of which a small castle has been built, where the peasants place their provisions in times of hostile invasion. It is a square building of stone, with strong walls. The villages of Beszeyra, Szolfehe, and Dhana are inhabited by descendants of the Beni Hamyde, a part of whom have thus become Fellahein, or cultivators, while the greater number still remain in a nomadic state. Those of Beszeyra lived formerly at Omteda, now a ruined village three or four hours to the north of it. At that time the Arabs Howeytat were at war with the Djowabere, whose Sheikh was an ally of the Hamyde. The Howeytat defeated the Djowabere, and took Tafyle, where they constructed a castle, and established a Sheikh of their own election; they also built, at the same time, the tower of Beszeyra. The Hamyde of Omteda then emigrated to this place, which appears to have been, in ancient times, a considerable city, if we may judge from the ruins which surround the village. It was probably the ancient Psora, a bishopric of Palaestina tertia.[See Reland. Palæst. vol i. p. 218.] The women of Beszeyra were the first whom I saw wearing the Berkoa (Arabic), or Egyptian veil, over their faces. The Sheikh of Kerek had come thus far, in order to settle a dispute concerning a colt which one of the Hamyde of Beszeyra demanded of him. We found here a small encampment of Howeytat Arabs, to one of whom the Sheikh recommended me: he professed to know the man well, and assured me that he was a proper guide. We settled the price of his hire to Cairo, at eighty piastres; and he was to provide me with a camel for myself and baggage. This was AIN DJEDOLAT [p.408] the last friendly service of Sheikh Youssef towards me, but I afterwards learnt, that he received for his interest in making the bargain, fifteen piastres from the Arab, who, instead of eighty, would have been content with forty piastres. After the Sheikh had departed on his return, my new guide told me that his camels were at another encampment, one day�s distance to the south, and that he had but one with him, which was necessary for the transport of his tent. This avowal was sufficient to make me understand the character of the man, but I still relied on the Sheikh�s recommendation. In order to settle with the guide I sold my mare for four goats and for thirty-five piastres worth of corn, a part of which I delivered to him, and I had the remainder ground into flour, for our provision during the journey; he took the goats in payment of his services, and it was agreed that I should give him twenty piastres more on reaching Cairo. I had still about eighty piastres in gold, but kept them carefully concealed in case of some great emergency; for I knew that if I were to shew a single sequin, the Arabs would suppose that I possessed several hundreds, and would either have robbed me of them, or prevented me from proceeding on my journey by the most exorbitant demands. August 13th.�I remained two days at Beszeyra, and then set out with the family of my guide, consisting of his wife, two children, and a servant girl. We were on foot, and drove before us the loaded camel and a few sheep and goats. Our road ascended; at three quarters of an hour, we came to a spring in the mountain. The rock is here calcareous, with basalt. At two hours and a half was Ain Djedolat (Arabic), a spring of excellent water; here the mountain is overgrown with short Balout trees. At the end of two hours and three quarters, direction S. we reached the top of the mountain, which is covered with large blocks of basalt. Here a fine view opened upon us; to our right we had the deep valley of Wady Dhana, with the village of the EL GHOEYR [p.409] same name on its S. side; farther west, about four hours from Dhana, we saw the great valley of the Ghor, and towards the E. and S. extended the wide Arabian desert, which the Syrian pilgrims cross in their way to Medina. In three hours and a quarter, after a slight descent, we reached the plain, here consisting of arable ground covered with flints. We passed the ruins of an ancient town or large village, called El Dhahel (Arabic). The castle of Aaneiza (Arabic), with an insulated hillock near it, a station of the pilgrims, bore S.S.E. distant about five hours; the town of Maan, S. distant ten or twelve hours; and the castle El Shobak, S.S.W. East of Aaneiza runs a chain of hills called Teloul Djaafar (Arabic). Proceeding a little farther, we came to the high borders of a broad valley, called El Ghoeyr (Arabic), (diminutive of Arabic El Ghor) to the S. of Wady Dhana. Looking down into this valley, we saw at a distance a troop of horsemen encamped near a spring; they had espied us, and immediately mounted their horses in pursuit of us. Although several people had joined our little caravan on the road, there was only one armed man amongst us, except myself. The general opinion was that the horsemen belonged to the Beni Szakher, the enemies of the Howeytat, who often make inroads into this district; there was therefore no time to lose; we drove the cattle hastily back, about a quarter of an hour, and hid them, with the women and baggage, behind some rocks near the road, and we then took to our heels towards the village of Dhana (Arabic), which we reached in about three quarters of an hour, extremely exhausted, for it was about two o�clock in the afternoon and the heat was excessive. In order to run more nimbly over the rocks, I took off my heavy Arab shoes, and thus I was the first to reach the village; but the sharp flints of the mountain wounded my feet so much, that after reposing a little I could hardly stand upon my legs. This was the first time I had ever felt fear during my travels DHANA [p.410] in the desert; for I knew that if I fell in with the Beni Szakher, without any body to protect me, they would certainly kill me, as they did all persons whom they supposed to belong to their inveterate enemy, the Pasha of Damascus, and my appearance was very much that of a Damascene. Our fears however were unfounded; the party that pursued us proved to be Howeytat, who were coming to pay a visit to the Sheikh at Tafyle; the consequence was that two of our companions, who had staid behind, because being inhabitants of Maan, and friends of the Beni Szakher, they conceived themselves secure, were stripped by the pursuers, whose tribe was at war with the people of Maan. Dhana, which I suppose to be the ancient Thoana, is prettily situated, on the declivity of Tor Dhana, the highest mountain of Djebal, and has fine gardens and very extensive tobacco plantations. The Howeytat have built a tower in the village. The inhabitants were now at war with those of Beszeyra, but both parties respect the lives of their enemies, and their hostile expeditions are directed against the cattle only. Having reposed at Dhana we returned in the evening to the spot where we had left the women and the baggage, and rested for the night at about a quarter of an hour beyond it. August 14th.�We skirted, for about an hour, the eastern borders of Wady Ghoeyr, when we descended into the valley, and reached its bottom at the end of three hours and a half, travelling at a slow pace. This Wady divides the district of Djebal from that of Djebal Shera (Arabic), or the mountains of Shera, which continue southwards towards the Akaba. These are the mountains called in the Scriptures Mount Seir, the territory of the Edomites. The valley of Ghoeyr is a large rocky and uneven basin, considerably lower than the eastern plain, upwards of twelve miles across at its eastern extremity, but narrowing towards EL GHOEYR [p.411] the west. It is intersected by numerous Wadys of winter torrents, and by three or four valleys watered by rivulets which unite below and flow into the Ghor. The Ghoeyr is famous for the excellent pasturage, produced by its numerous springs, and it has, in consequence, become a favourite place of encampment for all the Bedouins of Djebal and Shera. The borders of the rivulets are overgrown with Defle and the shrub Rethem (Arabic). The rock is principally calcareous; and there are detached pieces of basalt and large tracts of brescia formed of sand, flint, and pieces of calcareous stone. In the bottom of the valley we passed two rivulets, one of which is called Seil Megharye (Arabic), where we arrived at the end of a four hours walk, and found some Bedouin women washing their blue gowns, and the wide shirts of their husbands. I had taken the lead of our party, accompanied by my guide�s little boy, with whom I reached an encampment, on the southern side of the valley, to which these women belonged. This was the encampment to which my guide belonged, and where he assured me that I should find his camels. I was astonished to see nobody but women in the tents, but was told that the greater part of the men had gone to Ghaza to sell the soap-ashes which these Arabs collect in the mountains of Shera. The ladies being thus left to themselves, had no impediment to the satisfying of their curiosity, which was very great at seeing a townsman, and what was still more extraordinary, a man of Damascus (for so I was called), under their tents. They crowded about me, and were incessant in their inquiries respecting my affairs, the goods I had to sell, the dress of the town ladies, &c. &c. When they found that I had nothing to sell, nor any thing to present to them, they soon retired; they however informed me that my guide had no other camels in his possession than the one we had brought with us, which was already lame. He soon afterwards arrived, and when I began to expostulate with him on his [p.412] conduct, he assured me that his camel would be able to carry us all the way to Egypt, but begged me to wait a few days longer, until he should be well enough to walk by its side; for, since we left Beszeyra he had been constantly complaining of rheumatic pains in his legs. I saw that all this was done to gain time, and to put me out of patience, in order to cheat me of the wages he had already received; but, as we were to proceed on the following day to another encampment at a few hours distance, I did not choose to say any thing more to him on the subject in a place where I had nobody but women to take my part; hoping to be able to attack him more effectually in the presence of his own tribe�smen. August 15th.�We remained this day at the women�s tents, and I amused myself with visiting almost every tent in the encampment, these women being accustomed to receive strangers in the absence of their husbands. The Howeytat Arabs resemble the Egyptians in their features; they are much leaner and taller than the northern Arabs; the skin of many of them is almost black, and their features are much less regular than those of the northern Bedouins, especially the Aeneze. The women are tall and well made, but too lean; and even the handsomest among them are disfigured by broad cheek bones. The Howeytat occupy the whole of the Shera, as far as Akaba, and south of it to Moyeleh (Arabic), five days from Akaba, on the Egyptian Hadj road. To the east they encamp as far as Akaba el Shamy, or the Akaba on the Syrian pilgrim route; while the northern Howeytat take up their winter quarters in the Ghor. The strength of their position in these mountains renders them secure from the attacks of the numerous hordes of Bedouins who encamp in the eastern Arabian desert; they are, however, in continual warfare with them, and sometimes undertake expeditions of twenty days journey, in order to surprise some encampment of their [p.413] enemies in the plains of the Nedjed. The Beni Szakher are most dreaded by them, on account of their acquaintance with the country, and peace seldom lasts long between the two tribes. The encampment where I spent this day was robbed of all its camels last winter by the Beni Szakher, who drove off, in one morning, upwards of twelve hundred belonging to their enemies. The Howeytat receive considerable sums of money as a tribute from the Egyptian pilgrim caravan; they also levy certain contributions upon the castles on the Syrian Hadj route, situated between Maan and Tebouk, which they consider as forming a part of their territory. They have become the carriers of the Egyptian Hadj, in the same manner, as the Aeneze transport with their camels the Syrian pilgrims and their baggage. When at variance with the Pashas of Egypt, the Howeytat have been known to plunder the caravan; a case of this kind happened about ten years ago, when the Hadj was returning from Mekka; the principal booty consisted of several thousand camel loads of Mocha coffee, an article which the pilgrims are in the constant habit of bringing for sale to Cairo; the Bedouins not knowing what to do with so large a quantity, sold the greater part of it at Hebron, Tafyle, and Kerek, and that year happening to be a year of dearth, they gave for every measure of corn an equal measure of coffee. The Howeytat became Wahabis; but they paid tribute only for one year, and have now joined their forces with those of Mohammed Aly, against Ibn Saoud. August 16th.�We set out for the encampment of the Sheikh of the northern Howeytat, with the tent and family of my guide: who was afraid of leaving them in this place where be thought himself too much exposed to the incursions of the Beni Szakher. We ascended on foot, through many Wadys of winter torrents, up the southern [p.414] mountains of the Ghoeyr; we passed several springs, and the ruined place called Szyhhan (Arabic), and at the end of three hours walk arrived at a large encampment of the Howeytat, situated near the summit of the basin of the Ghoeyr. It is usual, when an Arab with his tent reaches an encampment placed in a Douar (Arabic), or circle, that some of the families strike their tents, and pitch them again in such a way as to widen the circle for the admission of the stranger�s tent; but the character of my guide did not appear to be sufficiently respectable to entitle him to this compliment, for not a tent was moved, and he was obliged to encamp alone out of the circle, in the hope that they would soon break up for some other spot where he might obtain a place in the Douar. These Arabs are much poorer than the Aeneze, and consequently live much worse. Had it not been for the supply of butter which I bought at Beszeyra, I should have had nothing but dry bread to eat; there was not a drop of milk to be got, for at this time of the year the ewes are dry; of camels there was but about half a dozen in the whole encampment. I here came to an explanation with my guide, who, I saw, was determined to cheat me out of the wages he had already received. I told him that I was tired of his subterfuges, and was resolved to travel with him no longer, and I insisted upon his returning me the goats, or hiring me another guide in his stead. He offered me only one of the goats; after a sharp dispute therefore I arose, took my gun, and swore that I would never re-enter his tent, accompanying my oath with a malediction upon him, and upon those who should receive him into their encampment, for I had been previously informed that he was not a real Howeytat, but of the tribe of Billy, the individuals of which are dispersed over the whole desert. On quitting his tent, I was surrounded by the Bedouins [p.415] of the encampment, who told me that they had been silent till now, because it was not their affair to interfere between a host and his guest, but that they never would permit a stranger to depart in that way; that I ought to declare myself to be under the Sheikh�s protection, who would do me justice. This being what I had anticipated, I immediately entered the tent of the Sheikh, who happened to be absent; my guide now changed his tone, and began by offering me two goats to settle our differences. In the evening the Sheikh arrived, and after a long debate I got back my four goats, but the wheat which I had received at Beszeyra, as the remaining part of the payment for my mare, was left to the guide. In return for his good offices, the Sheikh begged me to let him have my gun, which was worth about fifteen piastres; I presented it to him, and he acknowledged the favour, by telling me that he knew an honest man in a neighbouring encampment, who had a strong camel, and would be ready to serve me as a guide. August 18th.�I took a boy to shew me the way to this person, and driving my little flock before us, we reached the encampment, which was about one hour to the westward. The boy told the Bedouin that I had become the Sheikh�s brother, I was therefore well received, and soon formed a favourable opinion of this Arab, who engaged to take me to Cairo for the four goats, which I was to deliver to him now, and twenty piastres (about one pound sterling) to be paid on my arrival in Egypt. This will be considered a very small sum for a journey of nearly four hundred miles; but a Bedouin puts very little value upon time, fatigue, and labour; while I am writing this, many hundred loaded camels, belonging to Bedouins, depart every week from Cairo for Akaba, a journey of ten days, for which they receive twenty-five piastres per camel. Had I been known to be an European, I certainly should not have been able to move without promising at least a thousand piastres to my guide. The excursion of M. Boutin, a French traveller, from SHOBAK [p.416] Cairo to the Oasis of Jupiter Ammon, a journey of twelve days, undertaken in the summer of 1812, cost for guides only, four thousand piastres. August 19th.�In the morning I went to the castle of Shobak, where I wished to purchase some provisions. It was distant one hour and a quarter from the encampment, in a S.E. direction. Shobak, also called Kerek el Shobak (Arabic), perhaps the ancient Carcaria,[Euseb. de locis S.S.] is the principal place in Djebel Shera; it is situated about one hour to the south of the Ghoeyr, upon the top of a hill in the midst of low mountains, which bears some resemblance to Kerek, but is better adapted for a fortress, as it is not commanded by any higher mountains. At the foot of the hill are two springs, surrounded by gardens and olive plantations. The castle is of Saracen construction, and is one of the largest to the south of Damascus; but it is not so solidly built as the castle of Kerek. The greater part of the wall and several of the bastions and towers are still entire. The ruins of a well built vaulted church are now transformed into a public inn or Medhafe. Upon the architraves of several gates I saw mystical symbols, belonging to the ecclesiastical architecture of the lower empire. In several Arabic inscriptions I distinguished the name of Melek el Dhaher. Where the hill does not consist of precipitous rock, the surface of the slope is covered with a pavement. Within the area of the castle a party of about one hundred families of the Arabs Mellahein (Arabic) have built their houses or pitched their tents. They cultivate the neighbouring grounds, under the protection of the Howeytat, to whom they pay tribute. The horsemen of the latter who happen to encamp near the castle, call regularly every morning at one of the Medhafes of Shobak, in order to have their mares fed; if the barley is refused, they next day kill one of the sheep belonging to the town. At one hour and a half north of Shobak, on the side of the [p.417] Ghoeyr, lies the village of Shkerye (Arabic). From Shobak the direction of Wady Mousa is S.S.W. Maan bears S.S.E. The mountain over Dhana, N.N.E. To the east of the castle is an encampment of Bedouin peasants, of the tribe of Hababene (Arabic), who cultivate the ground. As I had no cash in silver, and did not wish to shew my sequins, I was obliged to give in exchange for the provisions which I procured at Shobak my only spare shirt, together with my red cap, and half my turban. The provisions consisted of flour, butter, and dried Leben, or sour milk mixed with flour and hardened in the sun, which makes a most refreshing drink when dissolved in water. There are several Hebron merchants at Shobak. August 20th.�I remained in the tent of my new guide, who delayed his departure, in order to obtain from his friends some commissions for Cairo, upon which he might gain a few piastres. In the afternoon of this day we had a shower of rain, with so violent a gust of wind, that all the tents of the encampment were thrown down at the same moment, for the poles are fastened in the ground very carelessly during the summer months. August 21st.�The whole encampment broke up in the morning, some Bedouins having brought intelligence that a strong party of Beni Szakher had been seen in the district of Djebal. The greater part of the males of the Howeytat together with their principal Sheikh Ibn Rashyd (Arabic), were gone to Egypt, in order to transport the Pasha�s army across the desert to Akaba and Yambo; we had therefore no means of defence against these formidable enemies, and were obliged to take refuge in the neighbourhood of Shobak, where they would not dare to attack the encampment. When the Bedouins encamp in small numbers, they choose a spot surrounded by high ground, to prevent their tents from being WADY NEDJED [p.418] seen at a distance. The camp is, however, not unfrequently betrayed by the camels which pasture in the vicinity. In the evening we took our final departure, crossing an uneven plain, covered with flints and the ruins of several villages, and then descended into the Wady Nedjed (Arabic); the rivulet, whose source is in a large paved basin in the valley, joins that of Shobak. Upon the hills which border this pleasant valley are the ruins of a large town of the same name, of which nothing remains but broken walls and heaps of stones. In one hour and a quarter from our encampment, and about as far from Shobak, we reached the camp of another tribe of Fellahein Bedouins, called Refaya (Arabic), where we slept. They are people of good property, for which they are indebted to their courage in opposing the extortions of the Howeytat. Here were about sixty tents and one hundred firelocks. Their herds of cows, sheep, and goats are very numerous, but they have few camels. Besides corn fields they have extensive vineyards, and sell great quantities of dried grapes at Ghaza, and to the Syrian pilgrims of the Hadj. They have the reputation of being very daring thieves. August 22nd.�I was particularly desirous of visiting Wady Mousa, of the antiquities of which I had heard the country people speak in terms of great admiration; and from thence I had hoped to cross the desert in a straight line to Cairo; but my guide was afraid of the hazards of a journey through the desert, and insisted upon my taking the road by Akaba, the ancient Eziongeber, at the extremity of the eastern branch of the Red sea, where he said that we might join some caravans, and continue our route towards Egypt. I wished, on the contrary, to avoid Akaba, as I knew that the Pasha of Egypt kept there a numerous garrison to watch the movements of the Wahabi and of his rival the Pasha of Damascus; SAOUDYE [p.419] a person therefore like myself, coming from the latter place, without any papers to shew who I was, or why I had taken that circuitous route, would certainly have roused the suspicions of the officer commanding at Akaba, and the consequences might have been dangerous to me among the savage soldiery of that garrison. The road from Shobak to Akaba, which is tolerably good, and might easily be rendered practicable even to artillery, lies to the E. of Wady Mousa; and to have quitted it, out of mere curiosity to see the Wady, would have looked very suspicious in the eyes of the Arabs; I therefore pretended to have made a vow to slaughter a goat in honour of Haroun (Aaron), whose tomb I knew was situated at the extremity of the valley, and by this stratagem I thought that I should have the means of seeing the valley in my way to the tomb. To this my guide had nothing to oppose; the dread of drawing upon himself, by resistance, the wrath of Haroun, completely silenced him. We left the Refaya early in the morning, and travelled over hilly ground. At the end of two hours we reached an encampment of Arabs Saoudye (Arabic), who are also Fellahein or cultivators, and the strongest of the peasant tribes, though they pay tribute to the Howeytat. Like the Refaya they dry large quantities of grapes. They lay up the produce of their harvest in a kind of fortress called Oerak (Arabic), not far from their camp, where are a few houses surrounded by a stone wall. They have upwards of one hundred and twenty tents. We breakfasted with the Saoudye, and then pursued the windings of a valley, where I saw many vestiges of former cultivation, and here and there some remains of walls and paved roads, all constructed of flints. The country hereabouts is woody. In three hours and a half we passed a spring, from whence we ascended a mountain, and travelled for some time along its barren summit, in a S.W. direction, when we again descended, and reached Ain ELDJY [p.420] Mousa, distant five hours and a half from where we had set out in the morning. Upon the summit of the mountain near the spot where the road to Wady Mousa diverges from the great road to Akaba, are a number of small heaps of stones, indicating so many sacrifices to Haroun. The Arabs who make vows to slaughter a victim to Haroun, think it sufficient to proceed as far as this place, from whence the dome of the tomb is visible in the distance; and after killing the animal they throw a heap of stones over the blood which flows to the ground. Here my guide pressed me to slaughter the goat which I had brought with me from Shobak, for the purpose, but I pretended that I had vowed to immolate it at the tomb itself. Upon a hill over the Ain Mousa the Arabs Lyathene (Arabic) were encamped, who cultivate the valley of Mousa. We repaired to their encampment, but were not so hospitably received as we had been the night before. Ain Mousa is a copious spring, rushing from under a rock at the eastern extremity of Wady Mousa. There are no ruins near the spring; a little lower down in the valley is a mill, and above it is the village of Badabde (Arabic), now abandoned. It was inhabited till within a few years by about twenty families of Greek Christians, who subsequently retired to Kerek. Proceeding from the spring along the rivulet for about twenty minutes, the valley opens, and leads into a plain about a quarter of an hour in length and ten minutes in breadth, in which the rivulet joins with another descending from the mountain to the southward. Upon the declivity of the mountain, in the angle formed by the junction of the two rivulets, stands Eldjy (Arabic), the principal village of Wady Mousa. This place contains between two and three hundred houses, and is enclosed by a stone wall with three regular gates. It is most picturesquely situated, and is inhabited by the WADY MOUSA [p.421] Lyathene abovementioned, a part of whom encamp during the whole year in the neighbouring mountains. The slopes of the mountain near the town are formed into artificial terraces, covered with corn fields and plantations of fruit trees. They are irrigated by the waters of the two rivulets and of many smaller springs which descend into the valley below Eldjy, where the soil is also well cultivated. A few large hewn stones dispersed over the present town indicate the former existence of an ancient city in this spot, the happy situation of which must in all ages have attracted inhabitants. I saw here some large pieces of beautiful saline marble, but nobody could tell me from whence they had come, or whether there were any rocks of this stone in the mountains of Shera. I hired a guide at Eldjy, to conduct me to Haroun�s tomb, and paid him with a pair of old horse-shoes. He carried the goat, and gave me a skin of water to carry, as he knew that there was no water in the Wady below. In following the rivulet of Eldjy westwards the valley soon narrows again; and it is here that the antiquities of Wady Mousa begin. Of these I regret that I am not able to give a very complete account: but I knew well the character of the people around me; I was without protection in the midst of a desert where no traveller had ever before been seen; and a close examination of these works of the infidels, as they are called, would have excited suspicions that I was a magician in search of treasures; I should at least have been detained and prevented from prosecuting my journey to Egypt, and in all probability should have been stripped of the little money which I possessed, and what was infinitely more valuable to me, of my journal book. Future travellers may visit the spot under the protection of an armed force; the inhabitants will become more accustomed to the researches of strangers; and the antiquities of [p.422] Wady Mousa will then be found to rank amongst the most curious remains of ancient art. At the point where the valley becomes narrow is a large sepulchral vault, with a handsome door hewn in the rock on the slope of the hill which rises from the right bank of the torrent: on the same side of the rivulet, a little farther on, I saw some other sepulchres with singular ornaments. Here a mass of rock has been insulated from the mountain by an excavation, which leaves a passage five or six paces in breadth between it and the mountain. It forms nearly a cube of sixteen feet, the top being a little narrower than the base; the lower part is hollowed into a small sepulchral cave with a low door; but the upper part of the mass is solid. There are three of these mausolea at a short distance from each other. A few paces lower, on the left side of the stream, is a larger mausoleum similarly formed, which appears from its decayed state, and the style of its architecture, to be of more ancient date than the others. Over its entrance are four obelisks, about ten feet in height, cut out of the same piece of rock; below is a projecting ornament, but so much defaced by time that I was unable to discover what it had originally represented; it had, however, nothing of the Egyptian style. Continuing for about three hundred paces farther along the valley, which is in this part about one hundred and fifty feet in breadth; several small tombs are met with on both sides of the rivulet, excavated in the rock, without any ornaments. Beyond these is a spot where the valley seemed to be entirely closed by high rocks; but upon a nearer approach, I perceived a chasm about fifteen or twenty feet in breadth, through which the rivulet flows westwards in winter; in summer its waters are lost in the sand and gravel before they reach the opening, which is called El Syk (Arabic). The precipices on either side of the torrent are [p.423] about eighty-feet in height; in many places the opening between them at top is less than at bottom, and the sky is not visible from below. As the rivulet of Wady Mousa must have been of the greatest importance to the inhabitants of the valley, and more particularly of the city, which was entirely situated on the west side of the Syk, great pains seem to have been taken by the ancients to regulate its course. Its bed appears to have been covered with a stone pavement, of which many vestiges yet remain, and in several places stone walls were constructed on both sides, to give the water its proper direction, and to check the violence of the torrent. A channel was likewise cut on each side of the Syk, on a higher level than the river, to convey a constant supply of water into the city in all seasons, and to prevent all the water from being absorbed in summer by the broad torrent bed, or by the irrigation of the fields in the valley above the Syk. About fifty paces below the entrance of the Syk a bridge of one arch thrown over the top of the chasm is still entire; immediately below it, on both sides, are large niches worked in the rock, with elegant sculptures, destined probably for the reception of statues. Some remains of antiquities might perhaps be found on the top of the rocks near the bridge; but my guide assured me, that notwithstanding repeated endeavours had been made, nobody had ever been able to climb up the rocks to the bridge, which was therefore unanimously declared to be the work of the Djan, or evil genii. In continuing along the winding passage of the Syk, I saw in several places small niches cut in the rock, some of which were single; in other places there were three or four together, without any regularity; some are mere holes, others have short pilasters on both sides; they vary in size from ten inches to four or five feet in height; and in some of them the bases of statues are still visible. We passed several collateral chasms between perpendicular [p.424] rocks, by which some tributary torrents from the south side of the Syk empty themselves into the river. I did not enter any of them, but I saw that they were thickly overgrown with Defle trees. My guide told me that no antiquities existed in these valleys, but the testimony of these people on such subjects is little to be relied on. The bottom of the Syk itself is at present covered with large stones, brought down by the torrent, and it appears to be several feet higher than its ancient level, at least towards its western extremity. After proceeding for twenty-five minutes between the rocks, we came to a place where the passage opens, and where the bed of another stream coming from the south joins the Syk. On the side of the perpendicular rock, directly opposite to the issue of the main valley, an excavated mausoleum came in view, the situation and beauty of which are calculated to make an extraordinary impression upon the traveller, after having traversed for nearly half an hour such a gloomy and almost subterraneous passage as I have described. It is one of the most elegant remains of antiquity existing in Syria; its state of preservation resembles that of a building recently finished, and on a closer examination I found it to be a work of immense labour. The principal part is a chamber sixteen paces square, and about twenty- five feet high. There is not the smallest ornament on the walls, which are quite smooth, as well as the roof, but the outside of the entrance door is richly embellished with architectural decorations. Several broad steps lead up to the entrance, and in front of all is a colonnade of four columns, standing between two pilasters. On each of the three sides of the great chamber is an apartment for the reception of the dead. A similar excavation, but larger, opens into each end of the vestibule, the length of which latter is not equal to [p.425] that of the colonnade as it appears in front, but terminates at either end between the pilaster and the neighbouring column. The doors of the two apartments opening into the vestibule are covered with carvings richer and more beautiful than those on the door of the principal chamber. The colonnade is about thirty-five feet high, and the columns are about three feet in diameter with Corinthian capitals. The pilasters at the two extremities of the colonnade, and the two columns nearest to them, are formed out of the solid rock, like all the rest of the monument, but the two centre columns, one of which has fallen, were constructed separately, and were composed of three pieces each. The colonnade is crowned with a pediment, above which are other ornaments, which, if I distinguished them correctly, consisted of an insulated cylinder crowned with a vase, standing between two other structures in the shape of small temples, supported by short pillars. The entire front, from the base of the columns to the top of the ornaments, may be sixty or sixty-five feet. The architrave of the colonnade is adorned with vases, connected together with festoons. The exterior wall of the chamber at each end of the vestibule, which presents itself to the front between the pilaster and the neighbouring column, was ornamented with colossal figures in bas-relief; but I could not make out what they represented. One of them appears to have been a female mounted upon an animal, which, from the tail and hind leg, appears to have been a camel. All the other ornaments sculptured on the monument are in perfect preservation. The natives call this monument Kaszr Faraoun (Arabic), or Pharaoh�s castle; and pretend that it was the residence of a prince. But it was rather the sepulchre of a prince, and great must have been the opulence of a city, which could dedicate such monuments to the memory of its rulers. [p.426] From this place, as I before observed, the Syk widens, and the road continues for a few hundred paces lower down through a spacious passage between the two cliffs. Several very large sepulchres are excavated in the rocks on both sides; they consist generally of a single lofty apartment with a flat roof; some of them are larger than the principal chamber in the Kaszr Faraoun. Of those which I entered, the walls were quite plain and unornamented; in some of them are small side rooms, with excavations and recesses in the rock for the reception of the dead; in others I found the floor itself irregularly excavated for the same purpose, in compartments six to eight feet deep, and of the shape of a coffin; in the floor of one sepulchre I counted as many as twelve cavities of this kind, besides a deep niche in the wall, where the bodies of the principal members of the family, to whom the sepulchre belonged, were probably deposited. On the outside of these sepulchres, the rock is cut away perpendicularly above and on both sides of the door, so as to make the exterior facade larger in general than the interior apartment. Their most common form is that of a truncated pyramid, and as they are made to project one or two feet from the body of the rock they have the appearance, when seen at a distance, of insulated structures. On each side of the front is generally a pilaster, and the door is seldom without some elegant ornaments. These fronts resemble those of several of the tombs of Palmyra, [p.427] but the latter are not excavated in the rock, but constructed with hewn stones. I do not think, however, that there are two sepulchres in Wady Mousa perfectly alike; on the contrary, they vary greatly in size, shape, and embellishments. In some places, three sepulchres are excavated one over the other, and the side of the mountain is so perpendicular that it seems impossible to approach the uppermost, no path whatever being visible; some of the lower have a few steps before their entrance. In continuing a little farther among the sepulchres, the valley widens to about one hundred and fifty yards in breadth. Here to the left is a theatre cut entirely out of the rock, with all its benches. It may be capable of containing about three thousand spectators: its area is now filled up with gravel, which the winter torrent brings down. The entrance of many of the sepulchres is in like manner almost choked up. There are no remains of columns near the theatre. Following the stream about one hundred and fifty paces further, the rocks open still farther, and I issued upon a plain two hundred and fifty or three hundred yards across, bordered by heights of more gradual ascent than before. Here the ground is covered with heaps of hewn stones, foundations of buildings, fragments of columns, and vestiges of paved streets; all clearly indicating that a large city once existed here; on the left side of the river is a rising ground extending westwards for nearly a quarter of an hour, entirely covered with similar remains. On the right bank, where the ground is more elevated, ruins of the same description are also seen. In the valley near the river, the buildings have probably been swept away by the impetuosity of the winter torrent; but even here are still seen the foundations of a temple, and a heap of broken columns; close to which is a large Birket, or reservoir of water, still serving for the supply of the inhabitants during the summer. The finest sepulchres in Wady [p.428] Mousa are in the eastern cliff, in front of this open space, where I counted upwards of fifty close to each other. High up in the cliff I particularly observed one large sepulchre, adorned with Corinthian pilasters. Farther to the west the valley is shut in by the rocks, which extend in a northern direction; the river has worked a passage through them, and runs underground, as I was told, for about a quarter of an hour. Near the west end of Wady Mousa are the remains of a stately edifice, of which part of the wall is still standing; the inhabitants call it Kaszr Bent Faraoun (Arabic), or the palace of Pharaoh�s daughter. In my way I had entered several sepulchres, to the surprise of my guide, but when he saw me turn out of the footpath towards the Kaszr, he exclaimed: �I see now clearly that you are an infidel, who have some particular business amongst the ruins of the city of your forefathers; but depend upon it that we shall not suffer you to take out a single para of all the treasures hidden therein, for they are in our territory, and belong to us.� I replied that it was mere curiosity, which prompted me to look at the ancient works, and that I had no other view in coming here, than to sacrifice to Haroun; but he was not easily persuaded, and I did not think it prudent to irritate him by too close an inspection of the palace, as it might have led him to declare, on our return, his belief that I had found treasures, which might have led to a search of my person and to the detection of my journal, which would most certainly have been taken from me, as a book of magic. It is very unfortunate for European travellers that the idea of treasures being hidden in ancient edifices is so strongly rooted in the minds of the Arabs and Turks; nor are they satisfied with watching all the stranger�s steps; they believe that it is sufficient for a true magician to have seen and observed the spot where treasures are hidden (of which he is supposed to be already informed by the [p.429] old books of the infidels who lived on the spot) in order to be able afterwards, at his ease, to command the guardian of the treasure to set the whole before him. It was of no avail to tell them to follow me and see whether I searched for money. Their reply was, �of course you will not dare to take it out before us, but we know that if you are a skilful magician you will order it to follow you through the air to whatever place you please.� If the traveller takes the dimensions of a building or a column, they are persuaded that it is a magical proceeding. Even the most liberal minded Turks of Syria reason in the same manner, and the more travellers they see, the stronger is their conviction that their object is to search for treasures, �Maou delayl� (Arabic), �he has indications of treasure with him,� is an expression I have heard a hundred times. On the rising ground to the left of the rivulet, just opposite to the Kaszr Bent Faraoun, are the ruins of a temple, with one column yet standing to which the Arabs have given the name of Zob Faraoun (Arabic), i.e. hasta virilis Pharaonis; it is about thirty feet high and composed of more than a dozen pieces. From thence we descended amidst the ruins of private habitations, into a narrow lateral valley, on the other side of which we began to ascend the mountain, upon which stands the tomb of Aaron. There are remains of an ancient road cut in the rock, on both sides of which are a few tombs. After ascending the bed of a torrent for about half an hour, I saw on each side of the road a large excavated cube, or rather truncated pyramid, with the entrance of a tomb in the bottom of each. Here the number of sepulchres increases, and there are also excavations for the dead in several natural caverns. A little farther on, we reached a high plain called Szetouh Haroun (Arabic), or Aaron�s terrace, at the foot of the mountain upon which his tomb is situated. There are several subterranean sepulchres [p.430] in the plain, with an avenue leading to them, which is cut out of the rocky surface. The sun had already set when we arrived on the plain; it was too late to reach the tomb, and I was excessively fatigued; I therefore hastened to kill the goat, in sight of the tomb, at a spot where I found a number of heaps of stones, placed there in token of as many sacrifices in honour of the saint. While I was in the act of slaying the animal, my guide exclaimed aloud, �O Haroun, look upon us! it is for you we slaughter this victim. O Haroun, protect us and forgive us! O Haroun, be content with our good intentions, for it is but a lean goat! O Haroun, smooth our paths; and praise be to the Lord of all creatures!�[[Arabic].] This he repeated several times, after which he covered the blood that had fallen on the ground with a heap of stones; we then dressed the best part of the flesh for our supper, as expeditiously as possible, for the guide was afraid of the fire being seen, and of its attracting hither some robbers. August 23d.�The plain of Haroun and the neighbouring mountlains have no springs: but the rain water collects in low grounds, and in natural hollows in the rocks, where it partly remains the whole year round, even on the top of the mountain; but this year had been remarkable for its drought. Juniper trees grow here in considerable numbers. I had no great desire to see the tomb of Haroun, which stands on the summit of the mountain that was opposite to us, for I had been informed by several persons who had visited it, that it contained nothing worth seeing except a large coffin, like that of Osha in the vicinity of Szalt. My guide, moreover, insisted upon my speedy return, as he was to set out the [p.431] same day with a small caravan for Maan; I therefore complied with his wishes, and we returned by the same road we had come. I regretted afterwards, that I had not visited Haroun�s tomb, as I was told that there are several large and handsome sepulchres in the rock near it. A traveller ought, if possible, to see every thing with his own eyes, for the reports of the Arabs are little to be depended on, with regard to what may be interesting, in point of antiquity: they often extol things which upon examination, prove to be of no kind of interest, and speak with indifference of those which are curious and important. In a room adjoining the apartment, in which is the tomb of Haroun, there are three copper vessels for the use of those who slaughter the victims at the tomb: one is very large, and destined for the boiling of the flesh of the slaughtered camel. Although there is at present no guardian at the tomb, yet the Arabs venerate the Sheikh too highly, to rob him of any of his kitchen utensils. The road from Maan and from Wady Mousa to Ghaza, leads by the tomb, and is much frequented by the people of Maan and the Bedouins; on the other side of Haroun the road descends into the great valley. In comparing the testimonies of the authors cited in Reland�s Palaestina, it appears very probable that the ruins in Wady Mousa are those of the ancient Petra, and it is remarkable that Eusebius says the tomb of Aaron was shewn near Petra. Of this at least I am persuaded, from all the information I procured, that there is no other ruin between the extremities of the Dead sea and Red sea, of sufficient importance to answer to that city. Whether or not I have discovered the remains of the capital of Arabia Petræa, I leave to the decision of Greek scholars, and shall only subjoin a few notes on these ruins. The rocks, through which the river of Wady Mousa has worked its extraordinary passage, and in which all the tombs and mausolea [p.432] of the city have been excavated, as high as the tomb of Haroun, are sand-stone of a reddish colour. The rocks above Eldjy are calcareous, and the sand-stone does not begin until the point where the first tombs are excavated. To the southward the sandstone follows the whole extent of the great valley, which is a continuation of the Ghor. The forms of the summits of these rocks are so irregular and grotesque, that when seen from afar, they have the appearance of volcanic mountains. The softness of the stone afforded great facilities to those who excavated the sides of the mountains; but, unfortunately, from the same cause it is in vain to look for inscriptions: I saw several spots where they had existed, but they are all now obliterated. The position of this town was well-chosen, in point of security; as a few hundred men might defend the entrance to it against a large army; but the communication with the neighbourhood must have been subjected to great inconveniences. I am not certain whether the passage of the Syk was made use of as a road, or whether the road from the town towards Eldjy was formed through one of the side valleys of the Syk. The road westwards towards Haroun, and the valley below, is very difficult for beasts of burthen. The summer heats must have been excessive, the situation being surrounded on all sides by high barren cliffs, which concentrate the reflection of the sun, while they prevent the westerly winds from cooling the air. I saw nothing in the position that could have compensated the inhabitants for these disadvantages, except the river, the benefit of which might have been equally enjoyed had the town been built below Eldjy. Security therefore was probably the only object which induced the people to overlook such objections, and to select such a singular position for a city. The architecture of the sepulchres, of which there are at least two hundred and fifty in the vicinity of the ruins, are of very different periods. [p.433] On our return I stopped a few hours at Eldjy. The town is surrounded with fruit-trees of all kinds, the produce of which is of the finest quality. Great quantities of the grapes are sold at Ghaza, and to the Bedouins. The Lyathene cultivate the valley as far as the first sepulchres of the ancient city; in their townhouses they work at the loom. They pay tribute to the Howeytat and carry provisions to the Syrian pilgrims at Maan, and to the Egyptian pilgrims at Akaba. They have three encampments of about eighty tents each. Like the Bedouins and other inhabitants of Shera they have become Wahabis, but do not at present pay any tribute to the Wahabi chief. Wady Mousa is comprised within the territory of Damascus, as are the entire districts of Shera and Djebal. The most southern frontiers of the Pashalik are Tor Hesma, a high mountain so called at one day�s journey north of Akaba; from thence northward to Kerek, the whole country belongs to the same Pashalik, and consequently to Syria; but it may easily be conceived that the Pasha has little authority in these parts. In the time of Djezzar, the Arabs of Wady Mousa paid their annual land- tax into his treasury, but no other Pasha has been able to exact it. I returned from Eldjy to the encampment above Ain Mousa, which is considerably higher than the town, and set out from thence immediately, for I very much disliked the people, who are less civil to strangers than any other Arabs in Shera. We travelled in a southern direction along the windings of a broad valley which ascends from Ain Mousa, and reached its summit at the end of two hours and a quarter. The soil, though flinty, is very capable of cultivation. This valley is comprised within the appellation of Wady Mousa, because the rain water which collects here joins, in the winter, the torrent below Eldjy. The water was anciently conducted through this valley in an artificial channel, of which the AIN MEFRAK [p.434] stone walls remain in several places. At the extremity of the Wady are the ruins of an ancient city, called Betahy (Arabic), consisting of large heaps of hewn blocks of silicious stone; the trees on this mountain are thinly scattered. At a quarter of an hour from Betahy we reached an encampment, composed of Lyathene and Naymat, where we alighted, and rested for the night. August 24th.�Our road lay S.S.W.; in one hour we came to Ain Mefrak (Arabic), where are some ruins. From thence we ascended a mountain, and continued along the upper ridge of Djebel Shera. To our right was a tremendous precipice, on the other side of which runs the chain of sand- rocks which begin near Wady Mousa. To the west of these rocks we saw the great valley forming the continuation of the Ghor. At the end of three hours, after having turned a little more southward, we arrived at a small encampment of Djaylat (Arabic) where we stopped to breakfast. The Bedouin tents which composed a great part of this encampment were the smallest I had ever seen; they were about four feet high, and ten in length. The inhabitants were very poor, and could not afford to give us coffee; our breakfast or dinner therefore consisted of dry barley cakes, which we dipped in melted goat�s grease. The intelligence which I learnt here was extremely agreeable; our landlord told us that a caravan was to set out in a few days for Cairo, from a neighbouring encampment of Howeytat, and that they intended to proceed straight across the desert. This was exactly what I wished, for I could not divest myself of apprehensions of danger in being exposed to the undisciplined soldiers of Akaba. It had been our intention to reach Akaba from hence in two days, by way of the mountainous district of Reszeyfa (a part of Shera so called) and Djebel Hesma; but we now gladly changed our route, and departed for the encampment of the Howeytat. We turned to the S.E. and in half an EL SZADEKE [p.435] hour from the Djeylat passed the fine spring called El Szadeke (Arabic), near which is a hill with extensive ruins of an ancient town consisting of heaps of hewn stones. From thence we descended by a slight declivity into the eastern plain, and reached the encampment, distant one hour and a half from Szadeke. The same immense plain which we had entered in coming from Beszeyra, on the eastern borders of the Ghoeyr, here presented itself to our view. We were about six hours S. of Maan, whose two hills, upon which the two divisions of the town are situated, were distinctly visible. The Syrian Hadj route passes at about one hour to the east of the encampment. About eight hours S. of Maan, a branch of the Shera extends for three or four hours in an eastern direction across the plain; it is a low hilly chain. The mountains of Shera are considerably elevated above the level of the Ghor, but they appear only as low hills, when seen from the eastern plain, which is upon a much higher level than the Ghor. I have already noticed the same peculiarity with regard to the upper plains of El Kerek and the Belka: and it is observable also in the plain of Djolan relatively to the level of the lake of Tiberias. The valley of the Ghor, which has a rapid slope southward, from the lake of Tiberias to the Dead sea, appears to continue descending from the southern extremity of the latter as far as the Red sea, for the mountains on the E. of it appear to increase in height the farther we proceed southward, while the upper plain, apparently continues upon the same level. This plain terminates to the S. near Akaba, on the Syrian Hadj route, by a steep rocky descent, at the bottom of which begins the desert of Nedjed, covered, for the greater part, with flints. The same descent, or cliff, continues westward towards Akaba on the Egyptian Hadj road, where it joins the Djebel Hesma (a prolongation of Shera), MAAN [p.436] about eight hours to the N. of the Red sea. We have thus a natural division of the country, which appears to have been well known to the ancients, for it is probably to a part of this upper plain, together with the mountains of Shera, Djebal, Kerek, and Belka, that the name of Arabia Petræa was applied, the western limits of which must have been the great valley or Ghor. It might with truth be called Petræa, not only on account of its rocky mountains, but also of the elevated plain already described, which is so much covered with stones, especially flints, that it may with great propriety be called a stony desert, although susceptible of culture: in many places it is overgrown with wild herbs, and must once have been thickly inhabited, for the traces of many ruined towns and villages are met with on both sides of the Hadj road between Maan and Akaba, as well as between Maan and the plains of Haouran, in which direction are also many springs. At present all this country is a desert, and Maan (Arabic) is the only inhabited place in it. All the castles on the Syrian Hadj route from Fedhein to Medina are deserted. At Maan are several springs, to which the town owes its origin, and these, together with the circumstance of its being a station of the Syrian Hadj, are the cause of its still existing. The inhabitants have scarcely any other means of subsistence than the profits which they gain from the pilgrims in their way to and from Mekka, by buying up all kinds of provisions at Hebron and Ghaza, and selling them with great profit to the weary pilgrims; to whom the gardens and vineyards of Maan are no less agreeable, than the wild herbs collected by the people of Maan are to their camels. The pomgranates, apricots, and peaches of Maan are of the finest quality. In years when a very numerous caravan passes, pomgranates are sold at one piastre each, and every thing in the same proportion. During [p.437] the two days stay of the pilgrims, in going, and as many in returning, the people of Maan earn as much as keeps them the whole year. Maan is situated in the midst of a rocky country, not capable of cultivation; the inhabitants therefore depend upon their neighbours of Djebal and Shera for their provision of wheat and barley. At present, owing to the discontinuance of the Syrian Hadj, they are scarcely able to obtain money to purchase it. Many of them have commenced pedlars among the Bedouins, and fabricators of different articles for their use, especially sheep-skin furs, while others have emigrated to Tafyle and Kerek. The Barbary pilgrims who were permitted by the Wahabi chief to perform their pilgrimage in 1810, and 1811, returned from Medina by the way of Maan and Shobak to Hebron, Jerusalem, and Yaffa, where they embarked for their own country, having taken this circuitous route on account of the hostile demonstrations of Mohammed Ali Pasha on the Egyptian road. Several thousands of them died of fatigue before they reached Maan. The people of this town derived large profits from the survivors, and for the transport of their effects; but it is probable that if the Syrian Hadj is not soon reestablished, the place will in a few years be abandoned. The inhabitants considering their town as an advanced post to the sacred city of Medina, apply themselves with great eagerness to the study of the Koran. The greater part of them read and write, and many serve in the capacity of Imams or secretaries to the great Bedouin Sheikhs. The two hills upon which the town is built, divide the inhabitants into two parties, almost incessantly engaged in quarrels which are often sanguinary; no individual of one party even marries into a family belonging to the other. On arriving at the encampment of the Howeytat, we were informed that the caravan was to set out on the second day; I had HOWEYTAT ENCAMPMENT [p.438] the advantage, therefore, of one day�s repose. I was now reduced to that state which can alone ensure tranquillity to the traveller in the desert; having nothing with me that could attract the notice or excite the cupidity of the Bedouins; my clothes and linen were torn to rags; a dirty Keffye, or yellow handkerchief, covered my head; my leathern girdle and shoes had long been exchanged, by way of present, against similar articles of an inferior kind, so that those I now wore were of the very worst sort. The tube of my pipe was reduced from two yards to a span, for I had been obliged to cut off from it as much as would make two pipes for my friends at Kerek; and the last article of my baggage, a pocket handkerchief, had fallen to the lot of the Sheikh of Eldjy. Having thus nothing more to give, I expected to be freed from all further demands: but I was mistaken: I had forgotten some rags torn from my shirt, which were tied round my ancles, wounded by the stirrups which I had received in exchange from the Sheikh of Kerek. These rags happening to be of white linen, some of the ladies of the Howeytat thought they might serve to make a Berkoa (Arabic), or face veil, and whenever I stepped out of the tent I found myself surrounded by half a dozen of them, begging for the rags. In vain I represented that they were absolutely necessary to me in the wounded state of my ancles: their answer was, �you will soon reach Cairo, where you may get as much linen as you like.� By thus incessantly teazing me they at last obtained their wishes; but in my anger I gave the rags to an ugly old woman, to the no slight disappointment of the young ones. August 26th.�We broke up in the morning, our caravan consisting of nine persons, including myself, and of about twenty camels, part of which were for sale at Cairo; with the rest the Arabs expected to be able to transport, on their return home, some provisions and army-baggage to Akaba, where Mohammed Ali Pasha DEPARTURE FOR CAIRO [p.439] had established a depot for his Arabian expedition. The provisions of my companions consisted only of flour; besides flour, I carried some butter and dried Leben (sour milk), which when dissolved in water, forms not only a refreshing beverage, but is much to be recommended as a preservative of health when travelling in summer. These were our only provisions. During the journey we did not sup till after sunset, and we breakfasted in the morning upon a piece of dry bread, which we had baked in the ashes the preceding evening, without either salt or leven. The frugality of these Bedouins is indeed without example; my companions, who walked at least five hours every day, supported themselves for four and twenty hours with a piece of dry black bread of about a pound and a half weight, without any other kind of nourishment. I endeavoured, as much as possible to imitate their abstemiousness, being already convinced from experience that it is the best preservative against the effects of the fatigues of such a journey. My companions proved to be very good natured people: and not a single quarrel happened during our route, except between myself and my guide. He too was an honest, good tempered man, but I suffered from his negligence, and rather from his ignorance of my wants, as an European. He had brought only one water-skin with him, which was to serve us both for drinking and cooking; and as we had several intervals of three days without meeting with water, I found myself on very short allowance, and could not receive any assistance from my companions, who had scarcely enough for themselves. But these people think nothing of hardships and privations, and take it for granted, that other people�s constitutions are hardened to the same aptitude of enduring thirst and fatigue, as their own. We returned to Szadeke, where we filled our water-skins, and proceeded from thence in a W.S.W. direction, ascending the eastern DJEBEL KOULA [p.440] hills of Djebel Shera. After two hours march we began to descend, in following the course of a Wady. At the end of four hours is a spring called Ibn Reszeysz (Arabic). The highest point of Djebel Hesma, in the direction of Akaba, bears from hence S.W. Hesma is higher than any part of Shera. In five hours we reached Ain Daleghe (Arabic), a spring in a fertile valley, where the Howeytat have built a few huts, and cultivate some Dhourra fields. We continued descending Wady Daleghe, which in winter is an impetuous torrent. The mountains are quite barren here; calcareous rock predominates, with some flint. At the end of seven hours we left the Wady, which takes a more northern direction, and ascended a steep mountain. At eight hours and a half we alighted on the declivity of the mountain, which is called Djebel Koula (Arabic), and which appears to be the highest summit of Djebel Shera. Our road was tolerably good all the way. August 27th.�After one hour�s march we reached the summit of Djebel Koula, which is covered with a chalky surface. The descent on the other side is very wild, the road lying along the edges of almost perpendicular precipices amidst large blocks of detached rocks, down a mountain entirely destitute of vegetation, and composed of calcareous rocks, sand-stone, and flint, lying over each other in horizontal layers. At the end of three hours we came to a number of tombs on the road side, where the Howeytat and other Bedouins who encamp in these mountains bury their dead. In three hours and a half we reached the bottom of the mountain, and entered the bed of a winter torrent, which like Wady Mousa has worked its passage through the chain of sand-stone rocks that form a continuation of the Syk. These rocks extend southwards as far as Djebel Hesma. The narrow bed is enclosed by perpendicular cliffs, which, at the entrance of the Wady, are about fifteen or twenty yards distant from each other, but wider lower down. WADY GHARENDEL [p.441] We continued in a western direction for an hour and a half, in this Wady, which is called Gharendel (Arabic). At five hours the valley opens, and we found ourselves upon a sandy plain, interspersed with rocks; the bed of the Wady was covered with white sand. A few trees of the species called by the Arabs Talh, Tarfa, and Adha (Arabic), grow in the midst of the sand, but their withered leaves cannot divert the traveller�s eye from the dreary scene around him. At six hours the valley again becomes narrower; here are some more tombs of Bedouins on the side of the road. At the end of six hours and a half we came to the mouth of the Wady, where it joins the great lower valley, issuing from the mountainous country into the plain by a narrow passage, formed by the approaching rocks. These rocks are of sand-stone and contain many natural caverns. A few hundred paces above the issue of the Wady are several springs, called Ayoun Gharendel, surrounded by a few date trees, and some verdant pasture ground. The water has a sulphureous taste, but these being the only springs on the borders of the great valley within one day�s journey to the N. and S. the Bedouins are obliged to resort to them. The wells are full of leeches, some of which fixed themselves to the palates of several of our camels whilst drinking, and it was with difficulty that we could remove them. The name of Arindela, an ancient town of Palæstina Tertia, bears great resemblance to that of Gharendel. On issuing from this rocky country, which terminates the Djebel Shera, on its western side, the Wady Gharendel empties itself into the valley El Araba, in whose sands its waters are lost. This valley is a continuation of the Ghor, which may be said to extend from the Red sea to the sources of the Jordan. The valley of that river widens about Jericho, and its inclosing hills are united to a chain of mountains which open and enclose the Dead sea. At the southern WADY EL ARABA [p.442] extremity of the sea they again approach, and leave between them a valley similar to the northern Ghor, in shape; but which the want of water makes a desert, while the Jordan and its numerous tributary streams render the other a fertile plain. In the southern Ghor the rivulets which descend from the eastern mountains, to the S. of Wady Szafye, or El Karahy, are lost amidst the gravel in their winter beds, before they reach the valley below, and there are no springs whatever in the western mountain; the lower plain, therefore, in summer is entirely without water, which alone can produce verdure in the Arabian deserts, and render them habitable. The general direction of the southern Ghor is parallel to the road which I took in coming from Khanzyre to Wady Mousa. At the point where we crossed it, near Gharendel, its direction was from N.N.E. to S.S.W. From Gharendel it extends southwards for fifteen or twenty hours, till it joins the sandy plain which separates the mountains of Hesma from the eastern branch of the Red sea. It continues to bear the appellation of El Ghor as far as the latitude of Beszeyra, to the S. of which place, as the Arabs informed me, it is interrupted for a short space by rocky ground and Wadys, and takes the name of Araba (Arabic), which it retains till its termination near the Red sea. Near Gharendel, where I saw it, the whole plain presented to the view an expanse of shifting sands whose surface was broken by innumerable undulations, and low hills. The sand appears to have been brought from the shores of the Red sea by the southerly winds; and the Arabs told me that the valley continued to present the same appearance beyond the latitude of Wady Mousa. A few Talh trees (Arabic) (the acacia which produces the gum arable), Tarfa (Arabic) (tamarisk), Adha (Arabic), and Rethem (Arabic), grow among the sand hills; but the depth of sand precludes all vegetation of herbage. Numerous Bedouin tribes encamp here in the winter, when the torrents produce a copious supply of water, and a few [p.443] shrubs spring up upon their banks, affording pasturage to the sheep and goats; but the camels prefer the leaves of the trees, especially the thorny Talh. The existence of the valley El Araba, the Kadesh Barnea, perhaps, of the Scriptures, appears to have been unknown both to ancient and modern geographers, although it forms a prominent feature in the topography of Syria and Arabia Petræa. It deserves to be thoroughly investigated, and travellers might proceed along it in winter time, accompanied by two or three Bedouin guides of the tribes of Howeytat and Terabein, who could be procured at Hebron. Akaba, or Eziongeber, might be reached in eight days by the same road by which the communication was anciently kept up between Jerusalem and her dependencies on the Red sea, for this is both the nearest and the most commodious route, and it was by this valley that the treasures of Ophir were probably transported to the warehouses of Solomon. Of the towns which I find laid down in D�Anville�s maps, between Zoara and Aelana, no traces remain, Thoana excepted, which is the present Dhana. The name of Zoar is unknown to the Arabs, but the village of Szafye is near that point; the river which is made by D�Anville to fall into the Dead sea near Zoara, is the Wady El Ahhsa; but it will have been seen in the above pages, [t]hat the course of that Wady is rather from the east than south. I enquired in vain among the Arabs for the names of those places where the Israelites had sojourned during their progress through the desert; none of them are known to the present inhabitants. The country, about Akaba, and to the W.N.W. of it, might, perhaps, furnish some data for the illustration of the Jewish history. I understand that M. Seetzen went in a straight line from Hebron to Akaba, across the desert El Ty; he may perhaps, have collected some interesting information on the subject. [p.444] The following ruined places are situated in Djebal Shera, to the S. and S.S.W. of Wady Mousa; Kalaat Beni Madha (Arabic), Atrah (Arabic), a ruined tower, with water near it, Djerba (Arabic), Basta (Arabic), Eyl (Arabic), Ferdakh (Arabic), with a spring; Anyk (Arabic), Bir el Beytar (Arabic), a number of wells upon a plain surrounded by high cliffs, in the midst of Tor Hesma. The caravans from Wady Mousa to Akaba make these wells their first station, and reach Akaba on the evening of the second day; but they are two long days journeys of ten or twelve hours each. At the foot of Hanoun are the ruins of Wayra (Arabic), and the two deserted villages of Beydha (Arabic) and Heysha (Arabic). West of Hanoun is the spring Dhahel (Arabic), with some ruins. In that neighbourhood are the ruined places Shemakh (Arabic) and Syk (Arabic). We were one hour and a half in crossing the Araba, direction W. by N. In some places the sand is very deep, but it is firm, and the camels walk over it without sinking. The heat was suffocating, and it was increased by a hot wind from the S.E. There is not the slightest appearance of a road, or of any other work of human art in this part of the valley. On the other side we ascended the western chain of mountains. The mountain opposite to us appeared to be the highest point of the whole chain, as far as I could see N. and S.; it is called Djebel Beyane (Arabic); the height of this chain, however, is not half that of the eastern mountains. It is intersected by numerous broad Wadys, in which the Talh tree grows; the rock is entirely silicious, of the same species as that of the desert which extends from hence to Suez. I saw some large pieces of flint perfectly oval, three to four feet in length, and about a foot and a half in breadth. After an hour and a half of gentle ascent we arrived at the summit of the hills, and then descended by a short and very gradual declivity into the western plain, the level of which although higher WADY EL LAHYANE [p.445] than that of the Araba, is perhaps one thousand feet lower than the eastern desert. We had now before us an immense expanse of dreary country entirely covered with black flints, with here and there some hilly chains rising from the plain. About six hours distant, to our right, were the hills near Wady Szays (Arabic). The horizon being very clear near sunset, my companions pointed out to me the mountains of Kerek, which bore N.E. by N. Djebel Dhana bore N.E. by F., and Djebel Hesma S.S.E. I must here observe, that during all my journeys in the deserts I never allowed the Arabs to get a sight of my compass, as it would certainly have been considered by them as an instrument of magic. When on horseback I took the bearings, unseen, beneath my wide Arab cloak; under such circumstances it is an advantage to ride a mare, as she may easily be taught to stand quite still. When mounted on, a camel, which can never be stopped while its companions are moving on, I was obliged to jump off when I wished to take a bearing, and to couch down in the oriental manner, as if answering a call of nature. The Arabs are highly pleased with a traveller who jumps off his beast and remounts without stopping it, as the act of kneeling down is troublesome and fatiguing to the loaded camel, and before it can rise again, the caravan is considerably ahead. From Djebel Beyane we continued in the plain for upwards of an hour; and stopped for the night in a Wady which contains Talh trees, and extends across the plain for about half an hour. We had this day marched eleven hours. August 28th.�In the morning we passed two broad Wadys full of tamarisks and of Talh trees, which have given to them the name of Abou Talhha (Arabic). At the end of four hours we reached Wady el Lahyane (Arabic). In this desert the water collects in a number of low bottoms and Wadys, where it produces verdure in winter time: and an abundance of trees with [p.446] green leaves are found throughout the year. In the winter some of the Arabs of Ghaza, Khalyl, as well as those from the shores of the Red sea, encamp here. The Wady Lahyane [The road from Akaba to Ghaza passes here. It is a journey of eight long days. The watering places on it are, El Themmed (Arabic), Mayeyu (Arabic), and Berein (Arabic). The distance from Akaba to Hebron is nine days. The springs on the road are: El Ghadyan (Arabic), El Ghammer (Arabic), and Weyba (Arabic).] is several hours in extent; its bottom is full of gravel. We met with a few families of Arabs Heywat (Arabic), who had chosen this place, that their camels might feed upon the thorny branches of the gum arabic tree, of which they are extremely fond. These poor people had no tents with them; and their only shelter from the burning rays of the sun, and the heavy dews of night, were the scanty branches of the Talh trees. The ground was covered with the large thorns of these trees, which are a great annoyance to the Bedouins and their cattle. Each Bedouin carries in his girdle a pair of small pincers, to extract the thorns from his feet, for they have no shoes, and use only a sort of sandal made of a piece of camel�s skin, tied on with leathern thongs. In the summer they collect the gum arabic (Arabic), which they sell at Cairo for thirty and forty patacks the camel load, or about twelve or fifteen shillings per cwt. English; but the gum is of a very inferior quality to that of Sennaar. My companions eat up all the small pieces that had been left upon the trees by the road side. I found it to be quite tasteless, but I was assured that it was very nutritive. We breakfasted with the Arabs Heywat, and our people were extremely angry, and even insolent, at not having been treated with a roasted lamb, according to the promise of the Sheikh, who had invited us to alight. His excuse was that he had found none at hand; but one of our young men had overheard his wife scolding BIAR OMSHASH [p.447] him, and declaring that she would not permit a lamb to be slaughtered for such miserable ill-looking strangers! The Bedouin women, in general, are much less generous and hospitable than their husbands, over whom they often use their influence, to curtail the allowance to guests and strangers. At the end of five hours we issued from the head of Wady Lahyane again into the plain. The hill on the top of this Wady is called Ras el Kaa (Arabic), and is the termination of a chain of hills which stretch across the plain in a northern direction for six or eight hours: it projects like a promontory, and serves as a land-mark to travellers; its rock is calcareous. The plain which we now entered was a perfect flat covered with black pebbles. The high insulated mountain behind which Ghaza is situated, bore from hence N. by W. distant three long days journey. At the end of seven hours, there was an insulated hill to the left of our road two hours distant, called Szoeyka (Arabic); we here turned off to the left of the great road, in order to find water. In eight hours, and late at night, we reached several wells, called Biar Omshash (Arabic), is where we found an encampment of Heywat, with whom we wished to take our supper after having filled our water skins; but they assured us that they had nothing except dry bread to give us. On hearing this my companions began to reproach them with want of hospitality, and an altercation ensued, which I was afraid would lead to blows; I therefore mounted my camel, and was soon followed by the rest. We continued our route during the night, but lost our road in the dark, and were obliged to alight in a Wady full of moving sands, about half an hour from the wells. August 29th.�This day we passed several Wadys of Talh and tamarisk trees intermixed with low shrubs. Direction W. by S. The plain is for the greater part covered with flints; in some places DESERT EL TY [p.448] it is chalky. Wherever the rain collects in winter, vegetation of trees and shrubs is produced. In the midst of this desert we met a poor Bedouin woman, who begged some water of us; she was going to Akaba, where the tents of her family were, but had neither provisions nor water with her, relying entirely on the hospitality of the Arabs she might meet on the road. We directed her to the Heywat at Omshash and in Wady Lahyane. She seemed to be as unconcerned, as if she were merely taking a walk for pleasure. After an uninterrupted march of nine hours and a half, we reached a mountain called Dharf el Rokob (Arabic). It extends for about eight hours in a direction from N.W. to S.E. At its foot we crossed the Egyptian Hadj road; it passes along the mountain towards Akaba, which is distant from hence fifteen or eighteen hours. We ascended the northern extremity of the mountain by a broad road, and after a march of eleven hours reached, on the other side, a well called El Themmed (Arabic), whose waters are impregnated with sulphur. The pilgrim caravan passes to the N. of the mountain and well, but the Arabs who have the conduct of the caravan repair to the well to fill the water skins for the supply of the Hadjis. The well is in a sandy soil, surrounded by calcareous rocks, and notwithstanding its importance, nothing has been done to secure it from being choaked up by the sand and gravel which every gust of wind drives into it. Its sides are not lined, and the Arabs take so little care in descending into it, that every caravan which arrives renders it immediately turbid. The level plain over which we had travelled from Ras el Kaa terminates at Dharf el Rokob. Westward of it the ground is more intersected by hills and Wadys, and here begins the Desert El Ty (Arabic), in which, according to tradition, both Jewish and Mohammedan, the Israelites wandered for several years, and from which ODJME [p.449] belief the desert takes its name. We went this evening two hours farther than the Themmed, and alighted in the Wady Ghoreyr (Arabic), after a day�s march of thirteen hours and a half. The Bedouins, when travelling in small numbers, seldom alight at a well or spring, in the evening, for the purpose of there passing the night; they only fill their water-skins as quickly as possible, and then proceed on their way, for the neighbourhood of watering places is dangerous to travellers, especially in deserts where there are few of them, because they then become the rendezvous of all strolling parties. August 30th.�On issuing from the Wady Ghoreyr we passed a chain of hills called Odjme (Arabic), running almost parallel with the Dharf el Rokob. We had now re-entered the Hadj route, a broad well trodden road, strewn with the whitened bones of animals that have died by the way. The soil is chalky, and overspread with black pebbles. At the end of five hours and a half we reached Wady Rouak (Arabic); here the term Wady is applied to a narrow strip of ground, the bed of a winter torrent, not more than one foot lower than the level of the plain, where the rain water from the inequalities of the surface collects, and produces a vegetation of low shrubs, and a few Talh trees. The greater part of the Wadys from hence to Egypt are of this description. The coloquintida grows in great abundance in all of them, it is used by the Arabs to make tinder, by the following process: after roasting the root in the ashes, they wrap it in a wetted rag of cotton cloth, they then beat it between two stones, by which means the juice of the fruit is expressed and absorbed by the rag, which is dyed by it of a dirty blue; the rag is then dried in the sun, and ignites with the slightest spark of fire. The Arabs nearest to Egypt use the coloquint in venereal complaints; they fill the fruit with camel�s milk, roast it [p.450] over the fire, and then give to the patient the milk thus impregnated with the essence of the fruit. In nine hours and a half we passed a chain of low chalky hills called Ammayre (Arabic). On several parts of the road were holes, out of which rock salt had been dug. At the end of ten hours and a half we arrived in the vicinity of Nakhel (i.e. date-tree), a fortified station of the Egyptian Hadj, situated about half an hour to the N. of the pilgrim�s road. Our direction was still W. by N. Nakhel stands in a plain, which extends to an immense distance southward, but which terminates to the N. at about one hour�s distance from Nakhel, in a low chain of mountains. The fortress is a large square building, with stone walls, without any habitations round it. There is a well of brackish water, and a large Birket, which is filled from the well, in the time of the Hadj. The Pasha of Egypt keeps a garrison in Nakhel of about fifty soldiers, and uses it as a magazine for the provisions of his army in his expedition against the Wahabi. The appellation Nakhel was probably given to this castle at a time when the adjacent country was covered with palm trees, none of which are now to be seen here. At Akaba, on the contrary, are large forests of them, belonging for the greater part to the Arabs Heywat. The ground about Nakhel is chalky or sandy, and is covered with loose pebbles. We passed along the road as quickly as we could, for my companions were afraid lest their camels should be stopped by the Aga of Nakhel, to transport provisions to Akaba. The Arabs Heywat and Sowadye, who encamp in this district, style themselves masters of Akaba and Nakhel, and exact yearly from the Pasha certain sums for permitting him to occupy them; for though they are totally unable to oppose his troops, yet the tribute is paid, in order to take from them all pretext for plundering small caravans. NAKHEL [p.451] About six hours to the S.W. of Nakhel is a chain of mountains called Szadder (Arabic), extending in a S. E. direction. Near Nakhel my Arab companions fell in with an acquaintance, who was burning charcoal for the Cairo market. He informed us that a large party of Arabs Sowaleha, with whom my Howeytats were at war, was encamped in this vicinity; it was, in consequence, determined to travel by night, until we should be out of their reach, and we stopped at sunset, about one hour west of Nakhel, after a day�s march of eleven hours and a half, merely for the purpose of allowing the camels to eat. Being ourselves afraid to light a fire, lest it should be descried by the Sowaleha, we were obliged to take a supper of dry flour mixed with a little salt. During the whole of the journey the camels had no other provender than the withered shrubs of the desert, my dromedary excepted, to which I gave a few handfuls of barley every evening. Loaded camels are scarcely able to perform such a journey without a daily allowance of beans and barley. August 31st�We set out before midnight, and continued at a quick rate the whole night. In these northern districts of Arabia the Bedouins, in general, are not fond of proceeding by night; they seldom travel at that time, even in the hottest season, if they are not in very large numbers, because, as they say, during the night nobody can distinguish the face of his friend, from that of his enemy. Another reason is, that camels on the march never feed at their ease in the day time, and nature seems to require that they should have their principal meal and a few hours rest in the evening. The favourite mode of travelling in these parts is, to set out about two hours before sun-rise, to stop two hours at noon, when every one endeavours to sleep under his mantle, and to alight for the evening at about one hour before sunset. We always sat round the fire, in conversation, for two or three hours after supper. During this night�s march my companions frequently alluded to EL THEGHAR [p.452] a superstitious belief among the Bedouins, that the desert is inhabited by invisible female demons, who carry off travellers tarrying in the rear of the caravans, in order to enjoy their embraces. They call them Om Megheylan (Arabic), from Ghoul (Arabic). The frequent loss of men who, exhausted by fatigue, loiter behind the great pilgrim caravans, and are cut off, stripped, and abandoned, by Bedouin robbers, may have given rise to this fable, which afforded my companions a subject of numerous jokes against me. �You townsmen,� said they, �would be exquisite morsels for these ladies, who are accustomed only to the food of the desert.� We marched for four hours over uneven ground, and then reached a level plain, consisting of rich red earth fit for culture, and similar to that of the northern Syrian desert. We crossed several Wadys, in which we started a number of hares. At every twenty yards lay heaps of bones of camels, horses, and asses, by the side of the road. At six hours was a chain of low hills to the S. of the road, and running parallel with it. In seven hours we crossed Wady Nesyl (Arabic), overgrown with green shrubs, but without trees. At the end of ten hours and a half we reached the mountainous country called El Theghar (Arabic), or the mouths, which forms a boundary of the Desert El Ty, and separates it from the peninsula of Mount Sinai. We ascended for half an hour by a well formed road, cut in several places in the rock, and then followed the windings of a valley, in the bed of a winter torrent, gradually descending. On both sides of the Hadj road we saw numerous heaps of stones, the tombs of pilgrims who had died of fatigue; among others is shewn that of a woman who here died in labour, and whose infant was carried the whole way to Mekka, and back to Cairo in good health. At the end of fifteen hours we alighted in a valley of the Theghar, where we found an abundance of shrubs and trees. MABOUK [p.453] September 1st.�We continued descending among the windings of the Wady, turning a little to the southward of the Hadj route. Among the calcareous hills of the Wady deep sands have accumulated, which have been blown thither from the shores of the Red sea; and in several parts there are large insulated rocks of porous tufwacke. After a march of four hours and a half we had a fine view of the sea, and gained the plain which extends to its shores, and which is apparently much below the level of the desert El Ty; it is covered with moving sands, among which a few low shrubs grow. The direction of our route was W.S.W. In seven hours we reached the wells of Mabouk (Arabic), to our great satisfaction, as we had not a drop of water left in our skins. These wells are in the open plain, at the foot of some rocks. Good water, but in small quantities, is found every where on digging to the depth of ten or twelve feet. There were about half a dozen holes, five or six feet in circumference, with a foot of water in each; on drawing up the water the holes fill again immediately. We here met some shepherds of the Maazye, a tribe of Bedouins of the desert between Egypt and the Red sea, who were busy in watering a large herd of camels. They were so kind as to make room for us, in consideration of our being strangers and travellers; and we were occupied several hours in drawing up water. These wells were filled up last year by the Moggrebyn Hadj, on its passage, to revenge themselves upon Mohammed Ali, with whose treatment they were dissatisfied. The Egyptian pilgrims take a more northern route, but the Arabs who accompany them fill the water skins for the use of the caravan at these wells, and rejoin the Hadj by the route we travelled this morning. Near the wells are the ruins of a small building, with strong walls, which was probably constructed for the defence of the water, when the Hadj was still in its ancient splendour. ADJEROUD [p.454] On quitting the wells we turned off in the direction of Suez, our route lying W.N.W. There are no traces of a road here, for the track of caravans is immediately filled up by the moving sands, which covered the plain as far as I could discern, and in some places had collected into hills thirty or forty feet in height. At ten hours from our setting out in the morning we entered a plain covered with flints, and again fell in with the Hadj road. Here we took a W. by N. direction. At the end of eleven hours the plain was covered with a saline crust, and we crossed a tract of ground, about five minutes in breadth, covered with such a quantity of small white shells, that it appeared at a distance like a strip of salt. Shells of the same species are found on the shores of the lake of Tiberias. Once probably the sea covered the whole of this ground. At twelve hours and a half Suez bore S. about an hour and an half distant from us. To our right we saw marshy ground extending northwards, which the people informed me was full of salt; it is called, like all salt marshes, Szabegha (Arabic). At the end of thirteen hours we crossed a low and narrow Wady, perhaps the remains of the canal of Ptolemy; and at fourteen hours and a half, alighted in Wady Redjel (Arabic), where there were many Talh trees, and plenty of food for our camels. September 2d.�We continued to travel over the plain, route W. by N. In two hours we reached Adjeroud (Arabic), an ancient castle, which has lately been completely repaired by Mohammed Ali, who keeps a garrison here. There are two separate buildings, the largest of which is occupied by the soldiers, and the smaller contains a mosque with the tomb of a saint; they are both defended by strong walls against any attack of the Arabs. Here is also a copious well, but the water is very bitter, and can be used only for watering camels. The garrison is supplied from the wells of Mousa, opposite to Suez. Our road was full of the aromatic WADY MOUSA [p.455] herb Baytheran (Arabic), which is sold by the Arabs at Ghaza and Hebron. Beyond Adjeroud many Wadys cross the plain. To the left we had the chain of mountains called Attaka. At the end of five hours, and about one hour to the right of the road, begins the chain of low mountains called Oweybe (Arabic), running parallel with the Attaka. Our route lay W. by N. At eight hours the Attaka terminated on our left, and was succeeded by a ridge of low hills. The plain here is sandy, covered with black flints. We again passed several Wadys, and met two large caravans, transporting a corps of infantry to Suez. At the end of ten hours and a half we stopped in Wady Djaafar (Arabic), which is full of low trees, shrubs, and dry herbs. From hence a hilly chain extends north-eastwards. September 3d.�After a march of six hours along the plain, the ground began to be overspread with Egyptian pebbles. Route W. We passed several Wadys, similar to those mentioned above when describing Wady Rowak. At nine hours, we descried the Nile, with its beautiful verdant shores; at eleven hours began a hilly tract, the last undulations of Djebel Makattam; and in thirteen hours and a half we reached the vicinity of Cairo. Here my Arab companions left me, and proceeded to Belbeis, where, they were informed, their principal men were encamped, waiting for orders to proceed to Akaba. I discharged my honest guide, Hamd Ibn Hamdan, who was not a little astonished to see me take some sequins out of the skirts of my gown. As it was too late to enter the town, I went to some Bedouin tents which I saw at a distance, and entered one of them, in which, for the first time, I drank of the sweet water of the Nile. Here I remained all night. A great number of Bedouins were at this time collected near Cairo, to accompany the troops which were to be sent into Arabia after the Ramadhan. CAIRO [p.456] September 4th.�I entered Cairo before sunrise; and thus concluded my journey, by the blessing of God, without either loss of health, or exposure to any imminent danger. [p.457] JOURNAL OF A TOUR IN THE PENINSULA OF MOUNT SINAI, IN THE SPRING OF 1816. ABOUT the beginning of April 1816 Cairo was again visited by the plague. The Franks and most of the Christians shut themselves up; but as I neither wished to follow their example nor to expose myself unnecessarily in the town, I determined to pass my time, during the prevalence of the disease, among the Bedouins of Mount Sinai, to visit the gulf of Akaba, and, if possible, the castle of Akaba, to which, as far as I know, no traveller has ever penetrated. Intending to pass some days at the convent of Mount Sinai, I procured a letter of introduction to the monks from their brethren at Cairo; for without this passport no stranger is ever permitted to enter the convent; I was also desirous of having a letter from the Pasha of Egypt to the principal Sheikh of the tribes of Tor, over whom, as I knew by former experience, he exercises more than a nominal authority. With the assistance of this paper, I hoped to be able to see a good deal of the Bedouins of the peninsula in safety, and to travel in their company to Akaba. Such letters of recommendation are in general easily procured in Syria and Egypt, though they are often useless, as I found on several occasions during my first journey into Nubia, as well as in my KAYT BEG [p.458] travels in Syria, where the orders of the Pasha of Damascus were much slighted in several of the districts under his dominion. A fortnight before I set out for Mount Sinai I had applied to the Pasha through his Dragoman, for a letter to the Bedouin Sheikh; but I was kept waiting for it day after day, and after thus delaying my departure a whole week, I was at last obliged to set off without it. The want of it was the cause of some embarrassment to me, and prevented me from reaching Akaba. It is not improbable that on being applied to for the letter, the Pasha gave the same answer as he gave at Tayf, when I asked him for a Firmahn, namely, that as I was sufficiently acquainted with the language and manners of the Arabs, I needed no further recommendation. The Arabs of Mount Sinai usually alight at Cairo in the quarter called El Djemelye, where some of them are almost constantly to be found. Having gone thither, I met with the same Bedouin with whom I had come last year from Tor to Cairo; I hired two camels from him for myself and servant, and laid in provisions for about six weeks consumption. We left Cairo on the evening of the 20th of April, and slept that night among the ruined tombs of the village called Kayt Beg, a mile from the city. From this village, at which the Bedouins usually alight, the caravans for Suez often depart; it is also the resort of smugglers from Suez and Syria. April 21st.�We set out from Kayt Beg in the course of the morning, in the company of a caravan bound for Suez, comprising about twenty camels, some of which belonged to Moggrebyn pilgrims, who had come by sea from Tunis to Alexandria; the others to a Hedjaz merchant, and to the Bedouins of Mount Sinai, who had brought passengers from Suez to Cairo, and were now returning with corn to their mountains. As I knew the character of these Bedouins by former experience, and that the road was perfectly DERB EL ANKABYE [p.459] safe, at least as far as the convent, I did not think it necessary this time to travel in the disguise of a pauper. Some few comforts may be enjoyed in the desert even by those who do not travel with tents and servants; and whenever these comforts must be relinquished, it becomes a very irksome task to cross a desert, as I fully experienced during several of my preceding journeys. The Bedouins of Sinai, or, as they are more usually denominated, the Towara, or Bedouins of Tor, formerly enjoyed the exclusive privilege of transporting goods, provisions, and passengers, from Cairo to Suez, and the route was wholly under their protection. Since the increased power of the Pasha of Egypt, it has been thrown open to camel-drivers of all descriptions, Egyptian peasants, as well as Syrian and Arabian Bedouins; and as the Egyptian camels are much stronger, for a short journey, than those of the desert, the Bedouins of Mount Sinai have lost the greater part of their custom, and the transport trade in this route is now almost wholly in the hands of the Egyptian carriers. The hire of a strong camel, from Cairo to Suez, was at this time about six or eight Patacks, from one and a half to two Spanish dollars. The desert from Cairo to Suez is crossed by different routes; we followed that generally taken by the Towara, which lies mid-way between the great Hadj route, and the more southern one close along the mountains: the latter is pursued only by the Arabs Terabein, and other Syrian Bedouins. The route we took is called Derb el Ankabye [Arabic]. We proceeded on a gentle ascent from Kayt Beg, and passed on the right several low quarries in the horizontal layers of soft calcareous stone of which the mountain of Mokattam, in the neighbourhood of Cairo, is composed; it is with this stone that the splendid Mamelouk tombs of Kayt Beg are built. At the end of EL MOGAWA [p.460] an hour, the limestone terminated, and the road was covered with flints, petrosilex, and Egyptian pebbles; here are also found specimens of petrified wood, the largest about a foot in length. We now travelled eastward, and after a march of three hours halted upon a part of the plain, called El Mogawa [Arabic], where we rested during the mid-day heat. Beyond this spot, to the distance of five hours from Cairo, we met with great quantities of petrified wood. Large pieces of the trunks of trees, three or four feet in length, and eight or ten inches in diameter, lay about the plain, and close to the road was an entire trunk of a tree at least twenty feet in length, half buried in sand. These petrifactions are generally found in low grounds, but I saw several also on the top of the low hills of gravel and sand over which the road lies. Several travellers have expressed doubts of their being really petrified wood, and some have crossed the desert without meeting with any of them. The latter circumstance is easily accounted for; the route we were travelling is not that usually taken to Suez. I have crossed this desert repeatedly in other directions, and never saw any of the petrifactions except in this part of it. As to its really being petrified wood there cannot be any reason to doubt it, after an inspection of the substance, in which the texture and fibres of the wood are clearly distinguishable, and perfectly resemble those of the date tree. I think it not improbable, that before Nechos dug the canal between the Nile and the Red sea, the communication between Arsinoe or Clysma and Memphis, may have been carried on this way; and stations may have been established on the spots now covered by these petrified trees; the water requisite to produce and maintain vegetation might have been procured from deep wells, or from reservoirs of rain water, as is done in the equally barren desert between Djidda and Mekka. After the completion of the canal, this route was perhaps neglected, the trees, left without a EL MOGRAH [p.461] regular supply of water, dried up and fell, and the sands, with the winter rains and torrents, gradually effected the petrifaction. I have seen specimens of the petrified wood of date trees found in the Libyan desert, beyond the Bahr bala ma, where they were observed by Horneman in 1798, and in 1812, by M. Boutin, a French officer, who brought several of them to Cairo. They resemble precisely those which I saw on the Suez road, in colour, substance, and texture. Some of them are of silex, in others the substance seems to approach to hornblende. We continued our route E. by S. over an uneven and somewhat hilly country covered with black petrosilex; and after a day�s march of eight hours and a quarter, we halted in a valley of little depth, called Wady Onszary [Arabic], where our camels found good pasture. Close by are some low hills, where the sands are seen in the state of formation into sand- rock, and presenting all the different gradations between their loose state and the solid stone. I saw a great quantity of petrified wood upon one of these hills, amongst which was the entire trunk of a date tree. April 22d.�From Onszary we travelled E. by S. for one hour, and then E. At the end of three hours, the hilly country terminates, beyond which, in this route, no petrified wood is met with; we then entered upon a widely extended and entirely level plain, called by the Bedouins El Mograh [Arabic], upon which we rested after a march of five hours and a half. While we were preparing our dinner two ostriches approached near enough to be distinctly seen. A shot fired by one of the Arabs frightened them, and in an instant they were out of sight. These birds come into this plain, from the eastward, from the desert of Tyh; but I never heard that the Bedouins of this country take the trouble of hunting them. The plain of Mograh is famous for the skirmishes which have taken place there, for the caravans that have been plundered in DAR EL HAMRA [p.462] crossing it, and for the number of travellers that have been murdered on it. In former times, when this desert was constantly over- run by parties of robbers, the Mograh was always chosen by them as their point of attack, because, in the event of success, no one could escape them on a plain where objects can be distinguished in every direction to the distance of several hours. Even at present, since the route has been made more secure by the vigilance of the Pasha of Cairo, robberies sometimes happen, and in the autumn of 1815 a rich caravan was plundered by the Arabs Terabein.[These Arabs, under their Sheikh Abou Djehame [Arabic], made an excursion about the same time over the mountains towards Cosseir, and plundered a caravan of pilgrims and merchants who were going to Kenne. The Sheikh was seized on his return by the Maazy tribe and carried to Cairo, where he remained a year in close confinement, and after having delivered part of his booty into the treasury of the Pasha, was released a few days before I set out.] The desert of Suez is never inhabited by Bedouin encampments, though it is full of rich pasture and pools of water during winter and spring. No strong tribes frequent the eastern borders of Egypt, and a weak insulated encampment would soon be stripped of its property by nightly robbers. The ground itself is the patrimony of no tribe, but is common to all, which is contrary to the general practice of the desert, where every district has its acknowledged owners, with its limits of separation from those of the neighbouring tribes, although it is not always occupied by them. In the afternoon we proceeded over the plain, and in eight hours and three quarters arrived opposite to the station of the Hadj, called Dar el Hamra which we left about three miles to the north of us, and which is distinguished by a large acacia tree, the only one in this plain. At the end of nine hours and a half, and about half an hour from the road, we saw a mound of earth, which, WADY EMSHASH [p.463] the Arabs told me, was thrown up about fifty years ago, by workmen employed by Ali Beg, then governor of Egypt, in digging a well there. The ground was dug to the depth of about eighty feet, when no water appearing the work was abandoned. At eleven hours and a quarter, our road joined the great Hadj route, which passes in a more northerly direction from Dar el Hamra to the Birket el Hadj, or inundation to the eastward of Heliopolis, four hours distant from Cairo, upon the banks of which the pilgrims encamp, previous to their setting out for Mekka. Between this road, and that by which we had travelled, lies another, also terminating at Kayt Beg. The southernmost route, which, as I have already mentioned, is frequented only by the Arabs Terabein, branches off from this common route at about six hours distant from Suez, and is called Harb bela ma (the road without water); it is very seldom frequented by regular caravans, being hilly and longer than the others, but I was told that notwithstanding its name, water is frequently met with in the low grounds, even in summer. Just beyond where we fell in with the Hadj route, we rested in the bed of a torrent called Wady Hafeiry [Arabic], at the foot of a chain of hills which begin there, and extend to the N. of the route, and parallel with it towards Adjeroud. Our camels found abundance of pasture on the odoriferous herb Obeitheran [Arabic], Santolina fragrantissima of Forskal, which grew here in great plenty. April 23d.�Our road lay between the southern mountain and the abovementioned chain of hills to the north, called Djebel Uweybe [Arabic], direction E.S.E. In three hours we passed the bed of a torrent called Seil Abou Zeid [Arabic], where some acacia trees grow. The road is here encompassed on every side by hills. In four hours and a half we reached, in the direction E. by S. Wady Emshash [Arabic], a torrent like the former, which in winter is filled by a stream of several feet in depth. BIR SUEZ [p.464] Rains are much more frequent in this desert than in the valley of Egypt, and the same remark may be made in regard to all the mountains to the southward, where a regular, though not uninterrupted rainy season sets in, while in the valley of the Nile, as is well known, rain seldom falls even in winter. The soil and hills are here entirely calcareous. We had been for the whole morning somewhat alarmed by the appearance of some suspicious looking men on camels at a distance in our rear, and our Bedouins had, in consequence, prepared their matchlocks. When we halted during the mid-day hours, they also alighted upon a hill at a little distance; but seeing us in good order, and with no heavy loads to excite their cupidity, they did not approach us. They, however, this evening, fell upon a small party of unarmed Egyptian peasants who were carrying corn to Suez, stripped them, took away their camels and loads, and the poor owners fled naked into Suez. It was afterwards learnt that they belonged to the tribe of Omran, who live on the eastern shore of the gulf of Akaba. Without establishing regular patrols of the Bedouins themselves on this road, it will never be possible to keep it free from robbers. At six hours and a half begins a hilly country, with a slight descent through a narrow pass between hills, called El Montala [Arabic], a favourite spot for robbers. At seven hours and a half we passed Adjeroud [Arabic], about half an hour to our left; about two miles west of it is a well in the Wady Emshash, called Bir Emshash, which yields a copious supply of water in the winter, but dries up in the middle of summer if rains have not been abundant; the garrison of Adjeroud, where is a well so bitter that even camels will not drink the water, draws its supply of drinking water from the Bir Emshash. From hence the road turns S.E. over a slightly descending plain. At ten hours and a half is the well called Bir Suez, a SUEZ [p.465] copious spring enclosed by a massive building, from whence the water is drawn up by wheels turned by oxen, and emptied into a large stone tank on the outside of the building. The men who take care of the wheels and the oxen remain constantly shut up in the building for fear of the Bedouins. The water is brackish, but it serves for drinking, and the Arabs and Egyptian peasants travelling between Cairo and Suez, who do not choose to pay a higher price for the sweet water of the latter place, are in the habit of filling their water skins here, as do the people of Suez for their cooking provision. From an inscription on the building, it appears that it was erected in the year of the Hedjra 1018. We reached Suez about sunset, at the end of eleven hours and a half. I alighted with the Bedouins upon an open place between the western wall of the town, and its houses. April 24th. In the time of Niebuhr Suez was not enclosed; there is now a wall on the west and south-west, which is rapidly falling to decay. The town is in a ruinous state; and neither merchants nor artisans live in it. Its population consists only of about a dozen agents, who receive goods from the ports of the Red sea, and forward them to their correspondents at Cairo, together with some shop-keepers who deal chiefly in provisions. The Pasha keeps a garrison here of about fifty horsemen, with an officer who commands the town, the neighbouring Arabs, and the shipping in the harbour. As Suez is one of the few harbours in the Red sea where ships can be repaired, some vessels are constantly seen at the wharf; the repairs are carried on by Greek shipwrights and smiths, in the service of the Pasha, who are let out to the shipowners by the commanding officer. Suez has of late become a harbour of secondary importance, the supplies of provisions, &c. for the Hedjaz being collected principally at Cosseir, and shipped from thence to Yembo and Djidda: but the trade in coffee and [p.466] India goods still passes this way to Cairo. I saw numerous bales of spices and coffee lying near the shore, and a large heap of iron, together with packages of small wares, antimony, and Egyptian goods for exportation to Djidda, and ultimately to Yemen and India. The merchants complained of the want of camels to transport their goods to Cairo. The Pasha, who owns a considerable part of the imports of coffee, has fixed the carriage across the desert at a low price, and none of the agents venture to offer more to the camel drivers; the consequence of which is, that few are encouraged to come to Suez beyond the number required for the Pasha�s merchandize. A caravan consisting of five or six hundred camels leaves Suez for Cairo on the 10th of each lunar month, accompanied by guards and two field-pieces; while smaller ones, composed of twenty or thirty beasts, depart almost every four or five days; but to these the merchants are shy of trusting their goods, because they can never depend on the safety of the road; accidents however seldom happen at present, so formidable is the name of Mohammed Ali. Before the power of this Pasha was established in Egypt, and during the whole period of the Mamelouk government, the Bedouins might be called complete masters of Suez. Every inhabitant was obliged t[o] have his protector, Ghafyr [Arabic], among the Bedouins of Mount Sinai, to whom he made annual presents of money, corn, and clothes, and who ensured to him the safe passage of his goods and person through the desert, and the recovery of whatever was plundered by the others. At that time the rate of freight was fixed by the Bedouins, and camels were in plenty; but, whenever the governors of Cairo quarrelled with the Bedouins, or ill- treated any of them at Cairo, the road was immediately interrupted, and the Bedouins placed guards over the well of Naba [Arabic], two hours distant from Suez, in the hills on the eastern side of the gulf, to prevent the people of the town from drawing from thence their [p.467] daily supply of sweet water. The difference was always settled by presents to the Bedouins, who, however, as may readily be conceived, often abused their power; and it not unfrequently happened that, even in time of peace, a Bedouin girl would be found, in the morning, sitting on the well, who refused permission to the water carriers of Suez to draw water unless they paid her with a new shirt, which they were obliged to do; for to strike her, or even to remove her by force, would have brought on a war with her tribe. The authority of the Bedouins is now at an end, though their Sheikhs receive from the Turkish governors of Suez a yearly tribute, under the name of presents, in clothes and money; the Pasha himself has become the Ghafyr of the people of Suez, and exacts from every camel load that passes through the gates from two to four dollars, for which he engages to ensure the passage through the desert; when the caravan however was plundered in 1815, he never returned the value of the goods to the owners. The Arabs Terabein are the conductors of the caravans to Ghaza, and Khalyl (Hebron), the latter of which is eight days distant. At this time the freight per camel�s load was eighteen Patacks, or four dollars and a half. These caravans bring the manufactures of Damascus, soap, glass- ware, tobacco, and dried fruits, which are shipped at Suez for the Hedjaz and Yemen. The eastern part of the town of Suez is completely in ruins, but near the shore are some well built Khans, and in the inhabited part of the town are several good private houses. The aspect of Suez is that of an Arabian, and not an Egyptian town, and even in the barren waste, which surrounds it, it resembles Yembo and Djidda; the same motley crowds are met with in the streets, and the greater part of the shop-keepers are from Arabia or Syria. The air is bad, occasioned by the saline nature of the earth, and the extensive low grounds on the north and north-east sides, which are filled [p.468] with stagnant waters by the tides. The inhabitants endeavour to counteract the influence of this bad atmosphere by drinking brandy freely; the mortality is not diminished by such a remedy, and fevers of a malignant kind prevail during the spring and summer. The water of the well of Naba, though called sweet, has a very indifferent taste, and becomes putrid in a few days if kept in skins. The government has made a sort of monopoly of it; but its distribution is very irregular, and affrays often happen at the well, particularly when ships are on the point of sailing. In general, however, they touch at Tor, for a supply; those lying in the harbour might fill their casks at the well of Abou Szoueyra [Arabic], about seven hours to the south of Ayoun Mousa, and about half an hour from the sea shore, where the water is good; but Arabs will seldom give themselves so much trouble for water, and will rather drink what is at hand, though bad, than go to a distance for good. Ships, after delivering their cargoes at Suez, frequently proceed to Cosseir, to take in corn for the Hedjaz. They first touch at Tor for water, and then stand over to the western coast, anchoring in the creeks every evening till they reach their destination. The coast they sail along is barren, and without water, and no Arabs are seen. At one or two days sail from Suez is an ancient Coptic convent, now abandoned, called Deir Zafaran or Deir El Araba [Arabic]; it stands on the declivity of the mountain, at about one hour from the sea. Some wild date-trees grow there. At the foot of the mountain are several wells three or four feet deep, upon the surface of whose waters naphtha or petroleum is sometimes found in the month of November, which is skimmed off by the hand; it is of a deep brownish black colour, and of the same fluidity as turpentine, which it resembles in smell. This substance, which is known [p.469] under the name of Zeit el Djebel [Arabic], mountain oil, is collected principally by the Christians of Tor, and by the Arabs Heteim, of the eastern shore of the Red sea; it is greatly esteemed in Egypt as a cure for sores and rheumatism, and is sold at Suez and Tor, at from one to two dollars per pound. Niebuhr, travelling in 1762, says that Suez derives its provisions in great part from Mount Sinai and Ghaza: this is not the case now. From Mount Sinai it obtains nothing but charcoal, and a few fruits and dates in the autumn; dried fruits of the growth of Damascus are the only import from Ghaza. The town is supplied with provisions from Cairo; vegetables are found only at the time of the arrival of the caravan. Every article is of the worst quality, and twenty-five per cent. dearer than at Cairo. Syrian, Turkish, and Moggrebyn pilgrims are constantly seen here, waiting for the departure of ships to the Hedjaz. I found three vessels in the harbour, and it may be calculated that one sails to the southward every fortnight. No Europeans are settled here; but an English agent is expected next year, to meet the ships from Bombay, according to a treaty made with the Pasha, by several English houses, who wished to open a direct communication between India and Egypt.[In May, 1817, a small fleet arrived at Suez direct from Bombay, which was composed of English ships, and of others belonging to Mohammed Ali Pasha: among the articles imported were two elephants destined by the Pasha as presents to the Porte. This has been the first attempt within the last forty years to open a direct trade between India and Egypt, and will be as profitable to the Pasha as it must be ruinous to his subjects. The cargoes of these ships and the coffee which he imports from Yemen, are distributed by him among the merchants of Cairo, in proportion to their supposed capital in trade, and they are obliged to take the articles off his hands at the highest prices which they bear in the Bazar. If this trade is encreased by the Pasha, it will entirely prevent the merchants from importing goods on their own account from Djidda, the quantity they are thus obliged to take from the Pasha being fully sufficient for the consumption of Egypt.] April 15th.�As the small caravan with which I had come to EL AHTHA [p.470] Suez remained there, I set out accompanied only by my guide and another Arab, whom he had engaged, and who afterwards proved through the whole journey a most serviceable, courageous, and honest companion. We left Suez early in the morning: the tide was then at flood, and we were obliged to make the tour of the whole creek to the N. of the town, which at low water can be forded. In winter time, and immediately after the rainy season, this circuit is rendered still greater, because the low grounds to the northward of the creek are then inundated, and become so swampy that the camels cannot pass them. We rode one hour and three quarters in a straight line northwards, after passing, close by the town, several mounds of rubbish, which afford no object of curiosity except a few large stones, supposed to be the ruins of Clysma or Arsinoë. We then turned eastwards, just at the point where the remains of the ancient canal are very distinctly visible: two swellings of the ground, of which the eastern is about eight or ten feet high, and the western somewhat less, run in a straight line northwards, parallel with each other, at the distance of about twenty-five feet. They begin at a few hundred paces to the N.W. of high-water mark, from whence northwards the ground is covered by a saline crust. We turned the point of this inlet, and halted for a short time at the wells of Ayoun Mousa, under the date trees. The water of these wells is copious, but one only affords sweet water, and this is so often rendered muddy by the passage of Arabs, whose camels descend into the wells, that it is seldom fit to supply a provision to the traveller, much less for shipping. We rested, at two hours and three quarters from the wells, in the plain called El Kordhye [Arabic]. April 26th.�We proceeded over a barren sandy and gravelly plain, called El Ahtha [Arabic], direction S. by E. For about an hour the plain was uneven; we then entered upon a widely-extended flat, in which we continued S.S.E. Low mountains, the commencement WADY WARDAN [p.471] of the chain of Tyh, run parallel with the road, to the left, about eight miles distant; they are inhabited by Terabein. At the end of four hours and a half we halted for a few hours in Wady Seder which takes its name of Wady only, from being overflown with water when the rains are very copious, which, however, does not happen every year. Its natural formation by no means entitles it to be called a valley, its level being only a few feet lower than that of the desert on both sides. Some thorny trees grow in it, but no herbs for pasture. We continued our way S. b. E. over the plain, which was alternately gravelly, stony, and sandy. At the end of seven hours and a half we reached Wady Wardan [Arabic], a valley or bed of a torrent, similar in nature to the former, but broader. Near its extremity, at the sea side, it is several miles in breadth; and here is the well of Abou Szoueyra, which I have already mentioned. The Arabs of Tor seldom encamp in this place, but the Terabein Arabs are sometimes attracted by the well. During the war which happened about eight years ago between the Towara and the Maazy Bedouins, who live in the mountains between Cairo and Cosseir, a party of the former happened to be stationed here with their families. They were surprised one morning by a troop of their enemies, while assembled in the Sheikh�s tent to drink coffee. Seven or eight of them were cut down: the Sheikh himself, an old man, seeing escape impossible, sat down by the fire, when the leader of the Maazy came up, and cried out to him to throw down his turban and his life should be spared. The generous Sheikh, rather than do what, according to Bedouin notions, would have stained his reputation ever after, exclaimed, �I shall not uncover my head before my enemies;� and was immediately killed with the thrust of a lance. A low chain of sand-hills begins here to the west, near the sea; and the eastern mountains approach the road. At nine hours and a half, HOWARA [p.472] S.S.E. the eastern mountains form a junction with the western hills. At ten hours we entered a hilly country; at ten hours and three quarters we rested for the night in a barren valley among the hills, called Wady Amara [Arabic]. We met with nobody in this route except a party of Yembo merchants, who had landed at Tor, and were travelling to Cairo. The hills consist of chalk and silex in very irregular strata: the silex is sometimes quite black; at other times it takes a lustre and transparency much resembling agate. April 27th.�We travelled over uneven hilly ground, gravelly and flinty. At one hour and three quarters we passed the well of Howara [Arabic], round which a few date trees grow. Niebuhr travelled the same route, but his guides probably did not lead him to this well, which lies among hills about two hundred paces out of the road. He mentions a rock called Hadj er Rakkabe, as one German mile short of Gharendel; I remember to have halted under a large rock, close by the road side, a very short distance before we reached Howara, but I did not learn its name. The water of the well of Howara is so bitter, that men cannot drink it; and even camels, if not very thirsty, refuse to taste it. From Ayoun Mousa to the well of Howara we had travelled fifteen hours and a quarter. Referring to this distance, it appears probable that this is the desert of three days mentioned in the Scriptures to have been crossed by the Israelites immediately after their passing the Red sea, and at the end of which they arrived at Marah. In moving with a whole nation, the march may well be supposed to have occupied three days; and the bitter well at Marah, which was sweetened by Moses, corresponds exactly with that of Howara. This is the usual route to Mount Sinai, and was probably therefore that which the Israelites took on their escape from Egypt, provided it be admitted that they crossed the sea near Suez, as Niebuhr, with good reason, conjectures. There is WADY GHARENDEL [p.473] no other road of three days march in the way from Suez towards Sinai, nor is there any other well absolutely bitter on the whole of this coast, as far as Ras Mohammed. The complaints of the bitterness of the water by the children of Israel, who had been accustomed to the sweet water of the Nile, are such as may daily be heard from the Egyptian servants and peasants who travel in Arabia. Accustomed from their youth to the excellent water of the Nile, there is nothing which they so much regret in countries distant from Egypt; nor is there any eastern people who feel so keenly the want of good water as the present natives of Egypt. With respect to the means employed by Moses to render the waters of the well sweet, I have frequently enquired among the Bedouins in different parts of Arabia whether they possessed any means of effecting such a change, by throwing wood into it, or by any other process; but I never could learn that such an art was known. At the end of three hours we reached Wady Gharendel [Arabic] which extends to the N.E. and is almost a mile in breadth, and full of trees. The Arabs told me that it may be traced through the whole desert, and that it begins at no great distance from El Arysh, on the Mediterranean, but I had no means of ascertaining the truth of this statement. About half an hour from the place where we halted, in a southern direction, is a copious spring, with a small rivulet, which renders the valley the principal station on this route. The water is disagreeable, and if kept for a night in the water skins, it turns bitter and spoils, as I have myself experienced, having passed this way three times. If we admit Bir Howara to be the Marah[Morra in Arabic means �bitter.� Marah in Hebrew is �bitterness.�] of Exodus (xv. 23), then Wady Gharendel is probably Elim, with its wells and date trees, an opinion entertained by Niebuhr, who, however, did not [p.474] see the bitter well of Howara on the road to Gharendel. The nonexistence, at present, of twelve wells at Gharendel must not be considered as evidence against the just-stated conjecture; for Niebuhr says that his companions obtained water here by digging to a very small depth, and there was a great plenty of it, when I passed; water, in fact, is readily found by digging, in every fertile valley in Arabia, and wells are thus easily formed, which are quickly filled up again by the sands. The Wady Gharendel contains date trees, tamarisks, acacias of different species, and the thorny shrub Gharkad [Arabic], the Peganum retusum of Forskal, which is extremely common in this peninsula, and is also met with in the sands of the Delta on the coast of the Mediterranean. Its small red berry, of the size of a grain of the pomegranate, is very juicy and refreshing, much resembling a ripe gooseberry in taste, but not so sweet. The Arabs are very fond of it, and I was told that in years when the shrub produces large crops, they make a conserve of the berries. The Gharkad, which from the colour of its fruit is also called by the Arabs Homra delights in a sandy soil, and reaches its maturity in the height of summer when the ground is parched up, exciting an agreeable surprise in the traveller, at finding so juicy a berry produced in the driest soil and season.[Might not the berry of this shrub have been used by Moses to sweeten the waters of Marah? The words in Exodus, xv. 25, are: �And the Lord shewed him a tree, which when he had cast into the waters, the waters were made sweet.� The Arabic translation of this passage gives a different, and, perhaps, more correct reading: �And the Lord guided him to a tree, of which he threw something into the water, which then became sweet.� I do not remember, to have seen any Gharkad in the neighbourhood of Howara, but Wady Gharendel is full of this shrub. As these conjectures did not occur to me when I was on the spot, I did not enquire of the Bedouins whether they ever sweetened the water with the juice of the berries, which would probably effect this change in the same manner as the juice of pomegranate grains expressed into it.] The bottom of the valley of Gharendel swarms with ticks, which are extremely distressing both to men and beasts, and on this account the caravans usually encamp on the sides of the hills which border the valley. WADY SHEBEYKE [p.475] We continued in a S.E. 1/2 E. direction, passing over hills, and at the end of four hours from our starting in the morning, we came to an open, though hilly country, still slightly ascending, S.S.E. and then reached by a similar descent, in five hours and a half, Wady Oszaita [Arabic], enclosed by chalk hills. Here is another bitter well which never yields a copious supply, and sometimes is completely dried up. A few date trees stand near it. From hence we rode over a wide plain S.E. b. S. and at the end of seven hours and three quarters came to Wady Thale [Arabic]. Rock salt is found here as well as in Gharendel; date, acacia, and tamarisks grow in the valley; but they were now all withered. To our right was a chain of mountains, which extend towards Gharendel. Proceeding from hence south, we turned the point of the mountain, and then passed the rudely constructed tomb of a female saint, called Arys Themman [Arabic], or the bridegroom of Themman, where the Arabs are in the habit of saying a short prayer, and suspending some rags of clothing upon some poles planted round the tomb. After having doubled the mountain we entered the valley called Wady Taybe [Arabic], which descends rapidly to the sea. At the end of eight hours and a half we turned out of Wady Taybe into a branch of it, called Wady Shebeyke [Arabic], in which we continued E.S.E. and halted for the night, after a day�s march of nine hours and a quarter. This is a broad valley, with steep though not high cliffs on both sides. The rock is calcareous, and runs in even horizontal layers. Just over the road, a place was shewn to me from whence, some years since, a Bedouin of the Arabs of Tor precipitated his son, bound hands and feet, because he had stolen WADY HOMMAR [p.476] corn out of a magazine belonging to a friend of the family. In the great eastern desert the Aeneze Bedouins are not so severe in such instances; but they would punish a Bedouin who should pilfer any thing from his guest�s baggage. April 28th.�We set out before dawn, and continued for three quarters of an hour in the Wady, after which we ascended E. b. S. and came upon a high plain, surrounded by rocks, with a towering mountain on the N. side, called Sarbout el Djemel [Arabic]. We crossed the plain at sun rise; and the fresh air of the morning was extremely agreeable. There is nothing which so much compensates for the miseries of travelling in the Arabian deserts, as the pleasure of enjoying every morning the sublime spectacle of the break of day and of the rising of the sun, which is always accompanied, even in the hottest season, with a refreshing breeze. It was an invariable custom with me, at setting out early in the morning, to walk on foot for a few hours in advance of the caravan; and as enjoyments are comparative, I believe that I derived from this practice greater pleasure than any which the arts of the most luxurious capitals can afford. At two hours and a half the plain terminated; we then turned the point of the above-mentioned mountain, and entered the valley called Wady Hommar [Arabic], in which we continued E. b. N. This valley, in which a few acacia trees grow, has no perceptible slope on either side; its rocks are all calcareous, with flint upon some of them; by the road side, I observed a few scratchings of the figures of camels, done in the same style as those in Wady Mokatteb copied by M. Niebuhr and M. Seetzen, but without any inscriptions. At four hours we issued from this valley where the southern rocks which enclose it terminate, and we travelled over a wide, slightly ascending plain of deep sand, called El Debbe [Arabic], a name given by the Towara Bedouins to several other sandy districts of the same kind. WADY EL NASZEB [p.477] The direction of our road across it was S. E. by S. At six hours and a half we entered a mountainous country, much devastated by torrents, which have given the mountains a very wild appearance. Here sand-stone rocks begin. We followed the windings of a valley, and in seven hours and a quarter reached the Wady el Naszeb [Arabic], where we rested, under the shade of a large impending rock, which for ages, probably, has afforded shelter to travellers; it is I believe the same represented by Niebuhr in vol. i. pl. 48. He calls the valley Warsan, which is, no doubt, its true name, but the Arabs comprise all the contiguous valleys under the general name of Naszeb. Shady spots like this are well known to the Arabs, and as the scanty foliage of the acacia, the only tree in which these valleys abound, affords no shade, they take advantage of such rocks, and regulate the day�s journey in such a way, as to be able to reach them at noon, there to take the siesta. The main branch of the Wady Naszeb continues farther up to the S.E. and contains, at about half an hour from the place where we rested, a well of excellent water; as I was fatigued, and the sun was very hot, I neglected to go there, though I am sensible that travellers ought particularly to visit wells in the desert, because it is at these natural stations that traces of former inhabitants are more likely to be found than any where else. The Wady Naszeb empties its waters in the rainy season into the gulf of Suez, at a short distance from the Birket Faraoun. While my guides and servant lay asleep under the rock, and one of the Arabs had gone to the well to water the camels and fill the skins, I walked round the rock, and was surprised to find inscriptions similar in form to those which have been copied by travellers in Wady Mokatteb. They are upon the surface of blocks which have fallen down from the cliff, and some of them appear to have been engraved while the pieces still formed a part of the main [p.478] rock. There is a great number of them, but few can be distinctly made out. I copied the following from some rocks which are lying near the resting-place, at about an hundred paces from the spot where travellers usually alight. [not included] The fallen blocks must be closely examined in order to discover [p.479] the inscriptions; in some places they are still to be seen on the rock above. They have evidently been done in great haste, and very rudely, sometimes with large letters, at others with small, and seldom with straight lines. The characters appear to be written from right to left, and although mere scratches, an instrument of metal must have been required, for the rock, though of sandstone, is of considerable hardness. Some of the letters are not higher than half an inch; but they are generally about fifteen lines in height, and four lines in breadth; the annexed figure, (as M. Seetzen has already observed in his publication upon these inscriptions in the Mines de l�Orient) is seen at the beginning of almost every line. Hence it appears that none of the inscriptions are of any length, but that they consist merely of short phrases, all similar to each other, in the beginning at least. They are perhaps prayers, or the names of pilgrims, on their way to Mount Sinai, who had rested under this rock. A few drawings of camels and goats, done in the coarsest manner, are likewise seen. M. Niebuhr (vol. i. pl. 50) has given some sketches of them. Some Syale trees, a species of the mimosa, grow in this valley. The pod which they produce, together with the tenderest shoots of the branches, serve as fodder to the camels; the bark of the tree is used by the Arabs to tan leather. The rocks round the resting-place of Naszeb are much shattered and broken, evidently by torrents; yet no torrents within the memory of man have ever rushed down the valley. In the afternoon we entered a lateral branch of the Naszeb, more northerly than the main branch which contains the well, and we gradually ascended it. We had been joined at the Ayoun Mousa by an Egyptian Bedouin, belonging to the Arabs of the province RAML EL MORAK [p.480] of Sherkyeh, who was married to a girl of the Towara Arabs; last night, being in the vicinity of the place where he knew his wife to be, he put spurs to the ass on which he was mounted, and thinking that he knew the road, he quitted the Wady Shebeyke two hours before we did, and without any provision of water. He missed his way on the sandy plain of Debbe, and instead of reaching the spring of Naszeb, where he intended to allay his thirst, he rode the whole of this morning and afternoon about the mountain in different directions, in fruitless search after the shady and conspicuous rock of Naszeb. Towards the evening we met him, so much exhausted with thirst, that his eyes had become dim, and he could scarcely recognise us; had he not fallen in with us he would probably have perished. My companions laughed at the effeminate Egyptian, as they called him, and his presumption in travelling alone in districts with which he was unacquainted. At the end of eight hours and three quarters, in a general direction of. E. by S. we passed a small inlet in the northern chain, where, at a short distance from the road, is said to be a well of tolerable water, called El Maleha [Arabic], or the saltish. We then ascended with difficulty a steep mountain, composed to the top of moving sands, with a very few rocks appearing above the surface. We reached the summit after a day�s march of nine hours and three quarters, and rested upon a high plain, called Raml el Morak [Arabic]. From hence we had an extensive view to the north, bounded by the chain of mountains called El Tyh [Arabic]; this range begins near the abovementioned mountain of Sarbout el Djemel, and extends in a curve eastwards twenty or twenty-five miles, from the termination of the Wady Hommar. At the eastern extremity lies a high mountain called Djebel Odjme [Arabic], to the north of which begins another chain, likewise running eastwards towards the gulf of WADY KHAMYLE [p.481] Akaba. The name of El Tyh is applied to this ridge as well as to the former, but it is specifically called El Dhelel [Arabic]. These chains form the northern boundaries of the Sinai mountains, and are the pasturing places of the Sinai Bedouins. They are the most regular ranges of the peninsula, being almost throughout of equal height, without any prominent peaks, and extending in an uninterrupted line eastwards. They are inhabited by the tribes of Terabein and Tyaha, the latter of whom are richer in camels and flocks than any other of the Towara tribes. The valleys of these mountains are said to afford excellent pasturage, and fine springs, though not in great numbers. The Terabein frequently visit Cairo and Suez; but the Tyaha have more intercourse with Ghaza, and Khalyl, and are a very bold, independent people, often at war with their neighbours, and, even now, caring little for the authority of the Pasha of Egypt. At the southern foot of the mountain Tyh extends a broad sandy plain, called El Seyh, which begins at the Debbe, and continues for two days journey eastwards. It affords good pasturage in spring, but has no water, and is therefore little frequented by Bedouins. April 29th.�We crossed the plain of Raml Morak in a S. by E. direction. From hence the high peak of Serbal bore S. In an hour and a quarter we reached the upper chain of the mountains of Sinai, where grünstein begins, mixed in places with layers of granite, and we entered the valley called Wady Khamyle [Arabic]. At the end of two hours we passed in the valley a projecting rock, like that of Naszeb, serving for a resting-place to travellers: here I observed several inscriptions similar to those of Naszeb, but much effaced, together with rude drawings of mountain goats. As I did not wish to betray too much curiosity, until I could ascertain what conduct I ought to pursue in order to attain my chief object of penetrating to Akaba, I did not stop to copy WADY BARAK [p.482] these monuments. At the end of two hours and a half in the Wady Khamyle we came to the first Bedouin encampment which I had seen since leaving Suez. It belonged to the tribe of Szowaleha [Arabic]. On the approach of summer all the Bedouins leave the lower country, where the herbage is dried up, and retire towards the higher parts of the peninsula, where, owing to the comparatively cooler climate, the pasture preserves its freshness much longer. Ascending gently through the valley, we passed at three hours a place of burial called Mokbera [Arabic], one of the places of interment of the tribe of Szowaleha. It seems to be a custom prevalent with the Arabs in every part of the desert, to have regular burial-grounds, whither they carry their dead, sometimes from the distance of several days journey. The burying ground seen by Niebuhr[Voyage, vol. i. p. 189] near Naszeb, which, as I have already mentioned, I passed without visiting, and missed in my way back, by taking a more southern road, appears to have been an ancient cemetery of the same kind, formed at a time when hieroglyphical characters were in use among all the nations under Egyptian influence. As there are no countries where ancient manners are so permanent as in the desert, it is probable that the same customs of sepulture then prevailed which still exist, and that the burying ground described by Niebuhr by no means proves the former existence of a city. Among the rude tombs of Mokbera, which consist, for the most part, of mere heaps of earth covered with loose stones, the tomb of Sheikh Hamyd, a Bedouin saint, is distinguished; the Szowaleha keep it always carefully covered with fresh herbs. At the end of three hours and a half we entered another valley, called Wady Barak [Arabic], where the ascent becomes more steep. Here the rock changes to porphyry, with strata of grünstein; the surface of the former is in most places completely WADY GENNE [p.483] black. The mountains on both sides of the valley are much shattered: detached blocks and loose stones covered their sides, and the bottom of the valley was filled, in many places to the depth of ten feet, with a layer of stones that had fallen down. The Wady becomes narrower towards the upper end, and the camels ascended with difficulty. At the end of six hours and a quarter we reached the extremity, to which the Bedouins apply the name of Djebel Leboua [Arabic], the mountain of the lioness, a name indicating, perhaps, that lions existed at one period in the peninsula of Mount Sinai, though no longer to be found here. In ascending Wady Barak, I saw upon several blocks lying by the road side short inscriptions, generally of one line only, all of which began with the remarkable character already represented. From the top of Djebel Leboua we descended a little, and entered the Wady Genne [Arabic, a fine valley, several miles in breadth, and covered with pasturage. It lay in a straight line before us, and presented much of Alpine scenery. We here found several Bedouins occupied in collecting brush-wood, which they burn into charcoal for the Cairo market; they prefer for this purpose the thick roots of the shrub Rethem [Arabic], Genista raetam of Forskal, which grows here in abundance. Of the herbs which grow in this valley many were odoriferous, as the Obeytheran, Sille [Arabic], perhaps the Zilla Myagrum of Forskal; and the Shyh [Arabic], or Artemisia. The Bedouins collect also the herb Adjrem [Arabic], which they dry, break in pieces and pound between stones, and then use as a substitute for soap to wash their linen with. I was told that very good water is found at about two miles to the E. of this valley. We gained the upper extremity of Wady Genne at the end of nine hours. The ranges of mountains in this country differ in their formation from all the other Arabian chains which I have WADY OSH [p.484] seen, the valleys reaching to the very summits, where they form a plain, and thence descend on the other side. A very pointed peak of rocks, near the left of the summit of Wady Genne, is known by the appellation of Zob el Bahry [Arabic]. After crossing a short plain, we again descended S.E. by S. and entered the valley called Wady Berah [Arabic], where I saw another block with inscriptions. Near it were many others, but effaced. The following was more regularly and clearly written than any I have seen: [not included] We descended slowly through this valley, which is covered with sand, till, at the end of ten hours, we entered a side valley called Wady Osh [Arabic], and at ten hours and a half alighted at an encampment of Bedouins, pitched at no great distance from a burial ground similar to that which we had passed in the morning. This encampment belonged to the Oulad Said [Arabic], a branch of the Szowaleha tribe, and one of their Sheikhs, Hassan [Arabic], had his tent here; this we entered, though he was absent, and the Arabs had a long and fierce dispute among themselves to decide who should have the honour of furnishing us a supper, and a breakfast the next morning. He who first sees the stranger from afar, and exclaims: �There comes my guest,� has the right of entertaining him, whatever tent he may alight at. A lamb was killed for me, which was an act of great hospitality; for these Bedouins are poor, and a lamb was worth upwards of a Spanish dollar, a sum that would afford a supply of butter and bread to the family for a whole week. I found the same custom to prevail here, which I observed in my journey through the northern parts of Arabia Petraea; when meat is served up, it is the duty of one of the guests to demand a, portion for the women, by calling out � Lahm el [p.485] Ferash,� i.e. �the meat for the apartment of the women;� and a part of it is then either set aside, or he is answered that this has been already done. In the evening we joined in some of the popular songs, of which a description will be found in my illustration of Bedouin manners.[This will form part of a subsequent volume. Ed] I was naturally asked for what object I had come to these mountains. As the passage of Greeks on their way to visit the convent of Sinai is frequent, I might have answered that I was a Greek; but I thought it better to adhere to what I had already told my guides, that I had left Cairo, in order not to expose myself to the plague, that I wished to pass my time among the Bedouins while the disease prevailed, and that I intended to visit the convent. Other Moslems would have considered it impious to fly from the infection; but I knew that all these Bedouins entertain as great a dread of the plague as Europeans themselves. During the spring, when the disease usually prevails in Egypt, no prospect of gain can induce them to expose themselves to infection, by a journey to the banks of the Nile; the Bedouins with whom I left Cairo were the last who had remained there. Had the Pasha granted me a Firmahn to the great Sheikh of the Towara Arabs, I should have gone directly to his tent, and in virtue of it I should have taken guides to conduct me to Akaba; but being without the Firmahn, I thought it more prudent to visit the convent in the first instance, and to depart from thence for Akaba, in order to take advantage of such influence as the Prior might possess over the Bedouins, for though they pay little respect to the priests, yet they have some fear of being excluded from the gains accruing from the transport of visitors to the convent. As every white-skinned person, who makes his appearance in the desert, is supposed by the Arabs to be attached to the Turkish army, or the government of Cairo, my [p.486] going to Akaba without any recommendations would have given rise to much suspicion, and I should probably have been supposed to be a deserter from the Turkish army, attempting to escape by that circuitous route to Syria; a practice which is sometimes resorted to by the soldiers, to whom, without the Pasha�s passport, Egypt is closed both by sea and land. In the Wady Osh there is a well of sweet water. From hence upwards, and throughout the primitive chain of Mount Sinai, the water is generally excellent, while in the lower chalky mountains all round the peninsula, it is brackish, or bitter, except in one or two places. The Wady Osh and Wady Berah empty their waters in the rainy season into Wady el Sheikh, above Feiran. April 30th.�We did not leave our kind hosts till the afternoon, for they insisted on my taking a dinner before I set out. I gave to their children, who accompanied me a little way, some coffee beans to carry to their mothers, and some Kammereddein, a sweetmeat made at Damascus from apricots, of which I had laid in a large stock, and which is very acceptable to all the Bedouins of Syria, Egypt, and the Hedjaz. The offer of any reward to a Bedouin host is generally offensive to his pride; but some little presents may be given to the women and children. Trinkets and similar articles are little esteemed by the Bedouins; but coffee is in great request all over the desert; and sweetmeats and sugar are preferred to money, which, though it will sometimes be accepted, always creates a sense of humiliation, and consequently of dislike towards the giver. For my own part, being convinced that the hospitality of the Bedouin is afforded with disinterested cordiality, I was in general averse to making the slightest return. Few travellers perhaps will agree with me on this head; but will treat the Bedouins in the same manner as the Turks, and other inhabitants of the towns, who never proffer their services or WADY EL SHEIKH [p.487] hospitality without expecting a reward; the feelings of Bedouins, however, are very different from those of townsmen, and a Bedouin will praise the guest who departs from him without making any other remuneration than that of bestowing a blessing upon them and their encampment, much more than him who thinks to redeem all obligations by payment. We returned from Wady Osh towards Wady Berah; but leaving the latter, which here takes a direction towards Wady Feiran, we ascended by a narrow valley called Wady Akhdhar [Arabic]. Here I again saw some inscriptions on blocks of stone lying by the road side. A few hours to the N.E. of Wady Osh is a mountain called Sheyger, where native cinnabar is collected; it is called Rasokht [Arabic] by the Arabs, and is usually found in small pieces about the size of a pigeon�s egg. It is very seldom crystallized; but there are sometimes nodules on the surface; it stains the fingers of a dark colour, and its fracture is in perpendicular fibres. I did not hear that the Arabs traded at all in this metal. In Wady Osh are rocks of gneiss mixed with granite. Gneiss is found in many parts of the peninsula. After one hour we came to a steep ascent, and descent, called El Szaleib [Arabic], which occupied two hours. We then continued our descent into the great valley called Wady el Sheikh [Arabic], one of the principal valleys of the peninsula. The rocks of Szaleib consist throughout of granite, on the upper strata of which run layers of red feldspath, some of which has fallen down and covers the valley in broken fragments. The Wady el Sheikh is broad, and has a very slight acclivity; it is much frequented by Bedouins for its pasturage. Whenever rain falls in the mountains, a stream of water flows through this Wady, and from thence through Wady Feiran, into the sea. We rode in a S.E. direction along the Wady el Sheikh for two hours, and then halted in it for the [p.488] night, after an afternoon�s march of four hours. Several Arabs of the encampment where we slept the preceding night had joined our party, to go to the convent, for no other reason, I believe, than to get a good dinner and supper on the road. This evening eight persons kneeled down round a dish of rice, cooked with milk which I had brought from Wady Osh, and the coffee-pot being kept on the fire, we sat in conversation till near midnight. May 1st.�We continued in a S.E. direction, ascending slightly: the valley then becomes narrower. At two hours we came to a thick wood of tamarisk or Tarfa, and found many camels feeding upon their thorny shoots. It is from this evergreen tamarisk, which grows abundantly in no other part of the peninsula, that the manna is collected. We now approached the central summits of Mount Sinai, which we had had in view for several days. Abrupt cliffs of granite from six to eight hundred feet in height, whose surface is blackened by the sun, surround the avenues leading to the elevated platform, to which the name of Sinai is specifically applied. These cliffs enclose the holy mountain on three sides, leaving the E. and N.E. sides only, towards the gulf of Akaba, more open to the view. On both sides of the wood of Tarfa trees extends a range of low hills of a substance called by the Arabs Tafal [Arabic], which I believe to be principally a detritus of the feldspar of granite, but which, at first sight, has all the appearance of pipe-clay; it is brittle, crumbles easily between the fingers, and leaves upon them its colour, which is a pale yellow. The Arabs sell it at Cairo, where it is in request for taking stains out of cloth, and where it serves the poor instead of soap, for washing their hands; but it is chiefly used to rub the skins of asses during summer, being supposed to refresh them, and to defend them against the heat of the sun. At the end of three hours we entered the above-mentioned cliffs SHEIKH SZALEH [p.489] by a narrow defile about forty feet in breadth, with perpendicular granite rocks on both sides. The ground is covered with sand and pebbles, brought down by the torrent which rushes from the upper region in the winter time. In a broader part of the pass an insulated rock, about five feet high, with a kind of naturally formed seat, is shewn as a place upon which Moses once reposed, whence it has the name of Mokad Seidna Mousa [Arabic]; the Bedouins keep it covered with green or dry herbs, and some of them kiss it, or touch it with their hands, in passing by. Beyond it the valley opens, the mountains on both sides diverge from the road, and the Wady el Sheikh continues in a S. direction with a slight ascent. A little to the east, from hence, is the well called Bir Mohsen [Arabic]. After continuing in the Wady for an hour beyond the defile, we entered a narrow inlet in the eastern chain, and rested near a spring called Abou Szoueyr [Arabic]. At four hours and a half was a small walled plantation of tobacco, with some fruit trees, and onions, cultivated by some of the Bedouins Oulad Said. In the afternoon we crossed the mountain by a by-path, fell again into the Wady el Sheikh, and at the end of eight hours from our setting out in the morning reached the tomb of Sheikh Szaleh [Arabic], from which the whole valley takes its name. The coffin of the Sheikh is deposited in a small rude stone building; and is surrounded by a thin partition of wood, hung with green cloth, upon which several prayers are embroidered. On the walls are suspended silk tassels, handkerchiefs, ostrich eggs, camel halters, bridles, &c. the offerings of the Bedouins who visit this tomb. I could not learn exactly the history of this Sheikh Szaleh: some said that he was the forefather of the tribe of Szowaleha; others, the great Moslem prophet Szaleh, sent to the tribe of Thamoud, and who is mentioned in the Koran; and others, again, that he was a local saint, which I believe to be the truth. Among CONVENT OF MOUNT SINAI [p.490] the Bedouins, this tomb is the most revered spot in the peninsula, next to the mountain of Moses; they make frequent vows to kill a sheep in honour of the Sheikh should a wished-for event take place; and if this happens, the votary repairs to the tomb with his family and friends, and there passes a day of conviviality. Once in every year all the tribes of the Towara repair hither in pilgrimage, and remain encamped in the valley round the tomb for three days. Many sheep are then killed, camel races are run, and the whole night is passed in dancing and singing. The men and women are dressed in their best attire. The festival, which is the greatest among these people, usually takes place in the latter part of June, when the Nile begins to rise in Egypt, and the plague subsides; and a caravan leaves Sinai immediately afterwards for Cairo. It is just at this period too that the dates ripen in the valleys of the lower chain of Sinai, and the pilgrimage to Sheikh Szaleh thus becomes the most remarkable period in the Bedouin year. In the western mountain opposite Sheikh Szaleh, and about one hour and a half distant, is a fruitful pasturing place, upon a high mountain, with many fields, and plantations of trees, called El Fereya [Arabic], where once a convent stood. It is in possession of the Oulad Said. We continued from Sheikh Szaleh farther S. till at the end of six hours and a half we turned to our right into a broad valley, at the termination of which I was agreeably surprised by the beautiful verdure of a garden of almond trees belonging to the convent. From thence, by another short turn to the left, we reached the convent, in seven hours and a half. We alighted under a window, by which the priests communicate with the Arabs below. The letter of recommendation which I had with me was drawn up by a cord, and when the prior had read it, a stick tied across a rope was [p.491] let down, upon which I placed myself, and was hoisted up. Like all travellers I received a cordial reception and was shewn into the same neatly furnished room in which all preceding Europeans had taken up their abode. I rested in the convent three days. When I told the monks that I intended to go to Akaba, they gave me very little encouragement, particularly when they learnt that I had no Firmahn from the Pasha; but finding that I was firmly resolved, they sent for the chief Ghafyr, or protector of the convent, and recommended me strongly to him. The monks live in such constant dread of the Bedouins, who knowing very well their timid disposition, take every opportunity to strengthen their fears, that they believe a person is going to certain destruction who trusts himself to the guidance of these Bedouins any where but on the great road to Suez or to Tor. I had been particularly pleased with the character and behaviour of Hamd Ibn Zoheyr, the Bedouin who had joined us at Suez; and not being equally satisfied with the guide who had brought me from Cairo, I discharged him, and engaged Hamd for the journey to Akaba; he did not know the road himself, but one of his uncles who had been there assured us that he was well acquainted with the tribe of Heywat, which we should meet on the road, and with all the passages of the country; I therefore engaged him together with Hamd. As no visitor of the convent is permitted to leave it without the knowledge of one of the Ghafyrs, who has a right to share in the profits of the escort, I was obliged to give a few piastres to him who is at present the director of the affairs of the convent in the desert. The Arabs have established here the same custom which I remarked in my journey from Tor to Cairo. Every one who is present at the departure of a stranger or of a loaded camel from the convent is entitled to a fee, provided the traveller has not passed WADY SAL [p.492] a line, which is about one mile from the convent. To avoid this unnecessary company and expense, I stole out of the convent by night, as secretly as possible; but we were overtaken within the limits by a Bedouin, and my guides were obliged to give him six piastres, to make him desist from farther claims. I left my servant and unnecessary baggage at the convent, and mounted a camel, for the hire of which I gave five dollars, and I paid as much to each of my guides, who were also mounted, and were to conduct me to Akaba and back again. May 4th.�I left the convent before day light, but travelled no farther to day than to the well of Abou Szoueyr, where we had rested on the first of May, and where a large company of Arabs assembled when they heard of our arrival. They quarrelled long with my guides for having taken me clandestinely from the convent, but were at last pacified by a lamb which I bought, and partook of with them. In the evening we heard from afar the songs of an encampment, to which my guides went, to join in the dance. I remained with the baggage, in conversation with an Arab who had lately come from Khalyl or Hebron, and who much dissuaded me from going to Akaba. He assured me that the uncle of Hamd my guide knew nothing of the Arabs of those parts, nor even the paths through the country; but I slighted his advice, because I believed that it was dictated by envy, and that he wished himself to be one of the party. The result shewed, however, that he was right. May 5th.�At sunrise we left Abou Szoueyr, and ascended a hilly country for half an hour. After a short descent, which on this side terminates the district of Sinai, properly so called, we continued over a wide open plain, with low hills, called Szoueyry [Arabic], direction N.E. b. E. In an hour and a half we entered a narrow valley called Wady Sal [Arabic], formed by the [p.493] lower ridges of the primitive mountains, in the windings of which we descended slightly E. b. N. and E.N.E. On the top I found the rock to be granite; somewhat lower down grünstein, and porphyry began to appear; farther on granite and porphyry cease entirely, and the rock consists solely of grünstein, which in many places takes the nature of slate. Some of the layers of porphyry are very striking; they run perpendicularly from the very summit of the mountain to the base, in a band of about twelve feet in width, and projecting somewhat from the other rocks on the mountain�s side. I had observed similar strata in Wady Genne, but running horizontally along the whole chain of mountains, and dividing it, as it were, into two equal parts. The porphyry I have met with in Sinai is usually a red indurated argillaceous substance; in some specimens it had the appearance of red feldspath. In the argil are imbedded small crystals of hornblende, or of mica, and thin pieces of quartz at most two lines square. I never saw any large fragments of quartz in it. Its universal colour is red. The lower mountains of Sinai are much more regularly shaped than the upper ones: they are less rugged, have no insulated peaks, and their summits fall off in smooth curves. The Wady Sal is extremely barren: we found no pasture for our camels, as no rain had fallen during the two last years, in the whole of this eastern part of the peninsula. A few acacia trees grew in different places; we rested at noon under one of them while a cup of coffee was prepared, and then pursued the Wady downwards until, at the end of seven hours, we issued from it into a small plain, which we soon crossed, and at seven hours and a half entered another valley, similar to the former, where I again saw some granite, of the gray, small-grained species[.] Our descent was here very rapid, and at the end of nine hours and a half we reached a lower level, in a broad valley running southwards. HAYDAR [p.494] From hence the summit of Mount St. Catherine, behind the convent, bore S.W. by W. Calcareous and sand rocks begin here, and the bottom of the valley is deep sand. We rode in it in the direction N.E. by N. and after a march of eleven hours alighted in a plain, at a spot which afforded some shrubs for our camels to feed upon. The elder of my two guides, by name Szaleh, soon proved himself to be ignorant of the road. He might have passed this way in his youth, and have had a recollection of the general direction of the valleys; but when we arrived in the plain, he proceeded in various directions, in search of a road from the east. We had now, about six or eight miles to our left, a long and straight chain of mountains, the continuation, I believe, of that of Tyh or Dhelel, mentioned above, and running almost parallel with our route. The northern side of these mountains is inhabited by the tribe of Tyaha. Here passes the road which leads straight from the convent to Akaba, while the one we took descended to the sea, and had been chosen by my guides for greater security. The upper road passes by the watering places Zelka, El Ain (the Well), a place much frequented by Bedouins, and where many date-trees grow, and lastly by El Hossey. It is the common route from the convent to Khalyl and Jerusalem. May 6th.�We started early, and continued our way over the plain, which is called Haydar [Arabic]. It appears to follow the mountain of Tyh as far as its western extremity, and there to join the Seyh, of which I have already spoken, thus forming the northern sandy boundary of the lower Sinai chain. As we proceeded, we approached nearer to the mountain, and at length fell in with the looked for road. The ground is gravelly but covered with moving sands which are raised by the slightest wind. To the east the country was open, with low hills, as far as I could see. Our road lay N.E.1/2 N. At one hour and a half Mount St. Catharine bore WADY RAHAB [p.495] S.W. by W. We now descended into a valley of deep sand covered with blocks of chalk rock. At one hour and three quarters the valley is contracted into a narrow pass, between low hills of sand-stone, bearing traces of very violent torrents. At the end of two hours, route east by north, we quitted the valley, and crossed a rough rocky plain, intersected on every side by beds of torrents; and at two hours and three quarters halted near a rock. One of the guides went with the camels up a side valley, to bring water from the well Hadhra [Arabic], (perhaps the Hazeroth [Hebrew] mentioned in Numbers xxxiii. 17), distant about two miles from the halting place. Near the well are said to be some date trees, and the remains of walls which formerly enclosed a few plantations. We here met some Towara Bedouins on their way to Cairo with charcoal. After employing a considerable time in collecting the wood and burning it into coal they carry it to Cairo, a journey at least of ten days, and there sell it for three or four dollars per load: so cheap do they hold their labour, and so limited are their means of subsistence. In return, they bring home corn and clothes to their women and children. We started again as soon as the camels returned from the well, but should probably have gone astray had not the Bedouins above mentioned pointed out the road we ought to take; for Szaleh, the uncle of Hamd, although he pretended to be quite at home in this district, gave evident proofs of being but very slightly acquainted with it. We made many windings between sand-stone rocks, which presented their smooth perpendicular sides to the road; some of them are of a red, others of a white colour; the ground was deeply covered with sand. The traces of torrents were observable on the rocks as high as three and four feet above the BOSZEYRA [p.496] present level of the plain. Our main direction was E.N.E. At four hours and three quarters from the time we set out in the morning, we entered Wady Rahab [Arabic], a fine valley with many Syale trees, where the sands terminate. Route E. At five hours and a half we entered another valley, broader than the former, where I again found an alternation of sand-stone and granite. The barrenness of this district was greater than I had yet witnessed in my travels, excepting perhaps some parts of the desert El Tyh; the Nubian valleys might be called pleasure grounds in comparison. Not the smallest green leaf could be discovered; and the thorny mimosa, which retains its verdure in the tropical deserts of Nubia, with very little supply of moisture, was here entirely withered, and so dry that it caught fire from the lighted cinders which fell from our pipes as we passed. We continued to descend by a gentle slope, and at six hours and a half entered Wady Samghy [Arabic], coming from the south, in which we descended N.E. At the end of eight hours and a half we left this valley and turned E. into a side one, called Boszeyra [Arabic]; where we halted for the night, at eight hours and three quarters. We had met in Wady Samghy two old Bedouins of the Mezeine tribe, who belong to the Towara nation: they were fishermen, on their way to the sea to exercise their profession. One of them carried in a small sack a measure of meal which was to serve for their food on shore, the other had a skin of water upon his shoulder; they were both half naked, and both approaching to seventy years of age. One of them was deaf, but so intelligent that it was easy to talk with him by signs; he had established a vocabulary of gestures with his companion, who had been his fishing partner for ten years, and who was one of the shrewdest and hardiest Bedouins I had ever seen; in his younger days he had been a noted robber, [p.497] and in attempting to carry off the baggage of a French officer in the Sherkyeh province in Egypt, he was seized, laid under the stick, and so severely beaten, that his back had from that time become bent; but notwithstanding this misfortune and his age, he had lost none of his spirits, and his robust constitution still enabled him to cross these mountains on foot, and to exert his activity whenever it was required. These two men partook this evening of my supper; they of course asked me where I was going, and shook their heads when I told them I was bound for Akaba. None of my guides knew what business I had there, but they supposed that I had some verbal message to deliver to the Turkish Aga, who was at the head of the garrison. Ayd es Szaheny [Arabic], the old robber, soon found out that my guide Szaleh knew little of the road, and still less of the Arab tribes before us. He plainly told him that he would not be able to ensure either my safety or his own, in passing through their districts, and reproached him for having deluded me with false assurances. There appeared to be so much good faith and sense in all the old man said, and I found him so well informed respecting the country, that I soon determined to engage him to join us; but as we were to descend the next morning by the same road to the sea-shore, I deferred making him any overtures till we should arrive there. The Wady Boszeyra is enclosed by gray granite rocks, out of which the Towara Arabs sometimes hew stones for hand mills, which they dispose of to the northern Arabs, and transport for sale as far as Khalyl. It is very seldom that any Arabs pasture in the district we had traversed, from Wady Sal. The Towara find better pasturage in the southern and south-western parts of the peninsula, and as its whole population is very small, the more barren parts of it are abandoned, and especially this side, where very few wells are found. WASTA [p.498] May 7th.�From Boszeyra we crossed a short ridge of mountains, and then entered a narrow valley, the bed of a torrent, called Saada [Arabic], in the windings of which we descended by a steeper slope than any of the former; our main direction E. The mountains on both sides were of moderate height and with gentle slopes, till after an hour and a half, when we reached a chain of high and perpendicular grünstein rocks, which hemmed in the valley so closely as to leave in several places a passage of only ten feet across. After proceeding for a mile in this very striking and majestic defile, I caught the first glimpse of the gulf of Akaba; the valley then widens and descends to the sea, and after two hours and a quarter we alighted upon the sandy beach, which is here several hundred paces in breadth; the grünstein and granite rocks reach all the way down; but at the very foot of the mountain a thin layer of chalk appeared just above the surface of the ground. The valley opens directly upon the sea, into which it empties its torrent when heavy rains fall. Some groves of date-trees stand close by the shore, among which is a well of brackish but drinkable water; the place is called El Noweyba [Arabic]. We now followed the coast in a direction N.N.E. and at the end of three hours and a quarter halted at a grove of date-trees, intermixed with a few tamarisks, called Wasta [Arabic], close by the sea. Here is a small spring at a distance of fifty yards from the sea, and not more than eight feet above the level of the water; it was choked with sand, which we removed, and on digging a hole about three feet deep and one foot in diameter, it filled in half an hour with very tolerable water. The shore is covered with weeds brought hither by the tide[.] Here the two Bedouins intended to take up their quarters for fishing, but I easily prevailed upon Ayd to accompany us farther on. He promised to conduct us as far as Taba, a valley in sight of Akaba, but declared that he should not be justified in [p.499] holding out to me promises of safety beyond that point. This was all that I wished, for the present, thinking that when we arrived thither, I should be able to prevail on him to continue farther. Szaleh now gave me reason to suspect that, from the moment of our setting out, he had had treacherous intentions. He secretly endeavoured to persuade Hamd to return, and finding the latter resolved to fulfil his engagements, he declared that he had now shown us enough of the way, that we had only to follow the shore to reach Akaba, and that the weakness of his camel would not allow it to proceed farther. I replied that he was at liberty to take himself off, but that, on my return to the convent, I should pay him only for the three days he had travelled with me. This was not to his liking, and he therefore preferred going on. Before we left this place Ayd told me that as I had treated him with a supper last night, it was his duty to give me a breakfast this morning. While he kneaded a loaf of flour, and baked it in the ashes, his companion caught some fish, which we boiled, and made a soup of the broth mixed with bread. The deaf man was made to understand by signs that he was to wait for the return of Ayd, and we set out together before mid-day. Before us lay a small bay, which we skirted; the sands on the shore every where bore the impression of the passage of serpents, crossing each other in many directions, and some of them appeared to be made by animals whose bodies could not be less than two inches in diameter. Ayd told me that serpents were very common in these parts; that the fishermen were much afraid of them, and extinguished their fires in the evening before they went to sleep, because the light was known to attract them. As serpents are so numerous on this side, they are probably not deficient towards the head of the gulf on its opposite shore, where it appears that the Israelites passed, when they journeyed from mount Hor, by the way of the Red sea, to compass the land of [p.500] Edom,� and when the �Lord sent fiery serpents among the people.�[Numbers c. xxi, v. 4, 6. The following passage of Deuteronomy (viii. 15) in giving a general description of this country, alludes to the serpents: �Who led thee through that great and terrible wilderness wherein were fiery serpents, and scorpions, and drought, where there was no water; who brought thee forth water out of the rock of flint. Who fed thee in the wilderness with manna,� &c. Scorpions are numerous in all the adjacent parts of Palestine and the desert. The Author observes in a note in another place, that the Arabic translation of the Pentateuch has �serpents of burning bites,� instead of �fiery serpents.� Note of the Editor.] On the opposite side of the gulf the mountains appeared to reach down to the sea-side. In the direction S.S.E. and S.E. they are high; to the northward the chain lowers, and from the point E.S.E. towards Akaba the level is still lower. We saw at a distance several Gazelles, which, my guides told me, descend at mid-day to the sea to bathe. At one hour from Wasta we reached near the sea another collection of palm trees, larger than the former, and having a well, which was completely choaked up. These trees receive no other irrigation than the winter rains; each tree has its acknowledged owner among some of the Towara tribes: those which I have just noticed belong to some persons of the tribe of Aleygat. Not the smallest attention is paid to the trees till the period of the date harvest, when the owners encamp under them with their families for about a week while the fruit is gathered. The shrub Gharkad also grows here in large quantities. At one hour and three quarters we came to another small bay, round which lay the road, the main direction of the shore being N.E. by N. The mountains approach very near to the water, leaving only a narrow sloping plain covered with loose stones, washed down from above by the torrents. The road was profusely strewed with shells of different species, all of which were empty. The fishermen collect the shells, take out the animals, and WADY OM HASH [p.501] dry them in the sun, particularly that of the species called Zorombat [Arabic], which I have also seen in plenty on the African coast of the Red sea, north of Souakin, and at Djidda, where they are much esteemed by the mariners, and are sold by the fishermen at Tor and Suez. I here made a rough measurement of the breadth of the gulf: having assumed a base of seven hundred paces along the beach, and then measured with my compass the angles formed at either extremity of it, with a prominent point of the opposite mountain, the result gave a breadth of about twelve miles. The vegetation appeared to be much less impregnated with saline particles than I had found it on other parts of the coast of the Red sea. At two hours and three quarters we had to pass round the bottom of another bay, of red and white sand-stone, where steep rocks advance so close to the water as to leave only a narrow path. At three hours and three quarters we passed an opening into the mountain, called Wady Om Hash [Arabic], from whence a torrent descends, which, after its issue from the mountain, spreads to a considerable distance along the shore, and produces verdure. The shrub Doeyny [Arabic] grows here in abundance; it is almost a foot in height, and continues green the whole year. The Arabs collect and burn it, and sell the ashes at Khalyl, where they are used in the glass manufactories. We passed on our left several similar inlets into the mountain, the beds of torrents, but my guides could not, or would not, tell their names. The Bedouins are generally averse to satisfying the traveller�s curiosity on such subjects; not being able to conceive what interest he has in informing himself of mere names, they ascribe to repeated questions of this nature improper motives. Some cunning is often required to get proper answers, and they frequently give false names, for no other reason than to have the pleasure of deluding the enquirer, and laughing at him among themselves behind his back. RAS OM HAYE [p.502] At four hours and a quarter we passed Wady Mowaleh [Arabic]; and at the end of five hours and three quarters reached the northern point of the last mentioned bay, formed by a projecting part of the mountain, or promontory, called Abou Burko [Arabic], which means �he who wears a face veil,� because on the top of it is a white rock, which is thought to resemble the white Berkoa, or face veil of the Arab women, and renders it a conspicuous object from afar. Noweyba, where we had first reached the shore, bore from hence S.S.W. We rested for the night in a pasturing place near the mountain, on the south side of the promontory. Old Ayd, who carried his net with him, brought us some fish. His dog eat the raw fish, and his master told me that the dog sometimes passed several months without any other food. May 8th.�We set out long before day-break. None of our party was ever more ready to alight, or to take his supper, than Szaleh, and none more averse to start. During the whole way he was continually grumbling, and endeavouring to persuade the others to turn back. We were one hour in doubling the Abou Burko, a chalky rock, whose base is washed by the waves. On the other side we passed, at two hours, in the bottom of a small bay, Wady Zoara [Arabic], where a few date trees grow, and a well of saltish water is found, unfit to drink. The maritime plain was here nearly two miles in breadth. Having made the tour of another bay from Abou Burko, we reached, at three hours and a half, a promontory forming its northern boundary, and called Ras Om Haye [Arabic], a name derived from the great quantity of serpents found there, some of which, Ayd told me, were venemous; we however saw none of any kind. The whole coast of the AElanitic gulf, from Ras Abou Mohammed to Akaba, consists of a succession of bays separated from such other by head lands. The Ras Om Haye forms the western extremity of the mountain of Tyh, OM HAYE [p.503] whose straight and regular ridge runs quite across the peninsula, and is easily distinguished from the surrounding mountains. We halted at the end of five hours in a rocky valley at the foot of Ras Om Haye, where acacia trees and some grass grow. Ayd assured us that in the mountain, at some distance, was a reservoir of rain water, called Om Hadjydjein [Arabic], but he could not answer for its containing water at this time. He described to Hamd its situation, and the way to it, with a view of persuading him to go and fetch some water for us; but his description was so confused, and I thought contradictory in several circumstances, and withal so pompous, that I concluded it to be all a story, and told him he was a babbler. �A babbler!� he exclaimed; �min Allah, no body in my whole life ever called me thus before. A babbler! I shall presently shew you, which of us two deserves that name.� He then seized one of the large water skins, and barefooted as he was, began ascending the mountain, which was covered with loose and sharp stones. We soon lost sight of him, but saw him again, farther on, climbing up an almost perpendicular path. An hour and a half after, he returned by the same path, carrying on his bent back the skin full of water, which could not weigh less than one hundred pounds, and putting it down before us said, �There! take it from the babbler!� I was so overcome with shame, that I knew not how to apologize for my inconsiderate language; but when he saw that I really felt myself in the wrong, he was easily pacified, and said nothing more about it till night, when seeing me take a hearty draught of the water, and hearing me praise its sweetness, compared with the brackish water of the coast, he stopped me, and said, �Young man, for the future never call an old Bedouin a babbler.� On the opposite side of the gulf the mountains recede somewhat from the shore, leaving at their feet a sloping plain. A place on [p.504] the coast, called Hagol [Arabic], bore from hence E. b. S; it is a fruitful valley by the water side, with large date plantations, which were clearly discernible. It is in possession of the tribe of Arabs called Akraba [Arabic]. Behind them, in the mountains, dwells the strong and warlike tribe of Omran [Arabic]. Hagol is one long day�s journey from Akaba; to the south of it about four hours is a similar cluster of date trees, called El Hamyde [Arabic], which bore from us S.E. b. E. The mountains on that coast are steep, with many peaks. No Arabs live on the western coast, owing to the scanty pasturage; it is occasionally visited by fishermen and others, who come to collect the herb from which the soda ashes are obtained, or to cut wood and burn it into charcoal. The fishermen are very poor and visit the coast only during the summer months; they cure their fish with the salt which they collect on the southern part of the coast, and when they have thus prepared a sufficient quantity of fish, they fetch a camel and transport it to Tor or Suez. At Tor a camel�s load of the fish, or about four hundred pounds, may be had for three dollars. The fishermen prepare also a sort of lard by cutting out the fat adhering to the fish and melting it, they then mix it with salt, preserve it in skins, and use it all the year round instead of butter, both for cookery and for anointing their bodies. Its taste is not disagreeable. As the Bedouins prefer the upper road, this road along the coast is seldom visited, except by poor pilgrims who have been cut off from the caravan, or robbed by Bedouins, and who being ignorant of the road across the desert to Cairo, sometimes make the tour of the whole peninsula by the sea side, as they are thus sure not to lose their way, and in winter-time seldom fail in finding pools of water. Ayd told me that he had frequently met with stragglers of this description, worn out with fatigue and hunger. WADY MEZEIRYK [p.505] From hence northwards the shore runs N.E. 1/2 N. Having doubled the point of Om Haye, we found on the other side, after again passing round a small bay, at five hours and three quarters, a bank of sand running into the sea to a considerable distance, and several miles in breadth; it is called Wady Mokabelat [Arabic], and is the termination of a narrow Wady in the mountains to our left, from whence issues a torrent which spreads in time of rain over a wide extent of ground, partly rocky and partly sandy, where it produces good pasturage, and irrigates many acacia trees. The view up this Wady or inlet of the mountain is very curious: at its mouth it is nearly two miles wide, and it narrows gradually upwards with the most perfect regularity, so that the eye can trace it for five or six miles, when it becomes so narrow as to present only the appearance of a perpendicular black line. At six hours and a half we came again to a mountain forming a promontory, called Djebel Sherafe [Arabic]. The mountains from Om Haye northward decline considerably in height. The highest point of the chain appears to be the summit above Noweyba, where we had descended to the shore. Beyond Djebel Sherafe we found the road along the shore obstructed by high cliffs, and were obliged to make a detour by entering a valley to the west, called Wady Mezeiryk [Arabic]. We ascended through many windings, entered several lateral valleys, and descended again to the shore at the end of eight hours and a half, at a point not more than half an hour distant from where we had turned out of the road. We found the valley Mezeiryk full of excellent pasture; many sweet-scented herbs were growing in it, and the acacia trees were all green. Upon enquiry I learnt that to the north of Djebel Tyh copious rains had fallen during the winter, while to the south of it there had been very little for the last two years, and in the eastern parts none. [p.506] In the whole way from the convent I had not met with the smallest trace of antiquity, either inscriptions upon the rocks by the road-side or any other labour of man, until we reached the summit of Wady Mezeiryk, where, close to the road, is a large sand-stone rock, which seems, for a small space, to have received an artificial surface. Upon it I found rude drawings of camels, and of mountain and other goats, resembling those which I had before seen, and those which I saw afterwards in the Wady Mokatteb. No inscriptions were visible, but the annexed figures were drawn between the animals. These were the only drawings or inscriptions that I met with in the mountains to the E. of the convent, although I passed many flat rocks, well suited to them. I am inclined to think that the inscriptions have been written by pilgrims proceeding to Mount Sinai, and that the drawings of animals which are executed in a ruder manner and with a less steady hand, are the work of the shepherds of the peninsula. We find only those animals represented which are natives of these mountains, such as camels, mountain and other goats, and gazelles, but principally the two first,[It may be worthy of mention in this place that among the innumerable paintings and sculptures in the temples, and tombs of Egypt, I never met with a single instance of the representation of a camel. At Thebes, in the highest of the tombs on the side of the Djebel Habou, called Abd el Gorne, which has not, I believe, been noticed by former travellers, or even by the French in their great work, I found all the domestic animals of the Egyptians represented together in one large painting upon a wall, forming the most elaborate and interesting work of the kind, which I saw in Egypt. A shepherd conducts the whole herd into the presence of his master, who inspects them, while a slave is noting them down. Yet even here I looked in vain for the camel.] and I had occasion to remark in the course of my tour, that the present Bedouins of Sinai are in the habit of carving the figures of goats upon rocks and in grottos. Niebuhr observes, that in the hieroglyphic WADY TABA [p.507] inscriptions which he saw in the ancient burying ground not far distant from Naszeb, he found figures of goats upon almost every inscribed tomb-stone; this animal is not very frequent in the hieroglyphic inscriptions of Egypt. From the point where we descended again to the shore, we followed a range of black basaltic cliffs, into which the sea has worked several creeks, appearing like so many small lakes, with very narrow openings towards the sea; they are full of fish and shells. At the end of nine hours and a half we had passed these cliffs, and reached the plain beyond, upon which we continued our route near the shore, and rested for the night at ten hours and a quarter, under a palm-tree, in the vicinity of a deep brackish well, which we were obliged to excavate, in order to procure some water for our camels, they having drank none since we quitted Wasta. From hence the promontory of Om Haye bore S.W. b. S. This plain, which is the extremity of a valley descending from the western mountain, is called Wady Taba [Arabic]. Ayd had promised to conduct me to this spot, but no farther; nor would the new offers which I now made induce hire to advance. We had already passed beyond the limits of the Arabs Towara, which terminate on this side of Wady Mokabelat, and we were now in the territory of the Heywat, who have a very bad reputation. We had met with nobody on the road, but in Wady Mezeiryk, as well as in Wady Taba, we saw footsteps, which shewed that some persons must have passed there a short time before. None of my guides were acquainted with the tribe of Heywat; had we therefore met any strong party of them, they would certainly have stripped us, although not at war with the Towara, for it is a universal practice among Bedouins to plunder all passengers who are unknown to them, and not attended by guides of their own tribe, provided they possess AKABA [p.508] any thing worth seizing. Szaleh had completely deluded both myself and his own nephew Hamd: he had confidently asserted that he knew the Heywat well, and that the first individual of them whom we should meet would easily be prevailed upon to join our party, and to serve as an additional protector. About one hour before us was another promontory, beyond which we knew that the country was well peopled by two other tribes, the Alowein and Omran, who are the masters of the district of Akaba, intrepid robbers, and allies of the Heywat, and who are to this day quite independent of the government of Egypt. Through them we must unavoidably pass to reach Akaba, and Ayd could not give me the smallest hope of being able to cross their valleys without being attacked. Had I been furnished with a Firmahn from Mohammed Ali Pasha, I should have repaired at once to the great Sheikh of the Towara, and obliged him to send for some Heywat or Omran guides, who might have ensured my safety. But having been disappointed in this respect, I had no alternative but to turn back. Hamd, it is true, bravely offered to accompany me wherever I chose to go, though he knew nothing of the road before us, or the Arabs upon it; but I saw little chance of success, and knew, from what I had heard during my journey from Kerek to Cairo, that the Omran not only rob but murder passengers. Ayd had seen on the shore the footsteps of a man, which he knew to be those of a fisherman, a friend of his who had probably passed in the course of this day. Had we met with him he might have served as our guide, but not a soul was any where to be seen. Under these circumstances I reluctantly determined to retrace my steps the next day, but, instead of proceeding by the shore, to turn off into the mountains, and return to the convent by a more western route. [p.509] Akaba was not far distant from the spot from whence we returned. Before sun-set I could distinguish a black line in the plain, where my sharp-sighted guides clearly saw the date-trees surrounding the castle, which bore N.E. 1 E.; it could not be more than five or six hours distant. Before us was a promontory called Ras Koreye [Arabic], and behind this, as I was told, there is another, beyond which begins the plain of Akaba. The castle is situated at an hour and a half or two hours from the western chain, down which the Hadj route leads, and about the same distance from the eastern chain, or lower continuation of Tor Hesma, a mountain which I have mentioned in my journey through the northern parts of Arabia Petraea. The descent of the western mountain is very steep, and has probably given to the place its name of Akaba, which in Arabic means a cliff or a steep declivity; it is probably the Akabet Aila of the Arabian geographers; Makrizi says that the village Besak stands upon its summit. In Numbers, xxxiv. 4, the �ascent of Akrabbim� is mentioned, which appears to correspond very accurately to this ascent of the western mountain from the plain of Akaba. Into this plain, which surrounds the castle on every side except the sea, issues the Wady el Araba, the broad sandy valley which leads towards the Dead sea, and which I crossed in 1812, at a day and a half, or two days journey from Akaba. At about two hours to the south of the castle the eastern range of mountains approaches the sea. The plain of Akaba, which is from three to four hours in length, from west to east, and, I believe, not much less in breadth northward, is very fertile in pasturage. To the distance of about one hour from the sea it is strongly impregnated with salt, but farther north sands prevail. The castle itself stands at a few hundred paces from the sea, and is surrounded with large groves of date-trees. It is a square building, with strong walls, erected, as it now [p.510] stands, by Sultan el Ghoury of Egypt, in the sixteenth century. In its interior are many Arab huts; a market is held there, which is frequented by Hedjaz and Syrian Arabs; and small caravans arrive sometimes from Khalyl. The castle has tolerably good water in deep wells. The Pasha of Egypt, keeps here a garrison of about thirty soldiers, to guard the provisions deposited for the supply of the Hadj, and for the use of the cavalry on their passage by this route to join the army in the Hedjaz. Cut off from Cairo, the soldiers of the garrison often turn rebellious; three years ago an Aga made himself independent, and whenever a corps of troops passed he shut the gates of the castle, and prepared to defend it. He had married a daughter of the chief of the Omran, and thus secured the assistance of that tribe. Being at last attacked by some troops sent against him from Cairo he fled to his wife�s tribe, and escaped into Syria. It appears that the gulf extends very little farther east than the castle, distant from which one hour, in a southern direction, and on the eastern shore of the gulf, lies a smaller and half-ruined castle, inhabited by Bedouins only, called Kaszer el Bedawy. At about three quarters of an hour from Akaba, and the same distance from Kaszer el Bedawy, are ruins in the sea, which are visible only at low water: they are said to consist of walls, houses, and columns, but cannot easily be approached, on account of the shallows. This information was not given to me by my guides, but after my return to Cairo, by some French Mamelouks, in the army of Mohammed Ali Pasha, who had formerly been for several weeks in garrison at Akaba; they, however, had never seen the ruins except from a distance. I enquired particularly whether the gulf did not form two branches at this extremity, as it has always been laid down in the maps, but I was assured that it had only a single ending, at which the castle is situated. [p.511] To the north of Akaba, in the mountain leading up to Tor Hesma, is a Wady known by the name of Wady Ithem [Arabic]. I was told that at a certain spot this valley is shut up by an ancient wall, the construction of which is ascribed by the Arabs to a king named Hadeid, whose intention in erecting it was to prevent the tribe of Beni Helal of Nedjed from making incursions into the plain. By this valley a road leads eastwards towards Nedjed, following, probably, a branch of the mountain which extends towards the Akaba of the Syrian Hadj route, where the pilgrims coming from Damascus descend by a steep and difficult pass into the lower plains of Arabia. I believe this chain of mountains continues in a direct and uninterrupted line from the eastern shore of the Dead sea to the eastern shore of the Red sea, and from thence to Yemen. Makrizi, the Egyptian historian, says, in his chapter on Aila (Akaba); �It is from hence that the Hedjaz begins; in former times it was the frontier place of the Greeks; at one mile from it, is a triumphal arch of the Caesars. In the time of the Islam it was a fine town, inhabited by the Beni Omeya. Ibn Ahmed Ibn Touloun (a Sultan of Egypt), made the road over the Akaba or steep mountain before Aila. There were many mosques at Aila, and many Jews lived there; it was taken by the Franks during the Crusades; but in 566, Salaheddyn transported ships upon camels from Cairo to this place, and recovered it from them. Near Aila was formerly situated a large and handsome town, called Aszyoun [Arabic],� (Eziongeber.) My guides told me, that in the sea opposite to the above mentioned promontory of Ras Koreye, there is a small island; they affirmed that they saw it distinctly, but I could not, for it was already dusk when they pointed it out, and the next morning a thick fog covered the gulf. Upon this island, according to their statement, are ruins of infidels, but as no vessels are kept in these parts, [p.512] Ayd, who had been here several times, had never been able to take any close view of them; they are described as extensive, and built of hard stone, and are called El Deir, �the convent,� a word often applied by Arabs to any ruined building in which they suppose that the priests of the infidels once resided. The Bedouins in the neighbourhood of Akaba, as I have already observed, are the Alouein, Omran, and Heywat. They are all three entitled to a passage duty from the Hadj caravan; the Alouein exact it as owners of the district extending from the western mountain, across the plain to Akaba; the Heywat, as the possessors of the country from the well of Themmed, to the summit of the same mountain; and the Omran as masters of the desert from Akaba southward as far as the vicinity of Moeleh. Caravans of these tribes come occasionally to Cairo in search of corn, but they are independent of the Pasha of Egypt, of which they give proofs, by continually plundering the loads of the Hadj caravans, and of all those who pass the great Hadj route through their districts. Their intercourse with Syria, especially with Khalyl, is much more frequent than with Cairo. We had had through the whole of this day a very intense Simoum, or hot- wind, which continued also during the night. In the evening I bathed in the sea, but found myself immediately afterwards as much heated as I had been before. After retiring to sleep we were awakened by the barking of Ayd�s dog, upon which Ayd springing up said he was sure that some people were in the neighbourhood. We therefore got our guns ready, and sat by the fire the whole night, for whatever may be the heat of the season, the Bedouin must have his fire at night. Szaleh gave evident signs of fear, but happily the morning came without realizing his apprehensions. May 9th.�Ayd still expressed his certainty that somebody had WADY MEZEIRYK [p.513] approached us last night, so much confidence did he place in the barking of his dog; he therefore advised me to hasten my way back, as some Arabs might see our footsteps in the sand, and pursue us in quest of a booty. On departing, Ayd, who was barefooted, and whose feet had become sore with walking, took from under the date-bush round which we had passed the night, a pair of leathern sandals, which he knew belonged to his Heywat friend, the fisherman, and which the latter had hidden here till his return. In order to inform the owner that it was he who had taken the sandals, he impressed his footstep in the sand just by, which he knew the other would immediately recognise, and he turned the toes towards the south, to indicate that he had proceeded with the sandals in that direction. We now returned across the plain to the before mentioned basalt cliffs, passed the different small bays, and turned up into Wady Mezeiryk. We had descended from our camels, which Szaleh was driving before him, about fifty paces in advance; I followed, and about the same distance behind me walked Hamd and Ayd. As we had seen nobody during the whole journey, and were now returning into the friendly districts of the Towara, we had ceased to entertain any fears from enemies, and were laughing at Ayd for recommending us to cross the valleys as quickly as possible. My gun was upon my camel, and I had just turned leisurely round an angle of the valley, when I heard Ayd cry out with all his might, �Get your arms! Here they are!� I immediately ran up to the camels, to take my gun, but the cowardly Szaleh, instead of stopping to assist his companions, made the camels gallop off at full speed up the valley. I, however, overtook them, and seized my gun, but before I could return to Hamd, I heard two shots fired, and Ayd�s war-hoop, �Have at him! are we not Towara?� Immediately afterwards I saw Hamd spring DJEBEL SHERAFE [p.514] round the angle, his eyes flashing with rage, his shirt sprinkled with blood, his gun in one hand, and in the other his knife covered with blood; his foot was bleeding, he had lost his turban, and his long black hair hung down over his shoulders. �I have done for him!� he exclaimed, as he wiped his knife; �but let us fly.� �Not without Ayd,� said I: �No indeed,� he replied; �without him we should all be lost.� We returned round the corner, and saw Ayd exerting his utmost agility to come up with us. At forty paces distance an Arab lay on the ground, and three others were standing over him. We took hold of Ayd�s arm and hastened to our camels, though we knew not where to find them. Szaleh had frightened them so greatly by striking them with his gun, that they went off at full-gallop, and it was half an hour before we reached them; one of them had burst its girths, and thrown off its saddle and load. We replaced the load, mounted Ayd, and hastened to pass the rocks of Djebel Sherafe. We then found ourselves in a more open country, less liable to be waylaid amongst rocks, and better able to defend ourselves. Hamd now told me that Ayd had first seen four Bedouins running down upon us; they had evidently intended to waylay us from behind the corner, but came a little too late. When he heard Ayd cry out, he had just time to strike fire and to light the match of his gun, when the boldest of the assailants approached within twenty paces of him and fired; the ball passed through his shirt; he returned the fire but missed his aim; while his opponent was coolly reloading his piece, before his companions had joined him, Ayd cried out to Hamd, to attack the robber with his knife, and advanced to his support with a short spear which he carried; Haind drew his knife, rushed upon the adversary, and after receiving a wound in the foot, brought him to the ground, but left him immediately, on seeing his companions hastening to his relief. Ayd now said that if the [p.515] man was killed, we should certainly be pursued, but that if he was only wounded the others would remain with him, and give up the pursuit. We travelled with all possible haste, not knowing whether more enemies might not be behind, or whether the encampment of the wounded man might not be in the vicinity, from whence his friends might collect to revenge his blood. Ayd had certainly not been mistaken last night; these robbers had no doubt seen our fire, and had approached us, but were frightened by the barking of the dog. Uncertain whether we were proceeding northward or southward, they had waited till they saw us set out, and then by a circuitous route in the mountains had endeavoured, unseen, to get the start of us in order to waylay us in the passes of the Wady Mezeiryk. If they had reached the spot where we were attacked two or three minutes sooner, and had been able to take aim at us from behind the rock, we must all have inevitably perished. That they intended to murder us, contrary to the usual practice of Bedouins, is easily accounted for they knew from the situation of the place, where they discovered us, as well as from the dress and appearance of my guides, that they were Towara Bedouins; but though I was poorly dressed, they must have recognized me to be a townsman, and a townsman is always supposed by Bedouins to carry money with him. To rob us without resistance was impossible, their number being too small; or supposing this had succeeded, and any of the guides had escaped, they knew that they would sooner or later be obliged to restore the property taken, and to pay the fine of blood and wounds, because the Towara were then at peace with all their neighbours. For these reasons they had no doubt resolved to kill the whole party, as the only effectual mode of avoiding all disclosures as to the real perpetrators of the murder. I do not believe that such atrocities often occur in the eastern desert, NOWEYBA [p.516] among the great Aeneze tribe; at least I never heard of any; but these Heywat Arabs are notorious for their bad faith, and never hesitate to kill those who do not travel under the protection of their own people, or their well known friends. Scarcely any other Bedouin robbers would have fired till they had summoned us to give up our baggage, and had received a shot for answer. I had at first intended to visit, on my return, the upper mountains, to which there is a road leading through the Wady Mokabelat; but Ayd dissuaded me. He said that if the party from which we had just escaped meant to pursue us, they would probably lay in wait for us in some of the passes in that direction; as he did not doubt that it would be their belief, that we were bound for Tor or Suez, the nearest road to which places lies through the Wady Mokabelat. I yielded to his opinion, and we returned along the coast by the same road we had come. Hamd�s wound was not dangerous; I dressed it as well as I could, and four days afterwards it was nearly healed. We travelled a part of the night, and May 10th,�early the next morning we again reached Noweyba, the place where we had first reached the coast. We here met Ayd�s deaf friend. Szaleh had all the way, betrayed the most timorous disposition; in excuse for running away when we were attacked, he said that he intended to halt farther on in the Wady, in order to cover our retreat, and that he had been obliged to run after the camels, which were frightened by the firing; but the truth was, that his terrors deprived him of all power of reflection, otherwise he must have known that the only course, to be pursued in the desert, when suddenly attacked, is to fight for life, as escape is almost impossible. Having been foiled in my hopes of visiting Akaba, I now wished to follow the shore of the gulf to the southward; but Szaleh would not hear of any farther progress in that direction, and insisted upon WADY DJEREIMELE [p.517] my going back to the convent. I told him that his company had been of too little use to me, to make me desirous of keeping him any longer; he therefore returned, no doubt in great haste, by the same route we had come, accompanied by the deaf man; I engaged Ayd to conduct us along the coast, Hamd being very ignorant of this part of the peninsula, where his tribe, the Oulad Sayd, never encamp. The date trees of Noweyba belong to the tribe of Mezeine; here were several huts built of stones and branches of the trees, in which the owners live with their families during the date-harvest. The narrow plain which rises here from the sea to the mountain, is covered with sand and loose stones. Ayd told me that in summer, when the wind is strong, a hollow sound is sometimes heard here, as if coming from the upper country; the Arabs say that the spirit of Moses then descends from Mount Sinai, and in flying across the sea bids a farewell to his beloved mountains. We rode from Noweyba round a bay, the southern point of which bore from thence S. by W. In two hours and three quarters from Noweyba we doubled the point, and rested for the night in a valley just behind it, called Wady Djereimele [Arabic], thickly overgrown with the shrub Gharkad, the berries of which are gathered in great abundance. Red coral is very common on this part of the coast. In the evening I saw a great number of shellfish leave the water, and crawl to one hundred or two hundred paces inland, where they passed the night, and at sun-rise returned to the sea. During the last two days of our return from the northward I had found no opportunity to take notes. I had never permitted my companions to see me write, because I knew that if their suspicions were once raised, it would at least render them much less open in their communications to me. It has indeed been a constant [p.518] maxim with me never to write before Arabs on the road; at least I have departed from it in a very few instances only, in Syria; and on the Nile, in my first journey into Nubia; but never in the interior of Nubia, or in the Hedjaz. Had I visited the convent of Mount Sinai in the character of a Frank, with the Pasha�s Firmahn, and had returned, as travellers usually do, from thence to Cairo, I should not have hesitated to take notes openly, because the Towara Arabs dread the Pasha, and dare not insult or molest any one under his protection. But wishing to penetrate into a part of the country occupied by other tribes, it became of importance to conceal my pursuits, lest I should be thought a necromancer, or in search of treasures. In such cases many little stratagems must be resorted to by the traveller, not to lose entirely the advantage of making memoranda on the spot. I had accustomed myself to write when mounted on my camel, and proceeding at an easy walk; throwing the wide Arab mantle over my head, as if to protect myself from the sun, as the Arabs do, I could write under it unobserved, even if another person rode close by me; my journal books being about four inches long and three broad, were easily carried in a waistcoat pocket, and when taken out could be concealed in the palm of the hand; sometimes I descended from my camel, and walking a little in front of my companions, wrote down a few words without stopping. When halting I lay down as if to sleep, threw my mantle over me, and could thus write unseen under it. At other times I feigned to go aside to answer a call of nature, and then couched down, in the Arab manner, hidden under my cloak. This evening I had recourse to the last method; but having many observations to note, I remained so long absent from my companions that Ayd�s curiosity was roused. He came to look after me, and perceiving me immoveable on the spot, approached on tip-toe, and came close behind [p.519] me without my perceiving him. I do not know how long he had remained there, but suddenly lifting up my cloak, he detected me with the book in my hand. �What is this?� he exclaimed. �What are you doing? I shall not make you answerable for it at present, because I am your companion; but I shall talk further to you about it when we are at the convent.� I made no answer, till we returned to the halting-place, when I requested him to tell me what further he had to say. �You write down our country,� he replied, in a passionate tone, �our mountains, our pasturing places, and the rain which falls from heaven; other people have done this before you, but I at least will never become instrumental to the ruin of my country.� I assured him that I had no bad intentions towards the Bedouins, and told him he must be convinced that I liked them too well for that; �on the contrary,� I added, �had I not occasionally written down some prayers ever since we left Taba, we should most certainly have been all killed; and it is very wrong in you to accuse me of that, which if I had omitted, would have cost us our lives.� He was startled at this reply, and seemed nearly satisfied. �Perhaps you say the truth,� he observed; �but we all know that some years since several men, God knows who they were, came to this country, visited the mountains, wrote down every thing, stones, plants, animals, even serpents and spiders, and since then little rain has fallen, and the game has greatly decreased.� The same opinions prevail in these mountains, which I have already mentioned to be current among the Bedouins of Nubia; they believe that a sorcerer, by writing down certain charms, can stop the rains and transfer them to his own country. The travellers to whom Ayd alluded were M. Seetzen, who visited Mount Sinai eight years since, and M. Agnelli, who ten years ago travelled for the Emperor of Austria, collecting specimens [p.520] of natural history, and who made some stay at Tor, from whence he sent Arabs to hunt for all kinds of animals. M. Seetzen traversed the peninsula in several directions, and followed a part of the eastern gulf as far northward, I believe, as Noweyba. This learned and indefatigable traveller made it a rule not to be intimidated by the suspicions and prejudices of the Bedouins; beyond the Jordan, on the shores of the Dead sea, in the desert of Tyh, in this peninsula, as well as in Arabia, he openly followed his pursuits, never attempting to hide his papers and pencils from the natives, but avowing his object to be that of collecting precious herbs and curious stones, in the character of a Christian physician in the Holy Land, and in that of a Moslim physician in the Hedjaz. If the knowledge of the natural history of Syria and Arabia was the principal object of M. Seetzen�s researches, he was perfectly right in the course which he adopted, but if he considered these countries only as intermediate steps towards the exploring of others, he placed his ultimate success in the utmost peril; and though he may have succeeded in elucidating the history of the brute creation, he had little chance of obtaining much information on the human character, which can only be done by gaining the confidence of the inhabitants, and by accommodating our notions, views, and manners, to their own. When M. Seetzen visited these mountains, the Towaras were not yet reduced to subjection by Mohammed Ali; he was obliged, on several occasions, to pay large sums for his passage through their country, and the Mezeine would probably have executed a plot which they had laid to kill him, had not his guides been informed of it, and prevented him from passing through their territory. I had much difficulty in soothing Ayd; he remained quiet during the rest of the journey, but after our return to the convent, the RAS METHNA [p.521] report spread among the Arabs that I was a writer like those who had preceded me, and I thus completely lost their confidence. May 11th.�We continued along the coast S.S.W. and at four hours passed a promontory, called Djebel Abou Ma [Arabic], consisting of granite. From hence we proceeded S.W. by S. and at seven hours came to a sandy plain, on the edge of a large sheltered bay. We found here some Bedouin girls, in charge of a few goats; they told us that their parents lived not far off in the valley Omyle [Arabic]. We went there, and found two small tents, where three or four women and as many little children were occupied in spinning, and in collecting herbs to feed the lambs and kids, which were frisking about them. Ayd knew the women, who belonged to his own tribe of Mezeine. Their husbands were fishermen, and were then at the sea-shore. They brought us some milk, and I bought a kid of them, which we intended to dress in the evening. The women were not at all bashful; I freely talked and laughed with them, but they remained at several yards distance from me. Ayd shook them by the hand, and kissed the children; but Hamd, who did not know them, kept at the same distance as myself. Higher up in the Wady is a well of good water, called Tereibe [Arabic]. From hence we went S.W. by S. and at eight hours came to Ras Methna [Arabic], a promontory whose cliffs continue for upwards of a mile close by the water side. Granite and red porphyry here cross each other in irregular layers, in some places horizontally, in others perpendicularly. The granite of this peninsula presents the same numberless varieties as that above the cataract of the Nile, and near Assouan; and the same beautiful specimens of red, rose-coloured, and almost purple may be collected here, as in that part of Egypt. The transition from primitive to secondary rocks, partaking of the nature of grünstein or grauwacke, WADY METHNA [p.522] or hornstein and trap, presents also an endless variety in every part of the peninsula, so that were I even possessed of the requisite knowledge accurately to describe them, it would tire the patience of the reader. Masses of black trap, much resembling basalt, compose several insulated peaks and rocks. On the shore the granite sand carried down from the upper mountains has been formed into cement by the action of the water, and mixed with fragments of the other rocks already mentioned, has become a very beautiful breccia. At the end of eight hours and three quarters we rested for the night, to the south of this promontory, in a valley still called Wady Methna. From some fishermen whom we met I bought some excellent fish, of a species resembling the turbot, and very common on this coast. These with our kid furnished an abundant repast to ourselves as well as to the fishermen. The love of good and plentiful fare was one of Ayd�s foibles; and he often related with pride that in his younger days he had once eaten at a meal, with three other Bedouins, the whole of a mountain goat; although his companions, as he observed, were moderate eaters. Bedouins, in general, have voracious appetites, and whoever travels with them cannot adopt any better mode of attaching them to his interests than by feeding them abundantly, and inviting all strangers met with on the road to partake in the repast. Pounds given as presents in money have less effect than shillings spent in victuals; and the reputation of hospitality which the traveller thus gains facilitates his progress on every occasion. My practice was to leave the provision sack open, and at the disposal of my guides, not to eat but when they did, not to take the choice morsels to myself, to share in the cooking, and not to give any orders, but to ask for whatever I wanted, as a favour. By pursuing this method I continued during the remainder of the journey to be on the best terms with my companions, DAHAB [p.523] and had not the slightest altercation either with Hamd or Ayd. On the eastern shore of the gulf, opposite the place where we rested, lies a valley called Mekna [Arabic], inhabited by the tribe of Omran. Close to the shore are plantations of date and other fruittrees. The inhabitants of Mekna cross the gulf in small boats, and bring to this side sheep and goats for sale, of which they possess large flocks, and which are thus more plentiful in this part of the peninsula than in any other. The mountains behind Mekna recede from the sea, and further to the south take a more eastern direction, so as to leave a chain of hills between them and the shore, rising immediately from the water-side. The appearance of this gulf, with the mountains enclosing it on both sides, reminded me of the lake of Tiberias and of the Dead sea; and the general resemblance was still further heightened by the hot season in which I had visited all these places. May 12th.�Our road lay S.S.W. along a narrow sandy plain by the sea side. In one hour and a half we reached Dahab [Arabic], a more extensive cluster of date trees than I had before seen on this coast; it extends into the sea upon a tongue of land, about two miles beyond the line of the shore; to the north of it is a bay, which affords anchorage, but it is without protection against northerly winds. Dahab is, probably, the Dizahab mentioned in Deut. i. 1. There are some low hummocks covered with sand close to the shore of the low promontory, probably occasioned by the ruins of buildings. The plantations of date trees ar[e] here enclosed by low walls, within many of which are wells of indifferent water; but in one of them, about twenty-five feet deep, and fifty yards from the sea, we found the best water I had met with on any part of this coast in the immediate vicinity of the sea. About two miles to the south of the date groves [p.524] are a number of shallow ponds into which the sea flows at hightide; here the salt is made which supplies all the peninsula, as well as the fishermen for curing their fish; the openings of the ponds being closed with sand, the water is left to evaporate, when a thick crust of salt is left, which is collected by the Bedouins. Dahab is a favourite resort of the fishermen, who here catch the fish called Boury [Arabic] in great quantities. The date trees of Dahab, which belong to the tribe of Mezeine and Aleygat, presented a very different appearance to those of Egypt and the Hedjaz, where the cultivators always take off the lower branches which dry up annually; here they are suffered to remain, and hang down to the ground, forming an almost impenetrable barrier round the tree, the top of which only is crowned with green leaves. Very few trees had any fruit upon them; indeed date trees, in general, yield a very uncertain produce, and even in years, when every other kind of fruit is abundant, they are sometimes quite barren. We met here several families of Arabs, who had come to look after their trees, and to collect salt. In the midst of the small peninsula of Dahab are about a dozen heaps of stones irregularly piled together, but shewing traces of having once been united; none of them is higher than five feet. The Arabs call them Kobour el Noszara, or the tombs of the Christians, a name given by them to all the nations which peopled their country before the introduction of the Islam. We remained several hours under the refreshing shade of the palm trees, and there continued our road. In crossing the tongue of land I observed the remains of what I conceived to be a road or causeway, which began at the mountain and ran out towards the point of the peninsula; the stones which had formed it were now separated from each other, but lay in a straight line, so as to afford sufficient proof of their having been placed here by the WADY GHAYB [p.525] labour of man. To the south of Dahab the camel road along the shore is shut up by cliffs which form a promontory called El Shedjeir [Arabic]; we were therefore obliged to take a circuitous route through the mountains, and directed our road by that way straight towards Sherm, the most southern harbour on this coast. We ascended a broad sandy valley in the direction S.W.; this is the same Wady Sal in which we had already travelled in our way from the convent, and which empties itself into the sea. In the rocky sides of this valley I observed several small grottos, apparently receptacles for the dead, which were just large enough to receive one corpse; I at first supposed them to have been natural erosions of the sand-stone rock; but as there were at least a dozen of them, and as I had not seen any thing similar in other sand- rocks, I concluded that they had been originally formed by man, and that time had worn them away to the appearance of natural cavities. We left the valley and continued to ascend slightly through windings of the Wady Beney [Arabic] and Wady Ghayb [Arabic], two broad barren sandy valleys, till, at the end of four hours, we reached the well of Moayen el Kelab [Arabic], at the extremity of Wady Ghayb, where it is shut up by a cliff. Here is a small pond of water under the shade of an impending rock, and a large wild fig-tree. On the top of a neighbouring part of the granite cliff, is a similar pond with reeds growing in it. The water, which is never known to dry up, is excellent, and acquires still greater value from being in the vicinity of a spacious cavern, which affords shade to the traveller. This well is much visited by the Mezeine tribe; on several trees in the valley leading to it, we found suspended different articles of Bedouin tent furniture, and also entire tent coverings. My guides told me that the owners left them here during their absence, in order not to have the MOFASSEL EL KORFA [p.526] trouble of carrying them about; and such is the confidence which these people have in one another, that no instance is known of any of the articles so left having ever been stolen: the same practice prevails in other parts of the peninsula. The cavern is formed by nature in a beautiful granite rock; its interior is covered on all sides with figures of mountain goats drawn with charcoal in the rudest manner; they are done by the shepherd boys and girls of the Towaras. The heat being intense we reposed in the cavern till the evening, when, after retracing our road for a short distance, we turned into the Wady Kenney [Arabic], which we ascended; at its extremity we began to descend in a Wady called Molahdje [Arabic], a narrow, steep, and rocky valley of difficult passage. Ayd�s dog started a mountain goat, but was unable to come up with it. We slept in this Wady, at one hour and a half from Moayen el Kelab. May 13th.�Farther down the Wady widens and is enclosed by high granite cliffs. Its direction is S. by W. Four hours continued descent brought us into Wady Orta [Arabic]. The rocks here are granite, red porphyry, and grünstein, similar to what I had observed towards Akaba, at nearly the same elevation above the sea. At the end of six hours we left Wady Orta, which descends towards the sea, and turning to the right, entered a large plain called Mofassel el Korfa [Arabic], in which we rode S.S.W. From the footsteps in the sand Ayd knew the individuals of the Mezeine, who had passed this way in the morning. The view here opened upon a high chain of mountains which extends from Sherm in the direction of the convent, and which I had passed on my return from Arabia, in going from Sherm to Tor. It is called Djebel Tarfa [Arabic], and is inhabited principally by the Mezeine. At eight hours the plain widens; many beds of torrents coming from the Tarfa cross it in their way to the sea. This SHERM [p.527] part is called El Ak-ha [Arabic], and excepting in the beds of the torrents, where some verdure is produced, it is an entirely barren tract. At nine hours we approached the Tarfa, between which and our road were low hills called Hodeybat el Noszara [Arabic], i. e. the hump backs of the Christians. The waters which collect here in the winter flow into the sea at Wady Nabk. At ten hours the plain opens still wider, and declines gently eastwards to the sea. To the left, where the mountains terminate, a sandy plain extends to the water side. At eleven hours is an insulated chain of low hills, forming here, with the lowest range of the Tarfa, a valley, in which our road lay, and in which we halted, after a fatigueing day�s journey of twelve hours. As there were only two camels for three of us, we rode by turns; and Ayd regretted his younger days, when, as he assured us, he had once walked from the convent to Cairo in four days. The hills near which we halted are called Roweysat Nimr [Arabic], or the little heads of the tiger. May 14th.�We descended among low hills, and after two hours reached the harbour of Sherm [Arabic]. This is the only harbour on the western coast of the gulf of Akaba, which affords safe anchorage for large ships, though, by lying close in shore, small vessels might, I believe, find shelter in several of the bays of this gulf. At Sherm there are two deep bays little distant from each other, but separated by high land, in both of which, ships may lie in perfect safety. On the shore of the southern bay stands the tomb of a Sheikh, held in veneration by the Bedouins and mariners: a small house has been built over it, the walls of which are thickly hung with various offerings by the Bedouins; and a few lamps suspended from the roof are sometimes lighted by sailors. Sherif Edrisi, in his geography, mentions these two bays of Sherm, and calls the one Sherm el Beit [Arabic], or of the house, and the other Sherm el Bir [Arabic], or of the well, thus accurately describing both; [p.528] for near the shore of the northern bay are several copious wells of brackish water, deep, and lined with stones, and apparently an ancient work of considerable labour. The distance from Sherm to the Cape of Ras Abou Mohammed is four or five hours; on the way a mountain is passed, which comes down close to the sea, called Es-szafra [Arabic], the point of which bears from Sherm S.W. by S. Bedouins are always found at Sherm, waiting with their camels for ships coming from the Hedjaz, whose passengers often come on shore here, in order to proceed by land to Tor and Suez. The Arab tribes of Mezeine and Aleygat have the exclusive right of this transport. Shortly after we had alighted at the well, more than twenty Mezeine came down from the mountain with their camels; they claimed the right of conducting me from hence, and of supplying me with a third camel; and as both my camels belonged to Arabs of the tribe of Oulad Sayd, they insisted upon Hamd taking my baggage from his camel, and placing it upon one of theirs, that they might have the profits of hire. After breakfasting with them, a loud quarrel began, which lasted at least two hours. I told them that the moment any one laid his hands upon my baggage to remove it, I should consider it as carried off by force, and no longer my property, and that I should state to the governor of Suez that I had been robbed here. Although they could not all expect to share in the profits arising from my transport, every one of them was as vociferous as if it had been his exclusive affair, and it soon became evident that a trifle in money for each of them was all that was wanted to quiet them. They did not, however, succeed; I talked very boldly; told them that they were robbers, and that they should be punished for their conduct towards me. At last their principal man, seeing that nothing was to be got, told us that we might load and depart. He accompanied us to a short [p.529] distance, and received a handful of coffee-beans, as a reward for his having been less clamorous than the others. These people believed that my visit to Sherm was for the mere purpose of visiting the tomb of the saint. I had assigned this motive to Ayd, who was himself a Mezeine, telling him that I had made a vow to thank the saint for his protection in our encounter with the robbers; Ayd would otherwise have been much astonished at my proceeding to this distance without any plausible object. The nearest road from Sherm to the convent is at first the same way by which we came, and it branches off northward from Wady Orta; but as I was desirous of seeing as much as possible of the coast, I suggested to my guides, that if we proceeded by that route the Mezeine of Sherm might possibly ride after us, and excite another quarrel in the mountain, where we should find it more difficult to extricate ourselves. They consented therefore to take the circuitous route along the shore. Such stratagems are often necessary, in travelling with Bedouins, to make them yield to the traveller�s wishes; for though they care little for fatigue in their own business, they are extremely averse to go out of their way, to gratify what they consider an absurd whim of their companion. From Sherm we rode an hour and a quarter among low hills near the shore. Here I saw for the first and only time, in this peninsula, volcanic rocks. For a distance of about two miles the hills presented perpendicular cliffs, formed in half circles, and some of them nearly in circles, none of them being more than sixty to eighty feet in height; in other places there was an appearance of volcanic craters. The rock is black, with sometimes a slight red appearance, full of cavities, and of a rough surface; on the road lay a few stones which had separated themselves from above. The cliffs were covered by deep layers of sand, and the valleys at their feet WADY SZYGHA [p.530] were also overspread with it; it is possible that other rocks of the same kind may be found towards Ras Abou Mohammed, and hence may have arisen the term of black [Arabic], applied to these mountains by the Greeks. It should be observed, however, that low sand hills intervene between the volcanic rocks and the sea, and that above them, towards the higher mountains, no traces of lava are found, which seems to shew that the volcanic matter is confined to this spot. We issued from the low hills upon a wide plain, which extends as far as Nabk, and is intersected in several places by beds of torrents. Our direction was N.E. by N. The plain terminates three or four miles to the east, in rocks which line the shore. At the end of three hours and a half we halted under a rock, in the bed of one of the torrents. The whole plain appears to be alluvial; many petrified shells are found imbedded in the chalky and calcareous soil. In the afternoon we again passed several low water-courses in the plain, and, at the end of five hours Wady Szygha [Arabic]. At six hours and a half from Sherm we rested in the plain, in a spot where some bushes grew, amongst which we found a Bedouin woman and her daughter, living under a covering made of reeds and brush-wood. Her husband and son were absent fishing, but Ayd being well known to them, they gave us a hearty welcome, and milked a goat for me. After sunset they joined our party, and sitting down behind the bush where I had taken up my quarters, eat a dish of rice which I presented to them. The daughter was a very handsome girl of eighteen or nineteen, as graceful in her deportment and modest in her behaviour, as the best educated European female could be; indeed I have often had occasion to remark among the Bedouins, comparing them with the women of of the most polished parts of Europe, that grace and modesty are not less than beauty the gifts of nature. Among these Arabs the WADY NAKB [p.531] men consider it beneath them to take the flocks to pasture, and leave it to the women. In front of our halting place lay an island called Djezyret Tyran [Arabic]: its length from N. to S. is from six to eight miles, and it lies about four miles from the shore. Half its length is a narrow promontory of sand, and its main body to the south consists of a barren mountain. It is not inhabited, but the Bedouins of Heteym sometimes come here from the eastern coast, to fish for pearls, and remain several weeks, bringing their provision of water from the spring of El Khereyde [Arabic], on that coast, there being no sweet water in the island. Edrisi mentions a place on the western coast, where pearls are procured, a circumstance implied by the name of Maszdaf [Arabic], which he gives to it. The name is now unknown here, but I think it probable that Edrisi spoke of this part of the coast. The quantity of pearls obtained is very small, but the Heteym pick up a good deal of mother-of-pearl, which they sell to great advantage at Moeleh, to the ships which anchor there. May 15th.�We continued over the plain in a direction N. by E. and in two hours reached Wady Nabk [Arabic], which, next to Dahab and Noweyba, is the principal station on this coast. Large plantations of date trees grow on the sea-shore, among which, as usual, is a well of brackish water. The plain which reaches from near Sherm to Nabk is the only one of any extent along the whole coast; at Nabk it contracts, the western chain approaches to within two miles of the shore, and farther northward this chain comes close to the sea. The promontory of Djebel Abou Ma bore from Wady Nabk N.N.E 1/2 E. From hence to Dahab, as the Arabs told me, is about six hours walk along the shore. The highest point of the mountain upon the island of Tyran bore S.E. by S. [p.532] The opposite part of the eastern coast is low, and the mountains are at a distance inland. Near Nabk are salt-pits, similar to those at Dahab. Except during the date harvest, Nabk is inhabited only by fishermen; they are the poorest individuals of their tribe, who have no flocks or camels, and are obliged to resort to this occupation to support themselves and families. We bought here for thirty-two paras, or about four-pence halfpenny, thirty-two salted fish, each about two feet in length, and a measure of the dried shell-fish, Zorombat, which in this state the Arabs call Bussra. For the smaller kinds of fish the fishermen use hand-nets, which they throw into the sea from the shore; the larger species they kill with lances, one of which Ayd carried constantly with him as a weapon; there is not a single boat nor even a raft to be found on the whole of this coast, but the Bedouins of the eastern coast have a few boats, which may sometimes be seen in the gulf. We saw here a great number of porpoises playing in the water close to the shore. I wished to shoot at one of them, but was prevented by my companions, who said that it was unlawful to kill them, as they are the friends of man, and never hurt any body. I saw parts of the skin of a large fish, killed on the coast, which was an inch in thickness, and is employed by these Arabs instead of leather for sandals. We now turned from Nabk upwards to the convent, and in half an hour entered the chain of mountains along a broad valley called Wady Nabk, in which we ascended slightly, and rested at two hours and a quarter from Nabk under a large acacia tree. In the vicinity were three tents of Aleygat Arabs, the women of which approached the place where we had alighted, and told us that two men and a child were there ill of the plague, which they had caught from a relative of theirs, who had lately come from Egypt with the disease upon him, and who had died. At that time they were WADY RAHAB [p.533] in a large encampment, but as soon as the infection shewed itself, their companions compelled them to quit the camp, and they had come to this place to await the termination of the disorder. My guides were as much afraid of the infection as I was, and made the women remain at a proper distance; they asked me for some rice, and sugar, which latter article they believe to be a sovereign remedy against diseases. I was glad to be able to gratify them, and I advised them to give the patients whey which is almost the only cooling draught the Arabs know; they conceive that almost all illnesses proceed from cold, and therefore usually attempt to cure them by heat, keeping the patient thickly covered with clothes, and feeding him upon the most nourishing food they can afford. Not far from our halting place, on the ascent of the mountain, is a reservoir of rain water, where we filled our skins. The acacia trees of the valley were thickly covered with guin arabic. The Towara Arabs often bring to Cairo loads of it, which they collect in these mountains; but it is much less esteemed than that from Soudan. I found it of a somewhat sweet and rather agreeable taste. The Bedouins pretend, that upon journeys it is a preventive of thirst, and that the person who chews it may pass a whole day without feeling any inconvenience from the want of water. We set out in the afternoon, and at the end of three hours and a half from Wady Nabk, passed the Mofassel el Korfa, which I have already mentioned. At four hours and a quarter we crossed Wady el Orta, the direction of our road N.W. by N., and at the end of five hours and a quarter we halted in Wady Rahab [Arabic]. All these valleys resemble one another; the only difference of appearance which they afford, is that in some places the ground is parched up, while in others, where a torrent passes during the winter, the shrubs still retain some green leaves. WADY ORTA [p.534] May 16th.�During the night we had a heavy shower of rain with thunder and lightning, which completely drenched both ourselves and our baggage. A beautiful morning succeeded, and the atmosphere, which during the last three days had been extremely hot, especially on the low coast, was now so much refreshed, that we seemed to have removed from a tropical to an alpine climate. We passed through several valleys emptying themselves into Wady Orta; the principal of these is called Wady Ertama [Arabic]. Route N.N.W. Although the rain had been heavy, the sands had so completely absorbed it, that we could scarcely find any traces of it. We started several Gazelles, the only game I have seen in the peninsula, except mountain-goats. Hares and wolves are found, but are not common, and the Bedouins sometimes kill leopards, of one of which I obtained a large skin at the convent. The Bedouins talk much of a beast of prey called Wober [Arabic], which inhabits the most retired parts only of the peninsula; they describe it as being of the size of a large dog, with a pointed head like a hog; I heard also of another voracious animal, called Shyb [Arabic], stated to be a breed between the leopard and the wolf. Of its existence little doubt can be entertained, though its pretended origin is probably fabulous, for the Arabs, and especially the Bedouins, are in the common practice of assigning to every animal that is seldom met with, parents of two different species of known animals. On the coast, and in the lower valleys, a kind of large lizard is seen, called Dhob [Arabic], which has a scaly skin of a yellow colour; the largest are about eighteen inches in length, of which the tail measures about one-half. The Dhob is very common in the Arabian deserts, where the Arabs form tobacco purses of its skin. It lives in holes in the sand, which have generally two openings; it runs fast, but a dog easily catches it. Of birds I saw red-legged partridges in great numbers, pigeons, the Katta, but not in such large flocks as I WADY KYD [p.535] have seen them in Syria, and the eagle Rakham. The Bedouins also mentioned an eagle whose outspread wings measure six feet across, and which carries off lambs. After four hours and a half we reached Wady Kyd [Arabic], and rested at its entrance under two immense blocks of granite, which had fallen down from the mountain; they form two spacious caverns, and serve as a place of shelter for the shepherdesses; we saw in them several articles of tent furniture and some cooking utensils. On the sides figures of goats are drawn with charcoal; but I saw no inscriptions cut in the rock. The blocks are split in several places as if by lightning. We followed the Wady Kyd, continuing on a gentle ascent from the time of our setting out in the morning. The windings of the valley led us, at the end of five hours and a half, to a small rivulet, two feet across, and six inches in depth, which is lost immediately below, in the sands of the Wady. It drips down a granite rock, which blocks up the valley, there only twenty paces in breadth, and forms at the foot of the rock a small pond, overshadowed by trees, with fine verdure on its banks. The rocks which overhang it on both sides almost meet, and give to the whole the appearance of a grotto, most delighful to the traveller after passing through these dreary valleys. It is in fact the most romantic spot I have seen in these mountains, and worthy of being frequented by other people than Arabs, upon whom the beauties of nature make a very faint impression. The camels passed over the rocks with great difficulty; beyond it we continued in the same narrow valley, along the rivulet, amidst groves of date, Nebek, and some tamarisk trees, until, at six hours, we reached the source of the rivulet, where we rested a little. This is one of the most noted date valleys of the Sinai Arabs; the contrast of its deep verdure with the glaring rocks by which it is closely hemmed in, is very striking, and shews that wherever water passes in these districts, however DJEBEL MORDAM [p.536] barren the ground, vegetation is invariably found. Within the enclosures of the date-groves I saw a few patches of onions, and of hemp; the latter is used for smoking; some of the small leaves which surround the hemp-seed being laid upon the tobacco in the pipe, produces a more intoxicating smoke. The same custom prevails in Egypt, where the hemp leaves as well as the plant itself are called Hashysh. In the branches of one of the date-trees several baskets and a gun were deposited, and some camels were feeding upon the grass near the rivulet, but not a soul was to be seen in the valley; these Bedouins being under no fear of robbers, leave their goods and allow their beasts to pasture without any one to watch them; when they want the camels they send to the springs in search of them, and if not found there, they trace their footsteps through the valleys, for every Bedouin knows the print of the foot of his own camel. Notwithstanding its verdure, the Wady Kyd is an uncomfortable halting- place, on account of the great number of gnats and ticks with which it is infested. Beyond the source of the rivulet, which oozes out of the ground, the vegetation ceases, and the valley widens. We rode on, and at seven hours entered Wady Kheysy, a wild pass, in which the road is covered with rocks, and the sides of the mountains are shattered by torrents. We ascended through many windings, in the general direction of W.N.W. until we found the valley shut up by a high mountain, called Djebel Mordam [Arabic]. The rocks are granite and porphyry; in many parts of the valley grow wild fig-trees, called by the Arabs Hamad; here also grows the Aszef [Arabic], a tree which I had already seen in several of the Wadys; it springs from the fissures in the rocks, and its crooked stem creeps up the mountain�s side like a parasitic plant; it produces, according to the Arabs, a fruit of the size of a walnut, of a blackish colour, and very sweet to the taste. The bark of the tree MOUNTAIN OF MOHALA [p.537] is white, and the branches are thickly covered with small thorns; the leaves are heart-shaped, and of the same shade of green as those of the oak. This Wady, as well as the Kyd, is inhabited by Mezeine; but they all return in summer to the highest mountains of the peninsula, where the pasture is more abundant than in these lower valleys. We ascended the Mordam with difficulty, and on the other side found a narrow valley, which brought us, at the end of eleven hours, to a spring called Tabakat [Arabic], situated under a rock, which shuts up the valley. The spring is thickly overgrown with reeds and sometimes dries up in summer. Above the rock extends a plain or rather a country somewhat more open, intersected with hills, and bounded by high mountains. The district is called Fera el Adlial [Arabic], and is a favourite pasturing place of the Arabs, their sheep being peculiarly fond of the little berries of the shrub Rethem [Arabic], with which the whole plain is overspread. In order to take the nearest road to the convent, we ascended in a N. direction, the high mountain of Mohala [Arabic], the top of which we reached at the end of eleven hours and three quarters; from hence the convent was pointed out to me N. b. E. On the other side we descended N.E. into a narrow valley on the declivity of the mountain, where we alighted, after a long day�s march of twelve hours and a quarter. This mountain is entirely of granite; but at Tabakat beautiful porphyry is seen with large slabs of feldspath, traversed by layers of white and rose-coloured quartz. May 17th.�The night was so cold that we all lay down round the fire, and kept it lighted the whole night. Early in the morning we continued to descend the mountain, by a road called Nakb[A steep declivity is called by the Bedouins Nakb, the plural of which (Ankaba [Arabic]) is often used by them synonymously with Djebal [Arabic], mountains.] HASZFET EL RAS [p.538] Abou el Far [Arabic], and in half an hour reached the Wady Ahmar [Arabic], which, below, joins the Wady Kyd. Ascending again in this Wady, we came in an hour to the springs of Abou Tereyfa [Arabic], oozing, like that of Tabakat, from below a rock which shuts up the narrow valley. On the declivity of the mountains, farther on, I saw many ruins of walls, and was informed by my guides, that fifty years ago this was one of the most fertile valleys of their country, full of date and other fruit trees; but that a violent flood tore up all the trees, and laid it waste in a few days, and that since that period it has been deserted. At the end of two hours and a half, we descended into a broad valley, or rather plain, called Haszfet el Ras [Arabic], and perceived at its extremity an encampment, which we reached at three hours and a quarter, and alighted under the tent of the chief; he happened to be the same Bedouin who had conducted me last year from Tor to Cairo, and who had also brought the from Cairo to the convent. I knew that he was angry with me for having discharged him on my arrival at the latter place, and for having hired Hamd to conduct me to Akaba; he was already acquainted with my return, and that I had gone to Sherm, but little expected to see me here. He, however, gave me a good reception, killed a lamb for my dinner, and would not let me depart in the afternoon, another Arab having prepared a goat for our supper. We remained therefore the whole day with him, and, in the evening, joined in the dance and songs of the Mesámer, which were protracted till long after-midnight, and brought several other young men from the neighbouring encampments. The stranger not accustomed to Bedouin life can seldom hope to enjoy quiet sleep in these encampments. After the songs and dances are ended he must lie down in the tent of his host with a number of men, who think to honour him by keeping him company; but who, if the tent is not very large, WADY SEBAYE [p.539] lie so close as to impart to him a share of the vermin with which they are sure to be infested. To sleep in the open air before the tent is difficult, on account of the fierce dogs of the encampment, who have as great an aversion for townsmen as their masters have; the Bedouins too dislike this practice, because a sight of the female apartment may thus be obtained. I found the women here much more reserved than among other Bedouins; I could not induce any of them to converse with me, and soon perceived that both themselves and their husbands disliked their being noticed; a fastidiousness of manners for which they are no doubt indebted to the frequent visits of their husbands to the capital of Egypt. We had another shower in the night; flying showers are frequent during the summer, but they are never sufficiently copious in that season to produce torrents. May 18th left the tent before dawn, and proceeded along a Wady and then N.W. up an ascent, whose summit we reached in two hours. From thence a fine view opened upon a broad Wady called Sebaye [Arabic], and towards the mountain of Tyh. We crossed Wady Sebaye, and then ascended the mountain which commands the convent on the south side, and descending again, reached the convent at the end of three hours and a half. Our march during the whole of this journey had been slow, except on the day of our flight from the robbers; for our camels were weak and tired, and one of us usually walked. There is a more northern road from Sherm to the convent, which branches off from that by which we came, at Wady Orta; it passes by the two watering places of Naszeb [Arabic], and Ara- yne [Arabic]; the former, which is in a fruitful valley, where date- trees grow, must not be confounded with the western Naszeb, already mentioned. Hamd, afraid of being liable to pay the fine of blood, if it should become known that the robber had fallen by his hand, had CONVENT OF MOUNT SINAI [p.540] made us all give him our solemn promise not to mention any thing of the affair. When I discharged him and Ayd at the convent, I made them both some presents, which they had well deserved, particularly Hamd; this he was so imprudent as to mention to his uncle Szaleh, who was so vexed at not receiving a present, that he immediately divulged all the circumstances of our rencounter. Hamd in consequence was under the greatest apprehensions from the relations of the robber, and having accompanied me on my return to Cairo, he remained with me some time there, in anxious expectation of hearing whether the robber�s blood was likely to be revenged. Not hearing any thing, he then returned to his mountain, four months after which a party of Omran, to whose tribe the men had belonged, came to the tent of the Sheikh of the Towara to demand the fine of blood. The man had died a few days after receiving the wound, and although he was a robber and the first aggressor, the Bedouin laws entitled his relations to the fine, if they waved the right of retaliation; Hamd was therefore glad to come to a compromise, and paid them two camels, (which the two principal Sheikhs of the Towara gave him for the purpose), and twenty dollars, which I thought myself bound to reimburse to him, when he afterwards called on me at Cairo. This was the third man Hamd had killed in skirmish; but he had paid no fine for the others, as it was never known who they were, nor to what tribe they belonged. Had Hamd, whom every one knew to be the person who had stabbed the robber, refused to pay the fine, the Omran would sooner or later have retaliated upon himself or his relations, or perhaps upon some other individual of his tribe, according to the custom of these Bedouins, who have established among themselves the law of �striking sideways.�[See my remarks on the customs of blood-revenge, in the description of Bedouin manners.] [p.541] The convent of Mount Sinai is situated in a valley so narrow, that one part of the building stands on the side of the western mountain, while a space of twenty paces only is left between its walls and the eastern mountain. The valley is open to the north, from whence approaches the road from Cairo; to the south, close behind the convent, it is shut up by a third mountain, less steep than the others, over which passes the road to Sherm. The convent is an irregular quadrangle of about one hundred and thirty paces, enclosed by high and solid walls built with blocks of granite, and fortified by several small towers. While the French were in Egypt, a part of the east wall which had fallen down was completely rebuilt by order of General Kleber, who sent workmen here for that purpose. The upper part of the walls in the interior is built of a mixture of granite-sand and gravel, cemented together by mud, which has acquired great hardness. The convent contains eight or ten small court-yards, some of which are neatly laid out in beds of flowers and vegetables; a few date-trees and cypresses also grow there, and great numbers of vines. The distribution of the interior is very irregular, and could not be otherwise, considering the slope upon which the building stands; but the whole is very clean and neat. There are a great number of small rooms, in the lower and upper stories, most of which are at present unoccupied. The principal building in the interior is the great church, which, as well as the convent, was built by the Emperor Justinian, but it has subsequently undergone frequent repairs. The form of the church is an oblong square, the roof is supported by a double row of fine granite pillars, which have been covered with a coat of white plaster, perhaps because the natural colour of the stone was not agreeeble to the monks, who saw granite on every side of them. The capitals of the columns are of different designs; several of them bear a resemblance to palm branches, while others [p.542] are a close but coarse imitation of the latest period of Egyptian sculpture, such as is seen at Philae, and in several temples in Nubia. The dome over the altar still remains as it was constructed by Justinian, whose portrait, together with that of his wife Theodora, may yet be distinguished on the dome, together with a large picture of the transfiguration, in honour of which event the convent was erected. An abundance of silver lamps, paintings, and portraits of saints adorn the walls round the altar; among the latter is a saint Christopher, with a dog�s head. The floor of the church is finely paved with slabs of marble. The church contains the coffin in which the bones of saint Catherine were collected from the neighbouring mountain of St. Catherine, where her corpse was transported after her death by the angels in the service of the monks. The silver lid of a sarcophagus likewise attracts attention; upon it is represented at full length the figure of the empress Anne of Russia, who entertained the idea of being interred in the sarcophagus, which she sent here; but the monks were disappointed of this honour. In a small chapel adjoining the church is shewn the place where the Lord is supposed to have appeared to Moses in the burning bush; it is called Alyka [Arabic], and is considered as the most holy spot in Mount Sinai. Besides the great church, there are twenty-seven smaller churches or chapels dispersed over the convent, in many of which daily masses are read, and in all of them at least one every Sunday. The convent formerly resembled in its establishment that of the Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem, which contains churches of various sects of Christians. Every principal sect, except the Calvinists and Protestants, had its churches in the convent of Sinai. I was shewn the chapels belonging to the Syrians, Armenians, Copts, and Latins, but they have long been abandoned by their owners; the church of the Latins fell into ruins at the close of [p.543] the seventeenth century, and has not been rebuilt. But what is more remarkable than the existence of so many churches, is that close by the great church stands a Mahometan mosque, spacious enough to contain two hundred people at prayers. The monks told me that it was built in the sixteenth century, to prevent the destruction of the convent. Their tradition is as follows: when Selim, the Othman Emperor, conquered Egypt, he took a great fancy to a young Greek priest, who falling ill, at the time that Selim was returning to Constantinople, was sent by him to this convent to recover his health; the young man died, upon which the Emperor, enraged at what he considered to be the work of the priests, gave orders to the governor of Egypt to destroy all the Christian establishments in the peninsula; of which there were several at that period. The priests of the great convent of Mount Sinai being informed of the preparations making in Egypt to carry these orders into execution, began immediately to build a mosque within their walls, hoping that for its sake their house would be spared; it is said that their project was successful and that ever since the mosque has been kept in repair. This tradition, however, is contradicted by some old Arabic records kept by the prior, in which I read a circumstantial account how, in the year of the Hedjra 783, some straggling Turkish Hadjis, who had been cut off from the caravan, were brought by the Bedouins to the convent; and being found to be well educated, and originally from upper Egypt, were retained here, and a salary settled on them and their descendants, on condition of their becoming the servants of the mosque. The conquest of Egypt by Selim did not take place till A.H. 895. The mosque in the convent of Sinai appears therefore to have existed long before the time [p.544] of Selim. The descendants of these Hadjis, now poor Bedouins, are called Retheny [Arabic], they still continue to be the servants of the mosque, which they clean on Thursday evenings, and light the lamps; one of them is called the Imam. The mosque is sometimes visited by Moslim pilgrims, but it is only upon the occasion of the presence of some Mussulman of consequence that the call to prayers is made from the Minaret. In the convent are two deep and copious wells of spring water; one of them is called the well of Moses, because it is said that he first drank of its water. Another was the work, as the monks say, of an English Lord, it bears the date 1760. There is also a reservoir for the reception of rain water. None of the churches or chapels have steeples. There is a bell, which, I believe, is rung only on Sundays. The usual mode of calling the monks to morning prayers is by striking with a stick upon a long piece of granite, suspended from ropes, which produces a sound heard all over the convent; close by it hangs a piece of dry wood, which emits a different sound, and summons to vespers. A small tower is shewn which was built forty or fifty years ago for the residence of a Greek patriarch of Constantinople, who was exiled to this place by the orders of the Sultan, and who remained here till he died. According to the credited tradition, the origin of the convent of Mount Sinai dates from the fourth century. Helena, the mother of Constantine, is said to have erected here a small church, in commemoration of the place where the Lord appeared to Moses in the burning bush, and in the garden of the convent a small tower is still shewn, the foundations of which are said to have been laid by her. The church of Helena drawing many visitors and monks to these mountains, several small convents were erected in different [p.545] parts of the peninsula, in the course of the next century, but the ill treatment which the monks and hermits suffered from the Bedouins induced them at last to present a petition to the Emperor Justinian, entreating him to build a fortified convent capable of affording them protection against their oppressors. He granted the request, and sent workmen from Constantinople and Egypt, with orders to erect a large convent upon the top of the mountain of Moses; those however to whom the work was entrusted, observing the entire want of water in that spot, built it on the present site. They attempted in vain to cut away the mountain on each side of the building, with a view to prevent the Arabs from taking post there and throwing stones at the monks within. The building being completed, Justinian sent from Constantinople some slaves, natives of the shores of the Black sea, to officiate as servants in the convent, who established themselves with their families in the neighbouring valleys. The first prior was Doulas, whose name is still recorded upon a stone built into the wall of one of the buildings in the interior of the convent. The above history is taken from a document in Arabic, preserved by the monks. An Arabic inscription over the gate, in modern characters, says that Justinian built the convent in the thirtieth year of his reign, as a memorial of himself and his wife Theodora. It is curious to find a passage of the Koran introduced into this inscription; it was probably done by a Moslem sculptor, without the knowledge of the monks. A few years after the completion of the convent, one of the monks is said to have been informed in his sleep, that the corpse of St. Catherine, who suffered martyrdom at Alexandria, had been transported by angels to the summit of the highest peak of the surrounding mountains. The monks ascended the mountain in [p.546] procession, found the bones, and deposited them in their church, which thus acquired an additional claim to the veneration of the Greeks. Monastic establishments seem soon after to have considerably increased throughout the peninsula. Small convents, chapels, and hermitages, the remains of many of which are still visible, were built in various parts of it. The prior told me that Justinian gave the whole peninsula in property to the convent, and that at the time of the Mohammedan conquest, six or seven thousand monks and hermits were dispersed over the mountains, the establishments of the peninsula of Sinai thus resembling those which still exist on the peninsula of Mount Athos. It is a favourite belief of the monks of Mount Sinai, that Mohammed himself, in one of his journeys, alighted under the walls of the convent, and that impressed with due veneration for the mountain of Moses, he presented to the convent a Firmahn, to secure to it the respect of all his followers. Ali is said to have written it, and Mohammed, who could not write, to have confirmed it by impressing his extended hand, blackened with ink, upon the parchment. This Firmahn, it is added, remained in the convent until Selim the First conquered Egypt, when hearing of the precious relic, he sent for it, and added it to the other relics of Mohammed in the imperial treasury at Constantinople; giving to the convent, in return, a copy of the original certified with his own cipher. I have seen the latter, which is kept in the Sinai convent at Cairo, but I do not believe it to be an authentic document. None of the historians of Mohammed, who have recorded the transactions of almost every day of his life, mention his having been at Mount Sinai, neither in his earlier youth, nor after he set up as a prophet, and it is totally contrary to history that he should have granted to any [p.547] Christians such privileges as are mentioned in this Firmahn, one of which is that the Moslems are bound to aid the Christian monks in rebuilding their ruined churches. It is to be observed also that this document states itself to have been written by Ali, not at the convent, but in the mosque of the Prophet at Medina, in the second year of the Hedjra, and is addressed, not to the convent of Mount Sinai in particular, but to all the Christians and their priests. The names of twenty-two witnesses, followers of Mohammed, are subscribed to it; and in a note it is expressly stated that the original, written by Ali, was lost, and that the present was copied from a fourth successive copy taken from the original. Hence it appears that the relation of the priests is at variance with the document to which they refer, and I have little doubt therefore that the former is a fable and the latter a forgery. Notwithstanding the difficulties to which the monks must have been exposed from the warlike and fanatical followers of the new faith in Syria, Arabia, Egypt, and the Desert, the convent continued uninjured, and defended itself successfully against all the surrounding tribes by the peculiar arms of its possessors, patience, meekness, and money. According to the statement of the monks, their predecessors were made responsible by the Sultans of Egypt for the protection of the pilgrim caravans from Cairo to Mekka, on that part of the road which lay along the northern frontiers of their territory from Suez to Akaba. For this purpose they thought it necessary to invite several tribes, and particularly the Szowaleha and the Aleygat to settle in the fertile valleys of Sinai, in order to serve as protectors of this road. The Bedouins came, but their power increasing, while that of the monks declined, they in the course of time took possession of the whole peninsula, and confined the monks to their convent. It appears from the original copy of a compact between the monks and the [p.548] above Bedouins, made in the year of the Hedjra 800, when Sultan Dhaher Bybars reigned in Egypt, that besides this convent, six others were still existing in the peninsula, exclusive of a number of chapels and hermitages; from a writing on parchment, dated in the A.H.1053, we find that in that year all these minor establishments had been abandoned, and that the great convent, holding property at Feiran, Tor, and in other fruitful valleys, alone remained. The priests assured me, that they had documents to prove that all the date valleys and other fertile spots in the gulf of Akaba had been in their possession, and were confirmed to them by the Sultans of Egypt; but they either could not or would not shew me their archives in detail, without an order from the prior at Cairo; indeed all their papers appeared to be in great confusion. Whenever a new Sultan ascends the throne of Constantinople, the convent is furnished with a new Firmahn, which is transmitted to the Pasha of Egypt; but as the neighbouring Bedouins, till within a few years, were completely independent of Egypt, the protection of the Pashas was of very little use to the monks, and their only dependance was upon their own resources, and their means of purchasing and conciliating the friendship, or of appeasing the animosity of the Arabs. At present there are only twenty-three monks in the convent. They are under the presidence of a Wakyl or prior, but the Ikonómos [Greek], whom the Arabs call the Kolob, is the true head of the community, and manages all its affairs. The order of Sinai monks dispersed over the east is under the control of an Archbishop, in Arabic called the Reys. He is chosen by a council of delegates from Mount Sinai and from the affiliated convent at Cairo, and he is confirmed, pro forma, by the Greek patriarch of Jerusalem. The Archbishop can do nothing as to the appropriation of the funds without the unanimous vote of the council. Formerly [p.549] he lived in the convent; but since its affairs have been on the decline, it has been found more expedient that he should reside abroad, his presence here entitling the Bedouins to great fees, particularly on his entrance into the convent. I was told that ten thousand dollars would be required, on such an occasion, to fulfil all the obligations to which the community is bound in its treaties with the Arabs. Hence it happens that no Archbishop has been here since the year 1760, when the Reys Kyrillos resided, and I believe died, in the convent. I was informed that the gate has remained walled up since the year 1709, but that if an Archbishop were to come, it must be again opened to admit him, and that all the Bedouin Sheiks then have a right to enter within the walls. Besides the convent at Cairo, which contains a prior and about fifty monks, Mount Sinai has establishments and landed property in many other parts of the east, especially in the Archipelago, and at Candia: it has also a small church at Calcutta, and another at Surat. The discipline of these monks, with regard to food and prayer, is very severe. They are obliged to attend mass twice in the day and twice in the night. The rule is that they shall taste no flesh whatever all the year round; and in their great fast they not only abstain from butter, and every kind of animal food and fish, but also from oil, and live four days in the week on bread and boiled vegetables, of which one small dish is all their dinner. They obtain their vegetables from a pleasant garden adjoining the building, into which there is a subterraneous passage; the soil is stony, but in this climate, wherever water is in plenty, the very rocks will produce vegetation. The fruit is of the finest quality; oranges, lemons, almonds, mulberries, apricots, peaches, pears, apples, olives, Nebek trees, and a few cypresses overshade the beds in which melons, beans, lettuces, onions, cucumbers, and all sorts of [p.550] culinary and sweet-scented herbs are sown. The garden, however, is very seldom visited by the monks, except by the few whose business it is to keep it in order; for although surrounded by high walls, it is not inaccessible to the Bedouins, who for the three last years have been the sole gatherers of the fruits, leaving the vegetables only for the monks, who have thus been obliged to repurchase their own fruit from the pilferers, or to buy it in other parts of the peninsula. The excellent air of the convent, and the simple fare of the inhabitants, render diseases rare. Many of the monks are very old men, in the full possession of their mental and bodily faculties. They have all taken to some profession, a mode of rendering themselves independent of Egypt, which was practised here even when the three hundred private chambers were occupied, which are now empty, though still ready for the accommodation of pious settlers. Among the twenty-three monks who now remain, there is a cook, a distiller, a baker, a shoemaker, a tailor, a carpenter, a smith, a mason, a gardener, a maker of candles, &c. &c. each of these has his work-shop, in the worn-out and rusty utensils of which are still to be seen the traces of the former riches and industry of the establishment. The rooms in which the provisions are kept are vaulted and built of granite with great solidity; each kind of provision has its purveyor. The bake-house and distillery are still kept up upon a large scale. The best bread is of the finest quality; but a second and third sort is made for the Bedouins who are fed by the convent. In the distillery they make brandy from dates, which is the only solace these recluses enjoy, and in this they are permitted to indulge even during the fasts. Most of the monks are natives of the Greek islands; in general they do not remain more than four or five years, when they return to their own country, proud of having been sufferers among [p.551] Bedouins; some, however, have been here forty years. A few of them only understood Arabic; but none of them write or read it. Being of the lower orders of society, and educated only in convents, they are extremely ignorant. Few of them read even the modern Greek fluently, excepting in their prayer-books, and I found but one who had any notion of the ancient Greek. They have a good library, but it is always shut up; it contains about fifteen hundred Greek volumes, and seven hundred Arabic manuscripts; the latter, which I examined volume after volume, consist entirely of books of prayer, copies of the Gospels, lives of saints, liturgies, &c.; a thick folio volume of the works of Lokman, edited, according to the Arab tradition, by Hormus, the ancient king of Egypt, was the only one worth attention. Its title in Arabic is [Arabic]. The prior would not permit it to be taken away, but he made me a present of a fine copy of the Aldine Odyssey and an equally fine one of the Anthology. In the room anciently the residence of the Archbishop, which is very elegantly paved with marble, and extremely well furnished, though at present unoccupied, is preserved a beautiful ancient manuscript of the Gospels in Greek, which I was told, was given to the convent by �an emperor called Theodosius.� It is written in letters of gold upon vellum, and ornamented with portraits of the Apostles. Notwithstanding the ignorance of these monks, they are fond of seeing strangers in their wilderness; and I met with a more cordial reception among them than I did in the convents of Libanus, which are in possession of all the luxuries of life. The monks of Sinai are even generous; three years ago they furnished a Servian adventurer, who styled himself a Knes, and pretended to be well known to the Russian government, with sixty dollars, to pay his [p.552] journey back to Alexandria, on his informing them of his destitute circumstances. At present the convent is seldom visited; a few Greeks from Cairo and Suez, and the inhabitants of Tor who repair here every summer, and encamp with their families in the garden, are the only persons who venture to undertake the journey through the desert. So late as the last century regular caravans of pilgrims used to come here from Cairo as well as from Jerusalem; a document preserved by the monks states the arrival in one day of eight hundred Armenians from Jerusalem; and at another time of five hundred Copts from Cairo. I believe that from sixty to eighty is the greatest number of visitors that can now be reckoned in a year. In the small but neat room which I occupied, and which is assigned to all strangers whom the prior receives with any marks of distinction, were the names of some of the latest European travellers who have visited the convent. The following inscriptions, written upon pieces of paper stuck against the walls, I thought worth the trouble of transcribing. �Le quintidi, 5 Frimaire, l�an 9 de la République Française, 1800 de l�ère Chrétienne, et 3ème de la conquête de l�Egypte, les Citoyens Rozières et Coutelle, Membres de la Commission des Sciences et Arts, sont venus visiter les lieux saints, les ports de Tor, Ras Mohammed, et Charms, la mer de Suez et l�Accaba, l�extrémité de la presqu�île, toutes les chaines de montagnes, et toutes les tribus Arabes entre les deux golfes.� (Seal of the French Republic.) M. Rozières made great mineralogical researches in these mountains, [p.553] but he and his companion did not succeed in visiting all the chains of mountains or all the tribes of Arabs. They never reached Akaba, nor traversed the northern ranges of the peninsula, nor visited the tribes of Tyaha, Heywat and Terabein. The following is the memorial left by M. Seetzen: �Le 9 d�Avril, 1807. U.J. Seetzen, nommé Mousa, voyageur Allemand, M.D. et Assesseur de Collège de S. Majestè l�Empereur de toutes les Russies dans la Seigneurie de Jever en Allemagne, est venu visiter le Couvent de la Sainte Cathérine, les Monts d�Horeb, de Moise, et de la Sainte Catherine, &c. après avoir parcouru toutes les provinces orientales anciennes de la Palestine; savoir, Hauranitis, Trachonitis, Gaulonitis, Paneas, Batanea, Decapolis, Gileaditis, Ammonitis, Amorrhitis et Moabitis, jusqu�aux frontières de la Gebelene (Idumaea), et après avoir fait deux fois l�entour de la mer morte, et traversé le désert de l�Arabie Petrée, entre la ville d�Hebron et entre le Mont Sinai, par un chemin jusqu�à ce tems-là inconnu. Après un séjour de dix jours, il continuait son voyage pour la ville de Suez.� M. Seetzen has fallen into a mistake in calling the convent by the name of saint Catherine. It is dedicated to the transfiguration, or as the Greeks call it, the metamorphosis, and not to saint Catherine, whose relics only are preserved here. M. Seetzen visited the convent a second time, previous to his going to Arabia. He came then from Tor, and stopped only one day. The visit of two English travellers, Messrs. Galley Knight and Fazakerly, is also recorded in a few lines dated February 13, 1811. The same room contained likewise several modern Arabic inscriptions, one of which says: �To this holy place came one who does not deserve that his name should be mentioned, so [p.554] manifold are his sins. He came here with his family. May whoever reads this, beseech the Almighty to forgive him. June 28, 1796.� The only habitual visitors of the convent are the Bedouins. They have established the custom that whoever amongst them, whether man, woman, or child, comes here, is to receive bread for breakfast and supper, which is lowered down to them from the window, as no Bedouins, except the servants of the house, are ever admitted within the walls. Fortunately for the monks, there are no good pasturing places in their immediate neighbourhood; the Arab encampments are therefore always at some distance, and visitors are thus not so frequent as might be supposed; yet scarcely a day passes without their having to furnish bread to thirty or forty persons. In the last century the Bedouins enjoyed still greater privileges, and had a right to call for a dish of cooked meat at breakfast, and for another at supper; the monks could not have given a stronger proof of their address than by obtaining the abandonment of this right from men, in whose power they are so completely placed. The convent of Sinai at Cairo is subject to similar claims; all the Bedouins of the peninsula who repair to that city on their private business receive their daily meal, from the monks, who, not having the same excuses as their brethren of Mount Sinai, are obliged to supply a dish of cooked meat. The convent has its Ghafeirs, or protectors, twenty-four in number, among the tribes inhabiting the desert between Syria and the Red sea; but the more remote of them are entitled only to some annual presents in clothes and money, while the Towara Ghafeirs are continually hovering round the walls, to extort as much as they can. Of the Towara Arabs the tribes of Szowaleha and Aleygat only are considered as protectors; the Mezeine, who came in later times to the peninsula, have no claims; and of the Szowaleha tribe, the [p.555] branches Oulad Said and Owareme are exclusively the protectors, while the Koreysh and Rahamy are not only excluded from the right of protection but also from the transport of passengers and loads. Of the Oulad Said each individual receives an annual gift of a dollar, and the Ghafeir of this branch of the Szowaleha is the convent�s chief man of business in the desert. If a Sheikh or head man calls at the convent, he receives, in addition to his bread, some coffee beans, sugar, soap, sometimes a handkerchief, a little medicine, &c. &c. Under such circumstances it may easily be conceived that disputes continually happen. If a Sheikh from the protecting tribes comes to the convent to demand coffee, sugar, or clothing, and is not well satisfied with what he receives, he immediately becomes the enemy of the monks, lays waste some of their gardens, and must at last be gained over by a present. The independent state of the Bedouins of Sinai had long prevented the monks from endeavouring to obtain protection from the government of Egypt, whose power in the peninsula being trifling, they would only by complaining have exasperated the Bedouins against them; their differences therefore had hitherto been accommodated by the mediation of other Sheikhs. It was not till 1816 that they solicited the protection of Mohammed Ali; this will secure them for the present against their neighbours; but it will, probably, as I told the monks, be detrimental to them in the end. Ten or twenty dollars were sufficient to pacify the fiercest Bedouin, but a Turkish governor will demand a thousand for any effectual protection. The Arabs, when discontented, have sometimes seized a monk in the mountains and given him a severe beating, or have thrown stones or fired their musquets into the convent from the neighbouring heights; about twenty years ago a monk was killed by [p.556] them. The monks, in their turn, have fired occasionally upon the Bedouins, for they have a well furnished armory, and two small cannon, but they take great care never to kill any one. And though they dislike such turbulent neighbours, and describe them to strangers as very devils, yet they have sense enough to perceive the advantages which they derive from the better traits in the Bedouin character, such as their general good faith, and their placability. �If our convent,� as they have observed to me, �had been subject to the revolutions and oppressions of Egypt or Syria, it would long ago have been abandoned; but Providence has preserved us by giving us Bedouins for neighbours.� Notwithstanding the greediness of the Bedouins, I have reason to believe that the expenses of the convent are very moderate. Each monk is supplied annually with two coarse woollen cloaks, and no splendour is any where displayed except in the furniture of the great church, and that of the Archbishop�s room. The supplies are drawn from Egypt; but the communication by caravans with Cairo is far from being regular, and the Ikonómos assured me that at the time I was there the house did not contain more than one month�s provision. The yearly consumption of corn is about one hundred and sixty Erdebs, or two thousand five hundred bushels, which is sufficient to cover all the demands of the Bedouins, and I believe that £1000. sterling, or 4000 dollars, is the utmost of the annual expenditure. The convent at Cairo expends perhaps two or three times that sum. The monks complain greatly of poverty; and the prior assured me that he sometimes has not a farthing left to pay for the corn that is brought to him, and is obliged to borrow money from the Bedouins at high interest; but an appearance of poverty is one of their great protections; and considering [p.557] the possessions of this convent abroad, and the presents which it receives from pilgrims, I am much inclined to doubt the prior�s assertion. The Bedouins who occupy the peninsula of Mount Sinai are: I. The Szowaleha [Arabic]. They are the principal tribe, and they boast of having been the first Bedouins who settled in these mountains, under their founder Ayd, two of whose sons, they say, emigrated with their families to the Hedjaz. The Szowaleha are divided into several branches: 1. The Oulad Said [Arabic], whose Sheikh is at present the second Sheikh of the Towara Arabs. They are not so poor as the other tribes, and possess the best valleys of the mountains. 2. Korashy [Arabic], or Koreysh, whose Sheikh, Szaleh Ibn Zoheyr, is at present the great Sheikh of the Towara, and transacts the public business with the government of Egypt. The Korashy are descendants of a few families of Beni Koreysh, who came here as fugitives from the Hedjaz, and settled with the Szowaleha, with whom they are now intimately intermixed. 3. Owareme [Arabic], a subdivision of whom are the Beni Mohsen [Arabic]; in one of the families of which is the hereditary office of Agyd, or the commander of the Towara in their hostile expeditions. 4. Rahamy [Arabic]. The Szowaleha inhabit principally the country to the west of the convent, and their date valleys are, for the greater part, situated on that side. These valleys are the exclusive property of individuals, but the other pasturing places of the tribe are common to all its branches, although the latter usually remain somewhat separated from each other. II. Aleygat [Arabic]. They are much weaker in number than the Szowaleha, and encamp usually with the Mezeine, and with them form a counterbalance to the power of the Szowaleha. A tribe of Aleygat is found in Nubia on the banks of the Nile about twenty miles north of Derr, where they occupy the district called Wady BEDOUINS OF SINA [p.558] el Arab, of which Seboua makes a part.[See Journey towards Dongola, p. 26.] The Aleygat of Sinai are acquainted with this settlement of their brethren, and relate that in the time of the Mamelouks, one of them who had embarked with a Beg at Tor for Cosseir travelled afterwards towards Ibrim, and when he passed Seboua was delighted there to find the people of his own tribe. They treated him well, and presented him with a camel and a slave. I am ignorant by what chance the Aleygat settled in Nubia. III. El Mezeine [Arabic], who live principally to the eastward of the convent towards the gulf of Akaba. IV. Oulad Soleiman [Arabic], or Beni Selman [Arabic], at present reduced to a few families only, who are settled at Tor, and in the neighbouring villages. V. Beni Waszel [Arabic], about fifteen families, who live with the Mezeine, and are usually found in the neighbourhood of Sherm. They are said to have come originally from Barbary. Some of their brethren are also settled in Upper Egypt. These five tribes are comprised under the appellation Towara, or the Bedouins of Tor, and form a single body, whenever any foreign tribe of the northern Bedouins attacks any one of them; but sometimes, though not often, they have bloody quarrels among themselves. Their history, according to the reports of the best informed among them, founded upon tradition, is as follows: At the period of the Mohammedan conquest, or soon after, the peninsula of Mount Sinai was inhabited exclusively by the tribe of Oulad Soleiman, or Beni Selman, together with the monks. The Szowaleha, and Aleygat, the latter originally from the eastern Syrian desert, were then living on the borders of Egypt, and in the Sherkieh or eastern district of the Delta, from whence they were [p.559] accustomed to make frequent inroads into this territory, in order to carry off the date-harvest, and other fruits.[Some encampments of Szowaleha are still found in the Sherkieh.] Whenever the inundation of the Nile failed, they repaired in great numbers to these mountains, and pastured their herds in the fertile valleys, the vegetation of which is much more nutritious for camels and sheep than the luxuriant but insipid pastures on the banks of the Nile. After long wars the Szowaleha and Aleygat succeeded in reducing the Oulad Soleiman; many of their families were exterminated, others fled, and their feeble remains now live near Tor, where they still pride themselves upon having been the former lords of this peninsula. The Szowaleha and Aleygat, however, did not agree, and had frequent disputes among themselves. At that period there arrived at Sherm four families of the Mezeine, a very potent tribe in the Hedjaz, east of Medina, where they are still found in large numbers, forming part of the great tribe of Beni Harb. They were flying from the effects of blood-revenge, and wishing to settle here, they applied to the Szowaleha, begging to be permitted to join them in their pastures. The Szowaleha consented, on condition of their paying a yearly tribute in sheep, in the same manner as the despised tribe of Heteym, on the opposite coast of the gulf of Akaba, does to all the surrounding Arabs. [Arabic]. The high spirited Mezeine however rejected the offer, as derogatory to their free born condition, and addressed themselves to the Aleygat, who readily admitted them to their brotherhood and all their pastures. Long and obstinate wars between the Szowaleha and Aleygat were the consequence of this compact. The two tribes fought, it is said, for forty years; and in the greatest and the last battle, which took place in Wady Barak, the Mezeine decided the contest in favour of the Aleygat. �So [p.560] great,� says the Bedouin tradition, �was the number of the Szowaleha killed in this engagement, that the nails of the slain were seen for many years after, the sport of the winds in the valleys around the field of battle.�[No nation equals the Bedouins in numerical exaggeration. Ask a Bedouin who belongs to a tribe of three hundred tents, of the numbers of his brethren, and he will take a handful of sand, and cast it up in the air, or point to the stars, and tell you that they are as numberless. Much cross-questioning is therefore necessary even to arrive at an approximation to the truth.] A compromise now took place, the Szowaleha and Aleygat divided the fertile valleys of the country equally, and the Mezeine received one-third of their share from the latter. The Sheikh of the Szowaleha was, at the same time, acknowledged as Sheikh of the whole peninsula. At present the Mezeine are stronger than the Aleygat, and both together are about equal in number to the Szowaleha. Besides the Towara tribes, three others inhabit the northern parts of the peninsula; viz. The Heywat [Arabic], who live towards Akaba; the Tyaha [Arabic], who extend from the chain of the mountain El Tyh northwards towards Ghaza and Hebron; and the Terabein [Arabic], who occupy the north-west part of the peninsula, and extend from thence towards Ghaza and Hebron. These three tribes are together stronger than the Towara, with whom they are sometimes at war, and being all derived from one common stock, the ancient tribe of Beni Attye, they are always firmly united during hostilities. They have no right to the pasturages south of Djebel Tyh, but are permitted to encamp sometimes in that direction, if pasture is abundant. The pastures in their own territory, along the whole of the northern parts of Djebel Tyh, are said to be excellent, and to extend from one side of the peninsula to the other. I believe that the population of the entire peninsula, south of a [p.561] line from Akaba to Suez, as far as cape Abou Mohammed, does not exceed four thousand souls. In years of dearth, even this small number is sometimes at a loss to find pasturage for their cattle. The Towara are some of the poorest of the Bedouin tribes, which is to be attributed principally to the scarcity of rain and the consequent want of pasturage. Their herds are scanty, and they have few camels; neither of their two Sheikhs, the richest individuals amongst them, possesses more than eight; few tents have more than two; it often happens that two or three persons are partners in one camel, and great numbers are without any. There are no horses even among the Sheikhs, who constantly ride on camels; but asses are common. Their means of subsistence are derived from their pastures, the transport trade between Suez and Cairo, the sale at the latter place of the charcoal which they burn in their mountains, of the gum arabic which they collect, and of their dates and other fruits. The produce of this trade is laid out by them at Cairo in purchasing clothing and provisions, particularly corn, for the supply of their families; and if any thing remains in hand, they buy with it a few sheep and goats at Tor or at Sherm, to which latter place they are brought by the Bedouins of the opposite coast of Arabia. When Egypt was under the unsettled government of the Mamelouks the Towara Bedouins, who were then independent, were very formidable, and often at war with the Begs, as well as with the surrounding tribes. At present they have lost much of the profits which they derived from their traffic with Suez, and from the passage of caravans to Cairo; they are kept in awe by Mohammed Ali, and have taken to more peaceful habits, which, however, they are quite ready to abandon, on the first appearance of any change in the government of Egypt. Even now, they pay no duty whatever to [p.562] the Pasha, who, on the contrary, makes their chief some annual presents; but they are obliged to submit to the rate of carriage which the Pasha chooses to fix for the transport of his goods. They live, of course, according to their means; the small sum of fifteen or twenty dollars pays the yearly expenses of many, perhaps of most of their families, and the daily and almost unvarying food of the greater part of them is bread, with a little butter or milk, for which salt alone is substituted when the dry season is set in, and their cattle no longer yield milk. The Mezeine appeared to me much hardier than the other tribes, owing probably to their being exposed to greater privations in the more barren district which they inhabit. They hold more intercourse with the neighbouring Bedouins to the north than the other Towaras, and in their language and manners approach more to the great eastern tribes than to the other Bedouins of the peninsula. All the tribes of the Towara complain of the sterility of their wives;[They wish for children because their tribe is strengthened by it. But Providence seems to have wisely proportioned the fertility of their women to the barrenness of the country.] and though the Bedouin women in general are less fruitful than the stationary Arabs, the Towara are even below the other Bedouins in this respect, three children being a large family among them. To the true Bedouin tribes above enumerated are to be added the advenae called Djebalye [Arabic], or the mountaineers. I have stated that when Justinian built the convent, he sent a party of slaves, originally from the shores of the Black sea, as menial servants to the priests. These people came here with their wives, and were settled by the convent as guardians of the orchards and date plantations throughout the peninsula. Subsequently, when the Bedouins deprived the convent of many of its possessions, these slaves turned [p.563] Moslems, and adopted the habits of Bedouins. Their descendants are the present Djebalye, who unanimously confess their descent from the Christian slaves, whence they are often called by the other Bedouins �the children of Christians.� They are not to be distinguished, however, in features or manners, from other Bedouins, and they are now considered a branch of the Towara, although the latter still maintain the distinction, never giving their daughters in marriage to the Djebalye, nor taking any of theirs; thus the Djebalye intermarry only among themselves, and form a separate commmunity of about one hundred and twenty armed men. They are a very robust and hardy race, and their girls have the reputation of superior beauty over all others of the peninsula, a circumstance which often gives rise to unhappy attachments, and romantic love-tales, when their lovers happen to belong to other tribes. The Djebalye still remain the servants of the convent; parties of three attend in it by turns, and are the only Bedouins who are permitted to enter within the walls; but they are never allowed to sleep in the house, and pass the night in the garden. They provide fire-wood, collect dried herbage for the mule which turns the mill, bring milk, eggs, &c. and receive all the offals of the kitchen. Some of them encamp as Bedouins in the mountains surrounding the peaks of Moses and St. Catherine, but the greater part are settled in the gardens belonging to the convent, in those mountains. They engage to deliver one-half the fruit to the convent, but as these gardens produce the finest fruit in the peninsula, they are so beset by Bedouin guests at the time of gathering, that the convent�s share is usually consumed in hospitality. The Djebalye have formed a strict alliance with the Korashy, that branch of the Szowaleha which has no claims of protectorship upon the convent, and by these means they have maintained from [p.564] ancient times, a certain balance of power against the other Szowaleha. They have no right to transport pilgrims to the convent, and are, in general, considered as pseudo-Arabs, although they have become Bedouins in every respect. They are divided into several smaller tribes, some of whom have become settlers; thus the Tebna are settled in the date valley of Feiran, in gardens nominally the property of the convent: the Bezya in the convent�s gardens at Tor; and the Sattla in other parts, forming a few families, whom the true Bedouins stigmatize with the opprobrious name of Fellahs, or peasants. The monks told me that in the last century there still remained several families of Christian Bedouins who had not embraced Islamism; and that the last individual of this description, an old woman, died in 1750, and was buried in the garden of the convent. In this garden is the burial-ground of the monks, and in several adjoining vaulted chambers their remains are collected after the bodies have lain two years in the coffins underground. High piles of hands, shin bones, and sculls are placed separately in the different corners of these chambers, which the monks are with difficulty persuaded to open to strangers. In a row of wooden chests are deposited the bones of the Archbishops of the convent, which are regularly sent hither, wherever the Archbishops may die. In another small chest are shewn the sculls and some of the bones of two �Indian princes,� who are said to have been shipwrecked on the coast of Tor, and having repaired to the convent, to have lived for many years as hermits in two small adjoining caves upon the mountain of Moses. In order to remain inseparable in this world, they bound two of their legs together with an iron chain, part of which, with a small piece of a coat of mail, which they wore under their cloaks, is still preserved. No one could tell me their names, nor the period at which they resided here. At the DJEBEL MOUSA [p.565] entrance of the charnel houses is the picture of the hoary St. Onuphrius. He is said to have been an Egyptian prince, and subsequently one of the first monks of Djebel Mousa, in which capacity he performed many miracles. After two days repose in the convent and its delightful garden, I set out for the holy places around it, a pilgrimage which I had deferred making immediately on my first arrival, which is the usual practice, that the Arabs might not confound me with the common run of visitors, to whom they shew no great respect. The Djebalye enjoy the exclusive right of being guides to the holy places; my suite therefore consisted of two of them loaded with provisions, together with my servant and a young Greek. The latter had been a sailor in the Red sea, and appeared to have turned monk chiefly for the sake of getting his fill of brandy from the convent�s cellar. May 20th.�We were in motion before sunrise for the Djebel Mousa or Mountain of Moses, the road to which begins to ascend immediately behind the walls of the convent. Regular steps were formerly cut all the way up, but they are now either entirely destroyed, or so much damaged by the winter torrents as to be of very little use. After ascending for about twenty-five minutes, we breathed a short time under a large impending rock, close by which is a small well of water as cold as ice; at the end of three quarters of an hour�s steep ascent we came to a small plain, the entrance to which from below is through a stone gateway, which in former times was probably closed; a little beneath it stands, amidst the rocks, a small church dedicated to the Virgin. On the plain is a larger building of rude construction, which bears the name of the convent of St. Elias; it was lately inhabited, but is now abandoned, the monks repairing here only at certain times of the year to read mass. Pilgrims usually halt on this spot, where a tall cypress tree grows by the side of a stone tank, which receives the winter rains. [p.566] On a large rock in the plain are several Arabic inscriptions, engraved by pilgrims three or four hundred years ago; I saw one also in the Syriac language. According to the Koran and the Moslem traditions, it was in this part of the mountain, which is called Djebel Oreb, or Horeb, that Moses communicated with the Lord. From hence a still steeper ascent of half an hour, the steps of which are also in ruins, leads to the summit of Djebel Mousa, where stands the church which forms the principal object of the pilgrimage; it is built on the very peak of the mountain, the plane of which is at most sixty paces in circumference. The church, though strongly built with granite, is now greatly dilapidated by the unremitted attempts of the Arabs to destroy it; the door, roof, and walls are greatly injured. Szaleh, the present Sheikh of the Towara, with his tribe the Korashy, was the principal instrument in the work of destruction, because, not being entitled to any tribute from the convent, they are particularly hostile to the monks. Some ruins round the church indicate that a much larger and more solid building once stood here, and the rock appears to have been cut perpendicularly with great labour, to prevent any other approach to it than by the southern side. The view from this summit must be very grand, but a thick fog prevented me from seeing even the nearest mountains. About thirty paces from the church, on a somewhat lower peak, stands a poor mosque, without any ornaments, held in great veneration by the Moslems, and the place of their pilgrimage. It is frequently visited by the Bedouins, who slaughter sheep in honour of Moses; and who make vows to him and intreat his intercession in heaven in their favour. There is a feast-day on which the Bedouins come hither in a mass, and offer their sacrifices. I was told that formerly they never approached the place without being [p.567] dressed in the Ihram, or sacred mantle, with which the Moslems cover their naked bodies on visiting Mekka, and which then consisted only of a napkin tied round the middle; but this custom has been abandoned for the last forty years. Foreign Moslem pilgrims often repair to the spot, and even Mohammed Ali Pasha and his son Tousoun Pasha gave notice that they intended to visit it, but they did not keep their promise. Close by the footpath, in the ascent from St. Elias to this summit, and at a small distance from it, a place is shown in the rock, which somewhat resembles the print of the fore part of the foot; it is stated to have been made by Mohammed�s foot when he visited the mountain. We found the adjacent part of the rock sprinkled with blood in consequence of an accident which happened a few days ago to a Turkish lady of rank who was on her way from Cairo to Mekka, with her son, and who had resided for some weeks in the convent, during which she made the tour of the sacred places, bare footed, although she was old and decrepid. In attempting to kiss the mark of Mohammed�s foot, she fell, and wounded her head; but not so severely as to prevent her from pursuing her pilgrimage. Somewhat below the mosque is a fine reservoir cut very deep in the granite rock, for the reception of rain water. The Arabs believe that the tables of the commandments are buried beneath the pavement of the church on Djebel Mousa, and they have made excavations on every side in the hope of finding them. They more particularly revere this spot from a belief that the rains which fall in the peninsula are under the immediate control of Moses; and they are persuaded that the priests of the convent are in possession of the Taourat, a book sent down to Moses from heaven, upon the opening and shutting of which depend the rains of the peninsula. The reputation, which the monks have thus obtained of having the dispensation of the rains [p.568] in their hands has become very troublesome to them, but they have brought it on by their own measures for enhancing their credit with the Bedouins. In times of dearth they were accustomed to proceed in a body to Djebel Mousa, to pray for rain, and they encouraged the belief that the rain was due to their intercessions. By a natural inference, the Bedouins have concluded that if the monks could bring rain, they had it likewise in their power to withhold it, and the consequence is, that whenever a dearth happens they accuse the monks of malevolence, and often tumultuously assemble and compel them to repair to the mountain to pray. Some years since, soon after an occurrence of this kind, it happened that a violent flood burst over the peninsula, and destroyed many date trees; a Bedouin, whose camel and sheep had been swept away by the torrent, went in a fury to the convent, and fired his gun at it, and when asked the reason, exclaimed; �You have opened the book so much that we are all drowned!� He was pacified by presents; but on departing he begged that in future the monks would only half open the Taourat, in order that the rains might be more moderate. The supposed influence of the monks is, however, sometimes attended with more fortunate results: the Sheikh Szaleh had never been father of a male child, and on being told that Providence had thus punished him for his enmity to the convent, he two years ago brought a load of butter to the monks, and entreated them to go to the mountain and pray that his newly-married wife, who was then pregnant, might be delivered of a son. The monks complied, and Szaleh soon after became the happy father of a fine boy; since that period he has been the friend of the convent, and has even partly repaired the church on Djebel Mousa. This summit was formerly inhabited by the monks, but, at present they visit it only in time of festivals. BIR SHONNAR [p.569] We returned to the convent of St. Elias, and then descended on the western side of the mountain for half an hour by another decayed flight of steps, into a valley where is a small convent called El Erbayn, or the forty; it is in good repair, and is at present inhabited by a family of Djebalye, who take care of the garden annexed to it, which affords a pleasing place of rest to those who descend from the barren mountains above. In its neighbourhood are extensive olive plantations, but I was told that for the last five summers the locusts had devoured both the fruit and foliage of these trees, upon which they alight in preference to all others. This insect is not less dreaded here than in Arabia, Syria, and Egypt, but the Bedouins of Mount Sinai, unlike those of Arabia, instead of eating them, hold them in great abhorrence. We passed the mid-day hours at St. Elias, and towards evening ascended the mountain opposite to that of Mousa, which forms the western cliff of this narrow valley. After proceeding about an hour we stopped near a small well, where we found several huts of Djebalye, and cleared a place among the rocks, where our party encamped for the night. The well is called Bir Shonnar [Arabic], from the circumstance of a monk who was wandering in these mountains, and nearly dying of thirst, having miraculously discovered it by seeing the bird Shonnar fly up from the spot; it is closely surrounded by rocks, and is not more than a foot in diameter and as much in depth. The Bedouins say that it never dries up, and that its water, even when exposed to the sun, is as cold as ice. Several trees grow near it, amongst others the Zarour [Arabic], now almost in full bloom. Its fruit, of the size of a small cherry, with much of the flavour of a strawberry, is, I believe, not a native of Egypt, but is very common in Syria. I bought a lamb of the Bedouins, which we roasted among the rocks, and although there were only two women and one girl present, and [p.570] the steep side of the mountain hardly permitted a person to stand up with firmness, and still less to wheel about, yet the greater part of the night was spent in the Mesámer, or national song and dance, to which several other neighbouring Djebalye were attracted. The air was delightfully cool and pure. While in the lower country, and particularly on the sea shore, I found the thermometer often at 102°�105°, and once even at 110°; in the convent it never stood higher than 75°. The Semoum wind never reaches these upper regions. In winter the whole of the upper Sinai is deeply covered with snow, which chokes up many of the passes, and often renders the mountains of Moses and St. Catherine inaccessible. The climate is so different from that of Egypt, that fruits are nearly two months later in ripening here than at Cairo; apricots, which begin to be in season there in the last days of April, are not fit to eat in Sinai till the middle of June. May 21st.�We left our resting-place before sign-rise, and climbed up a steep ascent, where there had formerly been steps, which are now entirely destroyed. This side of Djebel Katerin or Mount St. Catherine, is noted for its excellent pasturage; herbs sprout up every where between the rocks, and as many of them are odoriferous, the scent early in the morning, when the dew falls, is delicious. The Zattar [Arabic], Ocimum Zatarhendi, was particularly conspicuous, and is esteemed here the best possible food for sheep. In the month of June, when the herbs are in blossom, the monks are in the habit of repairing to this and the surrounding mountains, in order to collect various herbs, which they dry, and send to the convent at Cairo, from whence they are dispatched to the archbishop of Sinai at Constantinople, who distributes them to his friends and dependents; they are supposed to possess many virtues conducive to health. A botanist would find a rich harvest here, and it is much to be regretted that two mountains so easy of access, [p.571] and so rich in vegetation, as Sinai and Libanus, should be still unexplored by men of science. The pretty red flower of the Noman plant [Arabic], Euphorbia retusa of Forskal, abounds in al[l] the valleys of Sinai, and is seen also amongst the most barren granite rocks of the mountains. As we approached the summit of the mountain we saw at a distance a small flock of mountain goats feeding among the rocks. One of our Arabs left us, and by a widely circuitous road endeavoured to get to leeward of them, and near enough to fire at them; he enjoined us to remain in sight of them, and to sit down in order not to alarm them. He had nearly reached a favourable spot behind a rock, when the goats suddenly took to flight. They could not have seen the Arab, but the wind changed, and thus they smelt him. The chase of the Beden, as the wild goat is called, resembles that of the chamois of the Alps, and requires as much enterprise and patience. The Arabs make long circuits to surprise them, and endeavour to come upon them early in the morning when they feed. The goats have a leader, who keeps watch, and on any suspicious smell, sound, or object, makes a noise which is a signal to the flock to make their escape. They have much decreased of late, if we may believe the Arabs, who say that, fifty years ago, if a stranger came to a tent and the owner of it had no sheep to kill, he took his gun and went in search of a Beden. They are however even now more common than in the Alps, or in the mountains to the east of the Red sea. I had three or four of them brought to me at the convent, which I bought at threefourths of a dollar each. The flesh is excellent, and has nearly the same flavour as that of the deer. The Bedouins make waterbags of their skins, and rings of their horns, which they wear on their thumbs. When the Beden is met with in the plains the [p.572] dogs of the hunters easily catch him; but they cannot come up with him among the rocks, where he can make leaps of twenty feet. The stout Bedouin youths are all hunters, and excellent marksmen; they hold it a great honour to bring game to their tents, in proof of their being hardy mountain runners, and good shots; and the epithet Bowardy yknos es-szeyd [Arabic], �a marksman who hunts the game,� is one of the most flattering that can be bestowed upon them. It appears, from an ancient picture preserved in the convent, which represents the arrival of an archbishop from Egypt, as well as from one of the written documents in the archives, that in the sixteenth century all the Arabs were armed with bows and arrows as well as with matchlocks; at present the former are no longer known, but almost every tent has its matchlock, which the men use with great address, notwithstanding its bad condition. I believe bows are no longer used as regular weapons by the Bedouins in any part of Arabia. After a very slow ascent of two hours we reached the top of Mount St. Catherine, which, like the mountain of Moses, terminates in a sharp point; its highest part consists of a single immense block of granite, whose surface is so smooth, that it is very difficult to ascend it. Luxuriant vegetation reaches up to this rock, and the side of the mountain presented a verdure which, had it been of turf instead of shrubs and herbs, would have completed the resemblance between this mountain and some of the Alpine summits. There is nothing on the summit of the rock to attract attention, except a small church or chapel, hardly high enough within to allow a person to stand upright, and badly built of loose uncemented stones; the floor is the bare rock, in which, solid as it is, the body of St. Catherine is believed to have been miraculously buried by angels, after her martyrdom at Alexandria. I saw inscribed here [p.573] the names of several European travellers, and among others that of the unfortunate M. Boutin, a French officer of engineers, who passed here in 1811.[M. Boutin came to Egypt from Zante; he first made a journey to the cataracts of Assouan, and then went to Bosseir, where he hired a ship for Mokha, but on reaching Yembo, Tousoun Pasha, the son of Mohammed Ali, would not permit him to proceed, he therefore returned to Suez, after visiting the convent of Sinai, and its neighbouring mountains. After his return to Cairo, he went to Siwah, to examine the remains of the temple of Jupiter Ammon, carrying with him a small boat built at Cairo, for the purpose of exploring the lake and the island in it, mentioned by Browne. He experienced great vexations from the inhabitants of Siwah; and the boat was of no use to him, owing to the shallowness of the lake, so that after a residence of three days at the Oasis, where he seems to have made no discoveries, he returned to Cairo in the company of some Augila merchants. On his way he passed the wood of petrified date trees discovered by Horneman; his route, I believe, was to the south of that of Horneman, and nearer the lesser Oasis. I had the pleasure of seeing him upon his return from Siwah, when I first arrived at Cairo. He remained two years in Egypt, and then continued his travels towards Syria, where he met with his death in 1816, in the mountainous district of the Nosayris, west of Hamah, having imprudently exposed himself with a great deal of baggage, in company only of his interpreter and servant, and without any native guide, to the robbers of that infamous tribe. He was a lover of truth, and a man of observation and enterprize; the public, therefore, and his own government, have to regret his death no less than his friends.] From this elevated peak a very extensive view opened before us, and the direction of the different surroundings chains of mountains could be distinctly traced. The upper nucleus of the Sinai, composed almost entirely of granite, forms a rocky wilderness of all irregular circular shape, intersected by many narrow valleys, and from thirty to forty miles in diameter. It contains the highest mountains of the peninsula, whose shaggy and pointed peaks and steep and shattered sides, render it clearly distinguishable from all the rest of the country in view. It is upon this highest region of the peninsula that the fertile valleys are found, which produce fruit trees; they are principally to the west and south-west of the convent at three or four hours distant. [p.574] Water too is always found in plenty in this district, on which account it is the place of refuge of all the Bedouins when the low country is parched up. I think it very probable that this upper country or wilderness is, exclusively, the desert of Sinai so often mentioned in the account of the wanderings of the Israelites. Mount St. Catherine appears to stand nearly in the centre of it. To the northward of this central region, and divided from it by the broad valley called Wady El Sheikh, and by several minor Wadys, begins a lower range of mountains, called Zebeir, which extends eastwards, having at one extremity the two peaks called El Djoze [Arabic], above the plantations of Wady Feiran, and losing itself to the east in the more open country towards Wady Sal. Beyond the Zebeir northwards are sandy plains and valleys, which I crossed, towards the west, at Raml el Moral, and towards the east, about Hadhra.This part i[s] the most barren and destitute of water of the whole country. At its eastern extremity it is called El Birka [Arabic]. It borders to the north on the chain of El Tyh, which stretches in a regular line eastwards, parallel with the Zebeir, beginning at Sarbout el Djeinel. On reaching, in its eastern course, the somewhat higher mountain called El Odjme [Arabic], it separates into two; one of its branches turns off in a right angle northward, and after continuing for about fifteen miles in that direction, again turns to the east, and extends parallel with the second and southern branch all across the peninsula, towards the eastern gulf. The northern branch, which is called El Dhelel [Arabic], bounds the view from Mount St. Catherine. On turning to the east, I found that the mountains in this direction, beyond the high district of Sinai, run in a lower range towards the Wady Sal, and that the slope of the upper mountains is much less abrupt than on the opposite side. From Sal, east and north-east, the chains intersect each other in many irregular masses [p.575] of inferior height, till they reach the gulf of Akaba, which I clearly distinguished when the sun was just rising over the mountains of the Arabian coast. Excepting the short extent from Noweyba to Dahab, the mountains bordering on the gulf are all of secondary height, but they rise to a considerable elevation between those two points. The country between Sherm, Nabk, and the convent, is occupied also by mountains of minor size, and the valleys, generally, are so narrow, that few of them can be distinguished from the point where I stood, the whole country, in that direction, appearing an uninterrupted wilderness of barren mountains. The highest points on that side appear to be above Wady Kyd, above the valley of Naszeb, and principally the peaks called Om Kheysyn [Arabic] and Masaoud [Arabic]. The view to the south was bounded by the high mountain of Om Shomar [Arabic], which forms a nucleus of itself, apparently unconnected with the upper Sinai, although bordering close upon it. To the right of this mountain I could distinguish the sea, in the neighbourhood of Tor, near which begins a low calcareous chain of mountains, called Djebel Hemam (i.e. death), not Hamam (or bath), extending along the gulf of Suez, and separated from the upper Sinai by a broad gravelly plain called El Kaa [Arabic], across which the road from Tor to Suez passes. This plain terminates to the W.N.W. of Mount St. Catherine, and nearly in the direction of Djebel Serbal. Towards the Kaa, the central Sinai mountains are very abrupt, and leave no secondary intermediate chain between them and the plain at their feet. The mountain of Serbal, which I afterwards visited, is separated from the upper Sinai by some valleys, especially Wady Hebran, and it forms, with several neighbouring mountains, a separate cluster terminating in peaks, the highest of which appears to be as high as Mount St. Catherine. It borders on the Wady Feiran and the chain of Zebeir. [p.576] I took the following bearings, from the summit of Mount St. Catherine. These, together with those which I took from the peak of Om Shomar and from Serbal, and the distances and direction of my different routes, will serve to construct a map of the peninsula more detailed and accurate than any that has yet been published. El Djoze [Arabic], a rock distinguished by two peaks above that part of Wady Feiran where the date groves are, N.W. b. N. Sarbout el Djemel [Arabic], the beginning of Djebel Tyh, N.W. 1/4 N. El Odjme, N. 1/2 E. El Fereya, a high mountain of the upper Sinai region, N.N.E. Zelka is in the same direction of N.N.E. It is a well, about one day�s journey from the convent, on the upper route from the convent to Akaba, which traverses the chain of Tyh. The stations in that road, beyond Zelka, are, Ayn [Arabic], Hossey [Arabic], and Akaba. The bearing of Ayn was pointed out to me N.E. b. N. The mountain over El Hadhra, a well which I passed on my road to Akaba, N.E. 1/2 E. Senned, a secondary mountain between the upper Sinai and Hadhra, bordering upon Wady Sal; extends from E.N.E. to N.E. Noweyba, E. We could not see the sea shore at Noweyba, but the high mountains over it were very conspicuous. Wady Naszeb, on the northern road from Sherm to the convent, extended in a direction S.E. to E.S.E. Dahab, on the eastern gulf, E.S.E. Djebel Masaoud, a high mountain on the borders of the upper Sinai, S.E. b. E. Wady Kyd, and the mountain over it, S.E. The Island of Tyran, S.S.E. 1/2 E. [p.577] Om Kheysyn [Arabic], a high mountain between Sherm and the Sinai, S. 1/4 E. The direction of Sherm was pointed out to me, a little to the eastward of south. Djebel Thomman [Arabic], a high peak, belonging to the mountains of Om Shomar, a little distant from the Sinai, S. The peak of Om Shomar, S.S.W. El Koly [Arabic], a high peak of the upper Sinai, S.W. ½ S. At its foot passes the road from the convent to Tor. The direction of Tor was pointed out to me S.W. The rocks of the upper Sinai, which constitute the borders of it in that direction, are called El Sheydek [Arabic]. El Nedhadhyh [Arabic], mountains likewise on the skirts of the upper Sinai, W. 1/4 S. Madsous [Arabic], another peak of the upper Sinai, W. 1/4 N. Serbal, N.W. 1/2 W. The well El Morkha, lying near the Birket Faraoun, in the common road from Tor to Suez, is in the same direction. Om Dhad [Arabic], N.W. This is the head of a Wady, called Wady Kebryt, on the outside of the Sinai chain. Of the upper Sinai, the peaks of Djebel Mousa, of St. Catherine, of Om Thoman, of Koly, and of Fereya are the highest. In making the preceding observations I was obliged to take out my compass and pencil, which greatly surprised the Arabs, who, seeing me in an Arab dress, and speaking their language, yet having the same pursuits as the Frank travellers whom they had seen here, were quite at a loss what to make of me. The suspicion was immediately excited, that I had ascended this mountain to practise some enchantment, and it was much increased by my further proceedings. The Bedouins supposed that I had come to carry off the rain, and my return to Cairo was, in consequence, much less agreeable than my journey from thence; indeed I might have been subjected to EL LEDJA [p.578] some unpleasant occurrences had not the faithful Hamd been by my side, who in the route back was of more service to me than all the Firmahns of the Pasha could have been. We returned from Mount St. Catherine to the place where we had passed the night, and breakfasted with the Djebalye, for which payment was asked, and readily given. The conveying of pilgrims is one of the few modes of subsistence which these poor people possess, and at a place where strangers are continually passing, gratuitous hospitality is not to be expected from them, though they might be ready to afford it to the helpless traveller. The two days excursion to the holy places cost me about forty piastres, or five dollars. Before mid-day we had again reached the convent El Erbayn, in the garden of which I passed a most agreeable afternoon. The verdure was so brilliant and the blossoms of the orange trees diffused so fine a perfume that I was transported in imagination from the barren cliffs of the wilderness to the luxurious groves of Antioch. It is surprising that the Europeans resident at Cairo do not prefer spending the season of the plague in these pleasant gardens, and this delightful climate, to remaining close prisoners in the infected city. We returned in the evening to the convent, by following to the northward the valley in which the Erbayn stands. This valley is very narrow, and extremely stony, many large blocks having rolled from the mountains into it; it is called El Ledja [Arabic], a name given to a similar rocky district, described by me, in the Haouran. At twenty minutes walk from the Erbayn we passed a block of granite, said to be the rock out of which the water issued when struck by the rod of Moses. It lies quite insulated by the side of the path, which is about ten feet higher than the lowest bottom of the valley. The rock is about twelve feet in height, of an irregular shape approaching to a cube. There are some apertures upon its surface, through which the water is said to have burst out; they are [p.579] about twenty in number, and lie nearly in a straight line round the three sides of the stone. They are for the most part ten or twelve inches long, two or three inches broad, and from one to two inches deep, but a few of them are as deep as four inches. Every observer must be convinced, on the slightest examination, that most of these fissures are the work of art, but three or four perhaps are natural, and these may have first drawn the attention of the monks to the stone, and have induced them to call it the rock of the miraculous supply of water. Besides the marks of art evident in the holes themselves, the spaces between them have been chiselled, so as to make it appear as if the stone had been worn in those parts by the action of the water; though it cannot be doubted, that if water had flowed from the fissures it must generally have taken quite a different direction. One traveller saw on this stone twelve openings, answering to the number of the tribes of Israel; [Breydenbach.] another [Sicard, Mémoires des Missions.] describes the holes as a foot deep. They were probably told so by the monks, and believed what they heard rather than what they saw. About one hundred and fifty paces farther on in the valley lies another piece of rock, upon which it seems that the work of deception was first begun, there being four or five apertures cut in it, similar to those on the other block, but in a less finished state; as it is somewhat smaller than the former, and lies in a less conspicuous part of the valley, removed from the public path, the monks probably thought proper in process of time to assign the miracle to the other. As the rock of Moses has been described by travellers of the fifteenth century, the deception must have originated among the monks of an earlier period. As to the present inhabitants of the convent and of the peninsula, they must be acquitted of any fraud respecting it, for they conscientiously believe that it is the very rock from whence the water gushed forth. In this part of [p.580] the peninsula the Israelites could not have suffered from thirst: the upper Sinai is full of wells and springs, the greater part of which are perennial; and on whichever side the pretended rock of Moses is approached, copious sources are found within a quarter of an hour of it. The rock is greatly venerated by the Bedouins, who put grass into the fissures, as offerings to the memory of Moses, in the same manner as they place grass upon the tombs of their saints, because grass is to them the most precious gift of nature, and that upon which their existence chiefly depends. They also bring hither their female camels, for they believe that by making the animal couch down before the rock, while they recite some prayers, and by putting fresh grass into the fissures of the stone, the camels will become fertile, and yield an abundance of milk. The superstition is encouraged by the monks, who rejoice to see the infidel Bedouins venerating the same object with themselves. Those who should attempt to weaken the faith of the monks and their visitors respecting this rock, would be now almost as blameable as the original authors of the imposture; for, such is the ignorance of the oriental Christians, and the impossibility of their obtaining any salutary instruction under the Turkish government, that were their faith in such miracles completely shaken, their religion would soon be entirely overthrown, and they would be left to wander in all the darkness of Atheism. It is curious to observe the blindness with which Christians as well as Turks believe in the pretended miracles of those who are interested in deceiving them. There is hardly a town in Syria or Egypt, where the Moslems have not a living saint, who works wonders, which the whole population is ready to attest as eye-witnesses. When I was at Damascus in 1812, some Christians returned thither from Jerusalem, where they had been to celebrate Easter. Some striking miracles said to have been performed by the Pope during his imprisonment at Savona, and which had been industriously propagated by the [p.581] Latin priests in Syria, seem to have suggested to them the design of imitating his Holiness: the returning pilgrims unanimously declared, that when the Spanish priest of the convent of the Holy Sepulchre read the mass on Easter Sunday or Monday, upon the Mount of Olives, the whole assembled congregation saw him rise, while behind the altar, two or three feet in the air, and support himself in that position for several minutes, in giving the people his blessing. If any Christian of Damascus had expressed his doubts of the truth of this story, the monks of the convent there would have branded him with the epithet of Framasoun (Freemason), which among the Syrian Christians is synonymous with Atheist, and he would for ever have lost his character among his brethren. A little farther down than the rock above described is shewn the seat of Moses, where it is said that he often sat; it is a small and apparently natural excavation in a granite rock, resembling a chair. Near this is the �petrified pot or kettle of Moses� [Arabic], a name given to a circular projecting knob in a rock, similar in size and shape to the lid of a kettle. The Arabs have in vain endeavoured to break this rock, which they suppose to contain great treasures. As we proceeded from the rock of the miraculous supply of water along the valley El Ledja, I saw upon several blocks of granite, whose smooth sides were turned towards the path, inscriptions similar to those at Naszeb; the following were the most legible: 1. Upon a small block: [not included] 2. [not included] [p.582] 3. [not included] There are many effaced lines on this block. 4. Upon a rock near the stone of Moses: [not included] 5. Upon a block close to the above: [not included] 6. [not included] 7. Upon the rock called the Pot: [not included] 8. Upon a large insulated block of granite: [not included] EL BOSTAN [p.583] It is to be observed, that none of these inscriptions are found higher up the valley than the water rock, being all upon blocks on the way from thence to the convent, which seems to be a strong proof, that they were inscribed by those persons only who came from the convent or from Cairo, to visit the rock, and not by pilgrims in their way to the mountain of Moses or of St. Catherine, who would undoubtedly have left some record farther up the valley, and more particularly upon the sides and summits of the mountains themselves: but I could there find no inscriptions whatever, although I examined the ground closely, and saw many smooth blocks by the road, very suitable to such inscriptions. At forty minutes walk from Erbayn, where the valley El Ledja opens into the broad valley which leads eastwards to the convent, is a fine garden, with the ruins of a small convent, called El Bostan; water is conducted into it by a small channel from a spring in the Ledja. It was full of apricot trees, and roses in full blossom. A few Djebalye live here and take care of the garden. From hence to the convent is half an hour; in the way is shewn the head of the golden calf, which the Israelites worshipped, transmuted into stone. It is somewhat singular that both the monks and the Bedouins call it the cow�s head (Ras el Bakar), and not the calf�s, confounding it, perhaps, with the �red heifer,� of which the Old Testament and the Koran speak. It is a stone half-buried in the ground, and bears some resemblance to the forehead of a cow. Some travellers have explained this stone to be the mould in which Aaron cast the calf, though it is not hollow but projecting; the Arabs and monks however gravely assured me that it was the �cow�s� head itself. Beyond this object, towards the convent, a hill is pointed out to the left, called Djebel Haroun, because it is believed to be the spot where Aaron assembled the seventy elders of Israel. Both this and the cow�s head have evidently received these denominations from CONVENT OF MOUNT SINAI [p.584] the monks and Bedouins, in order that they may multiply the objects of veneration and curiosity within the pilgrim�s tour round the convent. On my return to the convent I could not help expressing to several of the monks my surprise at the metamorphosis of a calf into a cow, and of an idol of gold into stone; but I found that they were too little read in the books of Moses to understand even this simple question, and I therefore did not press the subject. I believe there is not a single individual amongst them, who has read the whole of the Old Testament; nor do I think that among eastern Christians in general there is one in a thousand, of those who can read, that has ever taken that trouble. They content themselves, in general, with their prayer-books, liturgies, and histories of saints; few of them read the gospels, though more do so in Syria than in Egypt; the reading of the whole of the scripture is discountenanced by the clergy; the wealthy seldom have the inclination to prosecute the study of the Holy writings, and no others are able to procure a manuscript copy of the Bible, or one printed in the two establishments in Mount Libanus. The well meant endeavours of the Bible Society in England to supply them with printed copies of the Scriptures in Arabic, if not better directed than they have hitherto been, will produce very little effect in these countries. The cost of such a copy, trifling as it may seem in England, is a matter of importance to the poor Christians of the east; the Society has, besides, chosen a version which is not current in the east, where the Roman translation alone is acknowledged by the Clergy, who easily make their flocks believe that the Scriptures have been interpolated by the Protestants. It would, perhaps, have been better if the Society, in the beginning at least, had furnished the eastern Christians with cheap copies of the Gospels and Psalms only, which being the books chiefly in use among them in manuscript, [p.585] would have been not only useful to them, but more approved of by the directors of their consciences, than the entire Scripture. Upon Mohammedans, it is vain to expect that the reading of the present Arabic version of the Bible should make the slightest impression. If any of them were brought to conquer their inherent aversion to the book, they could not read a page in it without being tired and disgusted with its style. In the Koran they possess the purest and most elegant composition in their language, the rhythmical prose of which, exclusive of the sacred light in which they hold it, is alone sufficient to make a strong impression upon them. The Arabic of the greater part of the Bible, on the contrary, and especially that of the Gospels, is in the very worst style; the books of Moses and the Psalms are somewhat better. Grammatical rules, it is true, are observed, and chosen terms are sometimes employed; but the phraseology and whole construction is generally contrary to the spirit of the language, and so uncouth, harsh, affected, and full of foreign idioms, that no Musselman scholar would be tempted to prosecute the study of it, and a few only would thoroughly understand it. In style and phraseology it differs from the Koran more than the monkish Latin from the orations of Cicero. I will not take upon me to declare how far the Roman and the Society�s Arabic translation of the Old Testament are defective, being unable to read the original Hebrew text; but I can affirm that they both disagree, in many instances, from the English translation. The Christians of the East, who will seldom read any book written by a Moslem, and to whom an accurate knowledge of Arabic and of the best writers in that language are consequently unknown, are perfectly satisfied with the style of the Roman version which is in use among them; it is for the sake of perusing it that they undertake a grammatical study of the Arabic language, and their priests and [p.586] learned men usually make it the model of their own style; they would be unwilling therefore to admit any other translation; and there is not, at present, either in Syria or in Egypt any Christian priest so bold and so learned as Bishop Germanus Ferhat of Aleppo, who openly expressed his dislike of this translation, and had declared his intention of altering it himself, for which, and other reasons, he was branded with the epithet of heretic. For Arab Christians, therefore, the Roman translation will not easily be superseded, and if Mussulmans are to be tempted to study the Scriptures, they must be clothed in more agreeable language, than that which has lately been presented to them, for they are the last people upon whom precepts conveyed in rude language will have any effect. In the present state of western Asia, however, the conversion of Mohammedans is very difficult; I have heard only of one instance during the last century, and the convert was immediately shipped off to Europe. On the other hand, should an European power ever obtain a firm footing in Egypt, it is probable that many years would not elapse before thousands of Moslems would profess Christianity; not from the dictates of their conscience or judgment, but from views of worldly interest. I was cordially greeted on my return to the convent, by the monks and the fatherly Ikonómos, one of the best-natured churchmen I have met with in the East. The safe return of pilgrims from the holy mountains is always a subject of gratulation, so great is their dread of the Arabs. I rested the following day in the convent, where several Greeks from Tor and Suez had arrived; being friends of the monks, they were invited in the evening to the private apartments of the latter, where they were plied so bountifully with brandy that they all retired tipsy to bed. Several Bedouins had acquainted me that a thundering noise, WADY OWASZ [p.587] like repeated discharges of heavy artillery, is heard at times in these mountains; and they all affirmed that it came from Om Shomar. The monks corroborated the story, and even positively asserted that they had heard the sound about mid-day, five years ago, describing it in the same manner as the Bedouins. The same noise had been heard in more remote times, and the Ikonómos, who has lived here forty years, told me that he remembered to have heard the noise at four or five separate periods. I enquired whether any shock of an earthquake had ever been felt on such occasions, but was answered in the negative. Wishing to ascertain the truth, I prepared to visit the mountain of Om Shomar. As I had lost much of the confidence of the Bedouins by writing upon the mountains, and could not intimidate them by shewing a passport from the Pasha, I kept my intended journey secret, and concerting matters with Hamd and two Djebalye, I was let down from the window of the convent a little before midnight on the 23rd of May, and found my guides well armed and in readiness below. We proceeded by Wady Sebaye, the same road I had come from Sherm. In this Wady, tradition says, the Israelites gained the victory over the Amalekites, which was obtained by the holding up of the hands of Moses (Ex. xvii. 12.), but this battle was fought in Raphidim, where the water gushed out from the rock, a situation which appears to have been to the westward of the convent, on the approach from the gulf of Suez. I was much disappointed at being able to trace so very few of the ancient Hebrew names of the Old Testament in the modern names of the peninsula; but it is evident that, with the exception of Sinai and a few others, they are all of Arabic derivation. On a descent from the summit of Wady Sebaye, at an hour and a half from the convent, we turned to the right from the road to Sherm, and entered Wady Owasz [Arabic], in a direction WADY RAHABA [p.588] S. b. W. I found here a small chain of white and red sand-stone hills in the midst of granite. The morning was so very cold that we were obliged to stop and light a fire, round which we sat till sunrise; my feet and hands were absolutely benumbed, for neither gloves or stockings are in fashion among Bedouins. We continued in the valley, crossing several hills, till at four hours and a half we reached Wady Rahaba [Arabic], in the lower parts of which we had passed a very rainy night on the 17th. Rahaba is one of the principal valleys on this side of the peninsula; it is broad, and affords good pasturage. We halted under a granite rock in the middle of it, close by about a dozen small buildings, which are called by the Bedouins Makhsen (magazines), and which serve them as a place of deposit for their provision, clothes, money, &c. As Bedouins are continually moving about, they find it inconvenient to carry with them what they do not constantly want; they therefore leave whatever they have not immediate need of in these magazines, to which they repair as occasion requires. Almost every Bedouin in easy circumstances has one of them; I have met with them in several parts of the mountains, always in clusters of ten or twenty together. They are at most ten feet high, generally about ten or twelve feet square, constructed with loose stones, covered with the trunks of date trees, and closed with a wooden door and lock. These buildings are altogether so slight, and the doors so insecure, that a stone would be sufficient to break them open; no watchmen are left to guard them, and they are in such solitary spots that they might easily be plundered in the night, without the thief being ever discovered. But such is the good faith of the Towara towards each other, that robberies of this kind are almost unheard of; and their Sheikh Szaleh, whose magazine is well known to contain fine dresses, shawls, and dollars, considers his property as safe there as it would be in the best OM SHOMAR [p.589] secured building in a large town. The Towara are well entitled to pride themselves on this trait in their character; for I found nothing similar to it among other Bedouins. The only instance upon record of a magazine having been plundered among them, is that mentioned in page 475, for which the robber�s own father inflicted the punishment of death. We continued our route in a side branch of the Rababa, till at the end of five hours and a half, we ascended a mountain, and then descended into a narrow valley, or rather cleft, between the rocks, called Bereika [Arabic]. The camel which I rode not being able to proceed farther on account of the rocky road, I left it here in charge of one of the Djebalye. This part of Sinai was completely parched up, no rain having fallen in it during the last winter. W.S.W. from hence, on entering a narrow pass called Wady Zereigye [Arabic], we found the ground moist, there being a small well, but almost dried up; it would have cost us some time to dig it up to obtain water, which no longer rose above the surface, though it still maintained some verdure around it. This defile was thickly overgrown with fennel, three or four feet high; the Bedouins eat the stalks raw, and pretend that it cools the blood. Farther down we came to two copious springs, most picturesquely situated among the rocks, being overshaded by large wild fig-trees, a great number of which grow in other parts of this district. We descended the Zereigye by windings, and at the end of eight hours reached its lowest extremity, where it joins a narrow valley extending along the foot of Om Shomar, the almost perpendicular cliffs of which now stood before us. The country around is the wildest I had yet seen in these mountains; the devastations of torrents are every where visible, the sides of the mountains being rent by them in numberless directions; the surface of the sharp rocks is blackened by the sun; all vegetation is dry and withered; and the whole [p.590] scene presents nothing but utter desolation and hopeless barrenness. We ascended S.E. in the valley of Shomar, winding round the foot of the mountain for about an hour, till we reached the well of Romhan [Arabic], at nine hours from the convent, where we rested. This is a fine spring; high grass grows in the narrow pass near it, with several date-trees and a gigantic fig-tree. Just above the well, on the side of the mountain, are the ruins of a convent, called Deir Antous; it was inhabited in the beginning of the last century, and according to the monks, it was the last convent abandoned by them. I found it mentioned in records of the fifteenth century in the convent; it was then one of the principal settlements, and caravans of asses laden with corn and other provisions passed by this place regularly from the convent to Tor, for this is the nearest road to that harbour, though it is more difficult than the more western route, which is now usually followed. The convent consisted of a small solid building, constructed with blocks of granite. I was told that date plantations are found higher up in the valley of Romhan, and that the monks formerly had their gardens there, of which some of the fruit trees still remain. May 24th.�Early this morning I took Hamd with me to climb the Om Shomar, while the other man went with his gun in pursuit of some mountain-goats which he had seen yesterday at sunset upon the summit of a neighbouring mountain; he was accompanied by another Djebalye, whom we had met by chance. I had promised them a good reward if they should kill a goat, for I did not wish to have them near me, when examining the rocks upon the mountain. It took me an hour and a half to reach the top of Shomar, and I employed three hours in visiting separately all the surrounding heights, but I could no where find the slightest traces of a volcano, or of any volcanic productions, which I have not observed in any part of [p.591] the upper Sinai. Om Shomar consists of granite, the lower stratum is red, that at the top is almost white, so as to appear from a distance like chalk; this arises from the large proportion of white feldspath in it, and the smallness of the particles of hornblende and mica. In the middle of the mountain, between the granite rocks, I found broad strata of brittle black slate, mixed with layers of quartz and feldspath, and with micaceous schistus. The quartz includes thin strata of mica of the most brilliant white colour, which is quite dazzling in the sun, and forms a striking contrast with the blackened surface of the slate and red granite. The mountain of Om Shomar rises to a sharp-pointed peak, the highest summit of which, it is, I believe, impossible to reach; the sides being almost perpendicular, and the rock so smooth, as to afford no hold to the foot. I halted at about two hundred feet below it, where a beautiful view opened upon the sea of Suez, and the neighbourhood of Tor, which place was distinctly visible; at our feet extended the wide plain El Kaa. The southern side of this mountain is very abrupt, and there is no secondary chain, like those on the descent from Sinai to the sea, in every other direction. I have already mentioned the low chain called Hemam, which separates the Kaa from the gulf of Suez. In this chain, about five hours from Tor, northward, is the Djebel Nakous, or mountain of the Bell. On its side next the sea a mass of very fine sand, which has collected there, rushes down at times, and occasions a hollow sound, of which the Bedouins relate many stories; they compare it to the ringing of bells, and a fable is repeated among them, that the bells belong to a convent buried under the sands. The wind and weather are not believed to have any effect upon the sound. Bearings from Om Shomar. Tor, W.1.S. The usual road to Tor from the upper Sinai lies through the valley of El Ghor [Arabic], not far distant to the N.W. WADY RAHABA [p.592] of Shomar; to the south of El Ghor extends the chain of Djed el Aali [Arabic]; and another valley called El Shedek [Arabic], entered from the Ghor, leads towards the lower plain Djebel Serbal, N. 1/4 W. The Djoze, over Feiran, N. 1/2 W. Om Dhad, N.N.W. Fera Soweyd [Arabic], a high mountain between Om Shomar and Mount St. Catherine, N. b. E. It forms one range with the peak of Koly, which branches of from hence, N.E. b. N. Mountain of Masaoud, E. Mountain over Wady Kyd, E. 1/4 S. We took a breakfast after our return to Romhan, and then descended by the same way we had come. In re-ascending Wady Zereigye we heard the report of a gun, and were soon after gratified by seeing our huntsman arrive at the place where we had left our camel, with a fine mountain goat. Immediately on killing it he had skinned it, taken out the entrails, and then put the carcase again into the skin, carrying it on his back, with the skin of the legs tied across his breast. No butcher in Europe can surpass a Bedouin in skinning an animal quickly; I have seen them strip a camel in less than a quarter of an hour; the entrails are very seldom thrown away; if water is at hand, they are washed, if not, they are roasted over the fire without washing; the liver and lungs of all animals are usually eaten raw, and many of the hungry bystanders are seen swallowing raw pieces of flesh. After a hearty dinner we descended, by a different path from that we had ascended, into the upper part of Wady Rahaba, in which we continued N.E. b. E. for two or three hours, when we halted at a well called Merdoud [Arabic], at a little distance from several plantations of fruittrees. My departure from the convent had roused the suspicions of the Bedouins; they had learnt that I was going to Om Shomar, and WADY OWASZ [p.593] two of them set out this morning by different routes, in order to intercept my return, intending no doubt to excite a quarrel with me respecting my visits to their mountains, in the hope of extorting money from me. We met one of them at this well, and he talked as loud and was as boisterous as if I had killed some of his kindred, or robbed his tent. After allowing him to vent his rage for half an hour, I began to speak to him in a very lofty tone, of my own importance at Cairo, and of my friendship with the Pasha; concluding by telling him, that the next time he went to Cairo I would have his camel seized by the soldiers. When he found that he could not intimidate me, he accepted of my invitation to be our guest for the night, and went in search of a neighbouring friend of his, who brought us an earthen pot, in which we cooked the goat. May 25th.�At one hour below Merdoud we again fell in with Wady Owasz, and returned by the former road to the convent. The monks were in the greatest anxiety about me, for the Bedouins who had gone in search of me, had sworn that they would shoot me; and had even refused a small present offered to them by the Ikonómos to pacify them, expecting, no doubt, to obtain much more from myself; but they now returned, and obliged him to give them what he had offered them, pretending that it was for his sake only that they had spared my life; nor would the monks believe me when I assured them that I had been in no danger on this occasion. I passed the following four days in the convent, and in several gardens and settlements of Djebalye at a little distance from it. I took this opportunity to look over some of the records of the convent which are written in Arabic, and I extracted several interesting documents relative to the state of the Bedouins in former times, and their affrays with the monks. In one, of the last century, is a CONVENT OF MOUNT SINAI [p.594] list of the Ghafeyrs of the convent, not belonging to the Towara. These are, El Rebabein [Arabic], a small tribe belonging to the great Djeheyne tribe of the Hedjaz; a few families of the Rebabein have settled at Moeleh on the Arabian coast, and in the small villages in the vicinity of Tor. They serve as pilots in that part of the Red sea, and protect the convent�s property about Tor. El Heywat [Arabic], El Syayhe [Arabic], are small tribes living east of Akaba, among the dwelling-places of the Omran. El Reteymat [Arabic], a tribe about Ghaza and Hebron. El Omarein, or Omran. El Hokouk [Arabic], the principal tribe of he Tyaha. El Mesayd [Arabic], a small tribe of the Sherkieh province of Egypt. El Alowein, a strong tribe north of Akaba. El Sowareka [Arabic], in the desert between Sinai and Ghaza. El Terabein. El Howeytat. Oulad el Fokora [Arabic], the principal branch of the tribe of Wahydat near Ghaza. Individuals of all these tribes are entitled to small yearly stipends and some clothing, and are bound to recover the property of the monks, when seized by any persons of their respective tribes. In one of the manuscripts I found the name of a Ghafeyr called Shamoul (Samuel), a Hebrew name I had never before met with among Arabs. On the 29th, I was visited by Hassan Ibn Amer [Arabic], the Sheikh of the Oulad Said, who is also one of the two principal Sheiks of the Towara, and in whose tent I had slept one night in my way to the convent. He begged me to lend him twenty dollars, which he promised to repay me at Cairo, as he wished to buy some sheep to be killed on the following day in honour of the saint Sheikh Szaleh. I told him that I never lent money to any body, but would willingly have made him a present of the sum if I had possessed it. He then said in many words, that if it had not been for his interference, the Bedouins would have waylaid and [p.595] killed me in returning from Djebel Katerin. I told him that he and his tribe would have been responsible to the Pasha of Egypt for such an act; and in short that I never paid any tribute in the Pasha�s dominions. It ended by my giving him a few pounds of coffeebeans, wrapped up in a good handkerchief, a few squares of soap, and a loaf of sugar, to present to his women, and thus we parted good friends. In the evening his brother came and also received a few trifles. He had brought a fat sheep to kill in honour of El Khoudher (St. George), a saint of the first class among Bedouins, and to whose intercession he thought himself indebted for the recovery of the health of his young wife. In the convent, adjoining to the outer wall, is a chapel dedicated to St. George; the Bedouins, who are not permitted to enter the convent, address their vows and prayers to him on the outside, just below the chapel. I was invited to partake of the repast prepared by the brother of Sheikh Hassan, and much against the advice of the monks, I let myself down the rope from the window, and sat below for several hours with the Arabs. I was invited also to the great feast of Sheikh Szaleh, in Wady Szaleh, which was to take place on the morrow, but as I knew that Szaleh, the great chief of the Towara, was to be there, and would no doubt press me hardly by his inquiries why I had come without the Pasha�s Firmahn; and as the Arabs were greatly exasperated against me for my late excursion to Om Shomar in addition to other causes of displeasure, I thought it very probable that I might be insulted amongst them, and I therefore determined to seize the opportunity of this general assembly in Wady Szaleh to begin my journey to Cairo; by so doing, I should also escape the disagreeable necessity of having Bedouin guides forced upon me. I engaged Hamd and his brother with two camels, and left the convent before dawn on the 30th, after having taken a farewell NAKB EL RAHA [p.596] of the monks, and especially of the worthy Ikonómos, who presented me at parting with a leopard�s skin, which he had lately bought of the Bedouins; together with several fine specimens of rock crystals, and a few small pieces of native cinnabar [Arabic]. The crystals are collected by the Arabs in one of the mountains not far distant from the convent, but in which of them I did not learn; I have seen some six inches in length, and one and a half in breadth; the greater part are of a smoky colour, with pyramidal tops. The cinnabar is said, by the Bedouins, to be found in great quantities upon Djebel Sheyger [Arabic], a few hours to the N.E. of Wady Osh, the valley in which I slept, at an Arab encampment, two nights before I arrived at the convent from Suez. May 30th.�We issued from the narrow valley in which the convent stands, into a broader one, or rather a plain, called El Raha, leaving on our right the road by which I first reached the convent. We continued in El Raha N.N.W. for an hour and an half, when we came to an ascent called Nakb el Raha [Arabic], the top of which we reached in two hours from the convent. I had chosen this route, which is the most southern from the convent to Suez, in order to see Wady Feiran, and to ascend from thence the mountain Serbal, which, with Mount Saint Catherine and Shomar, is the highest peak in the peninsula. I had mentioned my intention to Hamd, who it appears communicated it this morning to his brother, for the latter left us abruptly at Nakb el Raha, saying that he had forgot his gun, giving his camel in charge to Hamd, and promising to join us lower down, as his tent was not far distant. Instead, however, of going home, he ran straight to the Arabs assembled at Sheikh Szaleh, and acquainted them with my designs. Their chiefs immediately dispatched a messenger to Feiran to enjoin the people there to prevent me from ascending Serbal; but, WADY SOLAF [p.597] fortunately, I was already on my way to the mountain when the messenger reached Feiran, and on my return I had only to encounter the clamorous and now fruitless expostulations of the Arabs at that place. We began to descend from the top of Nakb el Raha, by a narrow chasm, the bed of a winter torrent; direction N.W. by N. At the end of two hours and a quarter we halted near a spring called Kanaytar [Arabic]. Upon several blocks near it I saw inscriptions in the same character as those which I had before seen, but they were so much effaced as to be no longer legible. I believe it was in these parts that Niebuhr copied the inscriptions given in plate 49 of his Voyage. From the spring the descent was steep; in many parts I found the road paved, which must have been a work of considerable labour, and I was told that it had been done in former times at the expense of the convent. This road is the only one passable for camels, with the exception of the defile in which is the seat of Moses, in the way from the upper Sinai towards Suez. At three hours and three quarters from the convent we reached the foot of this mountain, which is bordered by a broad, gravelly valley. This is the boundary of the upper mountains of Sinai on this side; they extended in an almost perpendicular range on our right towards Wady Szaleh, and on our left in the direction W.N.W. We now entered Wady Solaf [Arabic], �the valley of wine,� coming from the N. or N.E. which here separates the upper Sinai range from the lower. At five hours we passed, to our right, a Wady coming from the north, called Abou Taleb [Arabic], at the upper extremity of which is the tomb of the saint Abou Taleb, which the Bedouins often visit, and where there is an annual festival, like that of Sheikh Szaleh, but less numerously attended. Our road continued through slightly descending, sandy valleys; at the end of five hours and a quarter, after having [p.598] passed several encampments without stopping, we turned N. by W. where a lateral valley branches off towards the sea shore, and communicates with the valley of Hebran, which divides the upper Sinai from the Serbal chain. Wady Hebran contains considerable date- plantations and gardens, and this valley and Wady Feiran are the most abundant in water of all the Wadys of the lower country. A route from the convent to Tor passes through Wady Hebran, which is longer than the usual one, but easier for beasts of burthen. At six hours and three quarters we halted in Wady Solaf, as I found myself somewhat feverish, and in want of repose. We saw great numbers of red-legged partridges this day; they run with astonishing celerity along the rocky sides of the mountains, and as the Bedouins do not like to expend a cartridge upon so small a bird, they are very bold. When we lighted our fire in the evening, I was startled by the cries of Hamd �to take care of the venemous animal!� I then saw him kill a reptile like a spider, to which the Bedouins give the name of Abou Hanakein [Arabic], or the two-mouthed; hanak meaning, in their dialect, mouth. It was about four inches and a half in length, of which the body was three inches; it has five long legs on both sides, covered, like the body, with setae of a light yellow colour; the head is long and pointed, with large black eyes; the mouth is armed with two pairs of fangs one above the other, recurved, and extremely sharp. Hamd told me that it never makes its appearance but at night, and is principally attracted by fire; indeed I saw three others during this journey, and always near the evening fire. The Bedouins entertain the greatest dread of them; they say that their bite, if not always mortal, produces a great swelling, almost instant vomiting, and the most excruciating pains. I believe this to be the Galeode phalangiste, WADY RYMM [p.599] at least it exactly resembles the drawing of that animal, given by Olivier in his Travels, pl. 42-4. May 31st.�A good night�s rest completely removed my feverish symptoms. Fatigue and a check of perspiration often produce slight fevers in the desert, which I generally cured by lying down near the fire, and drawing my mantle over my head, as the Bedouins always do at night. The Bedouins, before they go to rest, usually undress themselves entirely, and lie down quite naked upon a sheep�s skin, which they carry for the purpose; they then cover themselves with every garment which they happen to have with them. Even in the hottest season they always cover the head and face when sleeping, not only at night but also during the mid-day hours. We continued in Wady Solaf, which was entirely parched up, for an hour and three quarters, and passed to the left a narrower valley called Wady Keyfa [Arabic], coming from the Serbal mountains. At two hours we passed Wady Rymm [Arabic], which also comes from the same chain, and joins the Solaf; from thence we issued, at three hours, into the Wady el Sheik, the great valley of the western Sinai, which collects the torrents of a great number of smaller Wadys. There is not the smallest opening into these mountains, nor the slightest projection from them, that has not its name; but these names are known only to the Bedouins who are in the habit of encamping in the neighbourhood, while the more distant Bedouins are acquainted only with the names of the principal mountains and valleys. I have already mentioned several times the Wady el Sheikh; I found it here of the same noble breadth as it is above, and in many parts it was thickly overgrown with the tamarisk or Tarfa; it is the only valley in the peninsula where this tree grows, at present, in any great quantity, though small bushes of it are here and there met with in other parts. It is from the Tarfa that the manna is obtained, and it is very strange that the fact should have remained unknown WADY EL SHEIKH [p.600] in Europe, till M. Seetzen mentioned it in a brief notice of his tour to Sinai, published in the Mines de l�Orient. This substance is called by the Bedouins, Mann [Arabic], and accurately resembles the description of Manna given in the Scriptures. In the month of June it drops from the thorns of the tamarisk upon the fallen twigs, leaves, and thorns which always cover the ground beneath that tree in the natural state; the manna is collected before sunrise, when it is coagulated, but it dissolves as soon as the sun shines upon it. The Arabs clean away the leaves, dirt, &c. which adhere to it, boil it, strain it through a coarse piece of cloth, and put it into leathern skins; in this way they preserve it till the following year, and use it as they do honey, to pour over their unleavened bread, or to dip their bread into. I could not learn that they ever make it into cakes or loaves. The manna is found only in years when copious rains have fallen; sometimes it is not produced at all, as will probably happen this year. I saw none of it among the Arabs, but I obtained a small piece of last year�s produce, in the convent; where having been kept in the cool shade and moderate temperature of that place, it had become quite solid, and formed a small cake; it became soft when kept sometime in the hand; if placed in the sun for five minutes it dissolved; but when restored to a cool place it became solid again in a quarter of an hour. In the season, at which the Arabs gather it, it never acquires that state of hardness which will allow of its being pounded, as the Israelites are said to have done in Numbers, xi. 8. Its colour is a dirty yellow, and the piece which I saw was still mixed with bits of tamarisk leaves: its taste is agreeable, somewhat aromatic, and as sweet as honey. If eaten in any considerable quantity it is said to be slightly purgative. The quantity of manna collected at present, even in seasons when the most copious rains fall, is very trifling, perhaps not amounting to more than five or six hundred pounds. It is entirely consumed [p.601] among the Bedouins, who consider it the greatest dainty which their country affords. The harvest is usually in June, and lasts for about six weeks; sometimes it begins in May. There are only particular parts of the Wady Sheikh that produce the tamarisk; but it is also said to grow in Wady Naszeb, the fertile valley to the S.E. of the convent, on the road from thence to Sherm. In Nubia and in every part of Arabia the tamarisk is one of the most common trees; on the Euphrates, on the Astaboras, in all the valleys of the Hedjaz, and the Bedja, it grows in great plenty, but I never heard of its producing manna except in Mount Sinai; it is true I made no inquiries on the subject elsewhere, and should not, perhaps, have learnt the fact here, had I not asked repeated questions respecting the manna, with a view to an explanation of the Scriptures. The tamarisk abounds more in juices than any other tree of the desert, for it retains its vigour when every vegetable production around it is withered, and never loses its verdure till it dies. It has been remarked by Niebuhr, (who, with his accustomed candour and veracity says, that during his journey to Sinai he forgot to enquire after the manna), that in Mesopotamia manna is produced by several trees of the oak species; a similar fact was confirmed to me by the son of the Turkish lady, mentioned in a preceding page, who had passed the greater part of his youth at Erzerum in Asia Minor; he told me that at Moush, a town three or four days distant from Erzerum, a substance is collected from the tree which produces the galls, exactly similar to the manna of the peninsula, in taste and consistence, and that it is used by the inhabitants instead of honey. We descended the Wady el Sheikh N.W. by W. Upon several projecting rocks of the mountain I saw small stone huts, which Hamd told me were the work of infidels in ancient times; they were WADY FEIRAN [p.602] probably the cells of the hermits of Sinai. Their construction is similar to that of the magazines already mentioned, but the stones although uncemented, are more carefully placed in the walls, and have thus resisted the force of torrents. Upon the summits of three different mountains to the right were small ruined towers, originally perhaps, chapels, dependant on the episcopal see of Feiran. In descending the valley the mountains on both sides approach so near, that a defile of only fifteen or twenty feet across is left; beyond this they again diverge, when a range of the same hills of Tafel, or yellow pipe-clay are seen, which I observed in the higher parts of this Wady. At the end of four hours we entered the plantations of Wady Feiran [Arabic], through a wood of tamarisks, and halted at a small date-garden belonging to my guide Hamd. Wady Feiran is a continuation of Wady el Sheikh, and is considered the finest valley in the whole peninsula. From the upper extremity, where we alighted, an uninterrupted row of gardens and date- plantations extends downwards for four miles. In almost every garden is a well, by means of which the grounds are irrigated the whole year round, exactly in the same manner as those in the Hedjaz above Szafra and Djedeyde. Among the date-trees are small huts where reside the Tebna Arabs, a branch of the Djebalye, who serve as gardeners to the Towara Bedouins, especially to the Szowaleha, who are the owners of the ground; they take one-third of the fruit for their labour. The owners seldom visit the place, except in the date harvest, when the valley is filled with people for a month or six weeks; at that season they erect huts of palm-branches, and pass their time in conviviality, receiving visits, and treating their guests with dates. The best species of these is called Djamya [Arabic], of which the monks send large boxes annually to Constantinople as presents, after having taken out the stone of the date, and put an almond in its place. The [p.603] Nebek (Rhamnus Lotus), the fruit of which is a favourite food of the Bedouins, grows also in considerable quantity at Wady Feiran. They grind the dried fruit together with the stone, and preserve the meal, called by them Bsyse [Arabic], in leathern skins, in the same manner as the Nubian Bedouins do. It is an excellent provision for journeying in the desert, for it requires only the addition of butter-milk to make a most nourishing, agreeable, and refreshing diet. The Tebna cultivators are very poor; they possess little or no landed property, and are continually annoyed by visits from the Bedouins, whom they are under the necessity of receiving with hospitality. Their only profitable branch of culture is tobacco, of which they raise considerable quantities; it is of the same species as that grown in the mountains of Arabia Petraea, about Wady Mousa and Kerek, which retains its green colour even when dry. It is very strong, and esteemed for this quality by the Towara Bedouins, who are all great consumers of tobacco, and who are chiefly supplied with it from Wady Feiran; they either smoke it, or chew it mixed with natron or with salt. Tobacco has acquired here such a currency in trade, that the Tebna buy and sell minor articles among themselves by the Mud or measure of tobacco. The other vegetable productions of the valley are cucumbers, gourds, melons, hemp for smoking, onions, a few Badendjans, and a few carob trees. As for apple, pear, or apricot trees, &c. they grow only in the elevated regions of the upper Sinai, where in different spots are about thirty or forty plantations of fruit trees; in a very few places wheat and barley are sown, but the crops are so thin that they hardly repay the labour of cultivation, although the cultivator has the full produce without any deduction. The soil is every where so stony, that it is impossible to make it produce corn sufficient for even the smallest Arab tribe. WADY ERTAMA [p.604] The narrowness of the valley of Feiran, which is not more than an hundred paces across, the high mountains on each side, and the thick woods of date-trees, render the heat extremely oppressive, and the unhealthiness of the situation is increased by the badness of the water. The Tebna are far from being as robust and healthy as their neighbours, and in spring and summer dangerous fevers reign here. The few among them who have cattle, live during those seasons under tents in the mountains, leaving a few persons in care of the trees. As Mount Serbal forms a very prominent feature in the topography of the peninsula, I was determined if possible to visit it, and Hamd having never been at the top of it, I was under the necessity of inquiring for a guide. None of the Tebna present knew the road, but I found a young man who guided us to the tent of a Djebalye, which was pitched in the lower heights of Serbal, and who being a great sportsman, was known to have often ascended the mountain. Leaving the servant with the camels, I set out in the evening on foot with Hamd and the guide, carrying nothing with us but some butter-milk in a small skin, together with some meal, and ground Nebek, enough to last us for two days. We ascended Wady el Sheikh for about three quarters of an hour, and then turned to the right, up a narrow valley called Wady Ertama [Arabic] in the higher part of which a few date-trees grow. In crossing over a steep ascent at its upper extremity, I met with several inscriptions on insulated blocks, consisting only of one line in the usual ancient character; but I did not copy them, being desirous to conceal from my new guide that I was a writing man, as it might have induced him to dissuade the Arabs in the mountains from accompanying me farther up. On the other side of this ascent we fell in with Wady Rymm, which I have already mentioned, and found here MOUNT SERBAL [p.605] the ruins of a small village, the houses of which were built entirely with hewn stone, in a very solid manner. Some remains of the foundations of a large edifice are traceable; a little lower down in the valley are some date trees, with a well, which probably was the first cause of building a village in this deserted spot, for the whole country round is a wilderness of rocks, and the valley itself is not like those below, flat and sandy, but covered with large stones which have been washed down by torrents. From hence an ascent of half an hour brought us to the Djebalye Arab, who was of the Sattala tribe: he had pitched here two tents, in one of which lived his own, and in the other his son�s family; he spent the whole day in hunting, while the women and younger children took care of the cattle, which found good pasturage among the rocks. It was near sunset when we arrived, and the man was rather startled at our visit, though he received us kindly, and soon brought us a plentiful supper. When I asked him if he would show me the way to the summit of the Serbal, which was now directly before us, he expressed great astonishment, and no doubt immediately conceived the notion that I had come to search for treasures, which appears the more probable to these Bedouins, as they know that the country was formerly inhabited by rich monks. Prepossessed with this idea, and knowing that nobody then present was acquainted with the road, except himself, he thought he might demand a most exorbitant sum from me. He declined making any immediate bargain, and said that he would settle it the next morning. June 1st.�We rose before daylight, when the Djebalye made coffee, and then told me, that he could not think of accompanying me for less than sixty piastres. As the whole journey was to last only till the evening, and I knew that for one piastre any of these Bedouins will run about the mountains on messages for a [p.606] whole day, I offered him three piastres, but he was inflexible, and replied, that were it not for his friendship for Hamd, he would not take less than a hundred piastres. I rose to eight piastres, but on his smiling, and shrugging up his shoulders at this, I rose, and declared that we would try our luck alone. We took our guns and our provision sack, filled our water skin at a neighbouring well, called Ain Rymm [Arabic], and began ascending the mountain straight before us. I soon began to wish that I had come to some terms with the Djebalye; we walked over sharp rocks without any path, till we came to the almost perpendicular side of the upper Serbal, which we ascended in a narrow difficult cleft. The day grew excessively hot, not a breath of wind was stirring, and it took us four hours to climb up to the lower summit of the mountain, where I arrived completely exhausted. Here is a small plain with some trees, and the ruins of a small stone reservoir for water. On several blocks of granite are inscriptions, but most of them are illegible; I copied the two following: [not included]. After reposing a little, I ascended the eastern peak, which was to our left hand, and reached its top in three quarters of an hour, after great exertions, for the rock is so smooth and slippery, as well as steep, that even barefooted as I was, I was obliged frequently to crawl [p.607] upon my belly, to avoid being precipitated below; and had I not casually met with a few shrubs to grasp, I should probably have been obliged to abandon my attempt, or have rolled down the cliff. The summit of the eastern peak consists of one enormous mass of granite, the smoothness of which is broken only by a few partial fissures, presenting an appearance not unlike the ice-covered peaks of the Alps. The sides of the peak, at a few paces below its top, are formed of large insulated blocks twenty or thirty feet long, which appeared as if just suspended, in the act of rushing down the steep. Near the top I found steps regularly formed with large loose stones, which must have been brought from below, and so judiciously arranged along the declivity, that they have resisted the devastations of time, and may still serve for ascending. I was told afterwards that these steps are the continuation of a regular path from the bottom of the mountain; which is in several parts cut through the rock with great labour. If we had had the guide, we should have ascended by this road, which turns along the southern and eastern side of Serbal. The mountain has in all five peaks; the two highest are that to the east, which I ascended, and another immediately west of it; these rise like cones, and are distinguishable from a great distance, particularly on the road to Cairo. The eastern peak, which from below looks as sharp as a needle, has a platform on its summit of about fifty paces in circumference. Here is a heap of small loose stones, about two feet high, forming a circle about twelve paces in diameter. Just below the top I found on every granite block that presented a smooth surface, inscriptions, the far greater part of which were illegible. I copied the three following, from different blocks; the characters of the first are a foot long. Upon the rock from which I copied the third there were a great many others; but very few were legible. [p.608] 1. [not included] 2. [not included] 3. [not included] There are small caverns large enough to shelter a few persons, between some of the masses of stone. On the sides of these caverns are numerous inscriptions similar to those given above. As the eye is very apt to be deceived with regard to the relative heights of mountains, I will not give any positive opinion as to that of Mount Serbal; but it appeared to me to be higher than all the peaks, including Mount St. Catherine, and very little lower than Djebel Mousa. The fact of so many inscriptions being found upon the rocks near the summit of this mountain, and also in the valley which [p.609] leads from its foot to Feiran, as will presently be mentioned; together with the existence of the road leading up to the peak, afford strong reasons for presuming that the Serbal was an ancient place of devotion. It will be recollected that no inscriptions are found either on the mountain of Moses, or on Mount St. Catherine; and that those which are found in the Ledja valley at the foot of Djebel Katerin, are not to be traced above the rock, from which the water is said to have issued, and appear only to be the work of pilgrims, who visited that rock. From these circumstances, I am persuaded that Mount Serbal was at one period the chief place of pilgrimage in the peninsula: and that it was then considered the mountain where Moses received the tables of the law; though I am equally convinced, from a perusal of the Scriptures, that the Israelites encamped in the Upper Sinai, and that either Djebel Mousa or Mount St. Catherine is the real Horeb. It is not at all impossible that the proximity of Serbal to Egypt, may at one period have caused that mountain to be the Horeb of the pilgrims, and that the establishment of the convent in its present situation, which was probably chosen from motives of security, may have led to the transferring of that honour to Djebel Mousa. At present neither the monks of Mount Sinai nor those of Cairo consider Mount Serbal as the scene of any of the events of sacred history: nor have the Bedouins any tradition among them respecting it; but it is possible that if the Byzantine writers were thoroughly examined, some mention might be found of this mountain, which I believe was never before visited by any European traveller. The heat was so oppressive during the whole day, that I felt it even on the summit of the mountain; the air was motionless, and a thin mist pervaded the whole atmosphere, as always occurs in these climates, when the air is very much heated. I took from the peak the following bearings. [p.610] El Morkha, a well near Birket Faraoun on the road from Tor to Suez, N.W. b. W. Wady Feiran, N.W.N. Sarbout el Djemal, N.N.W. El Djoze, just over Feiran, N. Mountain Dhellel, N. b. E.-N.E. b. N. Wady Akhdar, which I passed on my road from Suez to the convent, N.E. 1/2 E. Wady el Sheikh, where it appears broadest, and near the place where I had entered it, in coming from Suez, E.N.E. Sheikh Abou Taleb, the tomb of a saint mentioned above, E. 1/2 S. Nakb el Raha, from whence the road from the convent to Feiran begins to descend from the upper Sinai, E.S.E. Mount St. Catherine, S.E. 1/2 E. Om Shomar, S.S.E. Daghade, [Arabic], a fertile valley in the mountains, issuing into the plain of Kaa, S.W. The direction of Deir Sigillye was pointed out to me S. b. E. or S.S.E. This is a ruined convent on the S.E. side of Serbal, near the road which leads up to the summit of the mountain. It is said to be well built and spacious, and there is a copious well near it. It is four or five hours distant by the shortest road from Feiran, and lies in a very rocky district, at present uninhabited even by Bedouins. I found great difficulty in descending. If I had had a plentiful supply of water, and any of us had known the road, we should have gone down by the steps; but our water was nearly exhausted, and in this hot season, even the hardy Bedouin is afraid to trust to the chance only of finding a path or a spring. I was therefore obliged to return by the same way which I had ascended WADY ALEYAT [p.611] and by crawling, rather than walking, we reached the lower platform of Serbal just about noon, and reposed under the shade of a rock. Here we finished our stock of milk and of water; and Hamd, who remembered to have heard once that a well was in this neighbourhood, went in search of it, but returned after an hour�s absence, with the empty skin. I was afterwards informed, that in a cleft of the rock, not far from the stone tank, which I have already mentioned, there is a small source which never dries up. We had yet a long journey to make, Hamd, therefore, volunteered to set out before me, to fill the skin in the valley below, and to meet me with it at the foot of the cleft; by which we had entered the mountain. He departed, leaping down the mountain like a Gazelle, and after prolonging my siesta I leisurely followed him, with the other Arab. When we arrived, at the end of two hours and a half, at the point agreed upon, we found Hamd waiting for us with the water, which he had brought from a well at least five miles distant. A slight shower of rain which had fallen, instead of cooling the air appeared only to have made it hotter. Instead of pursuing, from our second halting-place, the road by which we had ascended in the morning from Ain Rymm, we took a more western direction, to the left of the former, and reached by a less rapid descent, the Wady Aleyat [Arabic], which leads to the lower parts of Wady Feiran. After a descent of an hour, we came to a less rocky country. At the end of an hour and a half from the foot of Serbal, where Hamd had waited for us, we reached the well, situated among date-plantations, where he had filled the skins; its water is very good, much better than that of Feiran. The date-trees are not very thickly planted; amongst them I saw several Doum trees, some of which I had already observed in other parts of the peninsula. This valley is inhabited by Bedouins during the date-harvest, WADY MAKTA [p.612] and here are many huts, built of stones, or of date-branches, which they then occupy. In the evening we continued our route in the valley Aleyat, in the direction N.W. To our right was a mountain, upon the top of which is the tomb of a Sheikh, held in great veneration by the Bedouins, who frequently visit it, and there sacrifice sheep. It is called El Monadja [Arabic]. The custom among the Bedouins of burying their saints upon the summits of mountains accords with a similar practice of the Israelites; there are very few Bedouin tribes who have not one or more tombs of protecting saints (Makam), in whose honour they offer sacrifices; the custom probably originated in their ancient idolatrous worship, and was in some measure retained by the sacrifices enjoined by Mohammed in the great festivals of the Islam. In many parts of this valley stand small buildings, ten or twelve feet square, and five feet high, with very narrow entrances. They are built with loose stones, but so well put together, that the greater part of them are yet entire, notwithstanding the annual rains. They are all quite empty. I at first supposed them to be magazines belonging to the Arabs, but my guides told me that their countrymen never entered them, because they were Kobour el Kofar, or tombs of infidels; perhaps of the early Christians of this peninsula. I did not, however, meet with any similar structures in other parts of the peninsula, unless those already mentioned in the upper part of Wady Feiran, are of the same class. At half an hour from the spring and date-trees, we passed to our left a valley coming from the southern mountains, called Wady Makta [Arabic], and half an hour farther on, at sunset, we reached Wady Feiran, at the place where the date plantations terminate, and an hour�s walk below the spot from whence we set out yesterday upon this excursion. WADY ALEYAT [p.613] In the course of my descent from the cleft at the foot of Mount Serbal, through the Wady Aleyat, I found numerous inscriptions on blocks by the side of the road, those which I copied were in the following order; some I did not copy, and many were effaced. 1. Upon a flat stone in the upper extremity of the Wady, descending from the foot of Serbal towards the well with date-trees: [not included] 2. Upon a small block lower down: [not included] 3. Upon a small rock still lower down: [not included] 4. 5. Still descending: [not included] 6. Near the spring: [not included] [p.614] 7. Upon a large rock beyond the spring, and towards Wady Feiran: [not included] 8. Further down, upon a rock, being one of the clearest inscriptions which I saw: [not included] On many stones were drawings of goats and camels. This was once probably the main road to the top of Serbal, which continued along its foot, and turned by Deir Sigillye round its eastern side, thus passing the cleft and the road by which we had ascended, and which nowhere bears traces of having ever been a regular and frequented route. After my departure in the morning for Mount Serbal, the messenger dispatched by the Arabs assembled in Sheikh Szaleh, arrived at Wady Feiran, and forbad the people from guiding me to the top of Serbal; the news of this order had spread along the whole valley, so that on our reaching the first habitations under the date-trees, where I intended to rest for the night, all the Arabs WADY FEIRAN [p.615] assembled, and became extremely clamorous as well against me, as against Hamd for having accompanied me. I cared but little for their insolent language, which I knew how to reply to, but I was under some apprehensions for my servant and baggage, and therefore determined to rejoin them immediately. We ascended the valley, by a gentle slope, and reached Hamd�s garden late at night, greatly fatigued, for we had been almost the whole day upon our legs. We here met the Bedouins and their girls occupied in singing and dancing, which they kept up till near midnight. June 2d.�When I awoke I found about thirty Arabs round me, ready to begin a new quarrel about my pursuits in their mountains. When they saw that I paid little attention to their remonstrances, and was packing up my effects, in order to proceed on my journey, they then asked me for some victuals and coffee. After having observed to them that I was more easily prevailed upon by civility than harshness, I distributed among the poorest such provisions as I should not want on my way back to Suez, together with some coffee-beans and soap. This immediately put them into good humour, and in return, they brought me some milk, cucumbers, and a quantity of Bsyse, or ground Nebek. I purchased from them a skinful of dates reduced to a paste, and one of them joined us for the sake of travelling in our company to Suez, where he intended to sell a load of charcoal; we then set out, leaving every body behind us well satisfied. We followed the same road by which we had ascended last night, and halted again where the date trees terminate. Here the same Arabs whom we had found yesterday evening, having been informed that I had made some presents where I had slept, thought, no doubt, that by being vociferous they would obtain something. In this, however, they were mistaken, for I gave them nothing, telling them they might seize my baggage if they chose, but this they [p.616] prudently declined to do. Ten years ago I should hardly have been able to extricate myself in this manner. The valley of Feiran widens considerably where it is joined by the Wady Aleyat, and is about a quarter of an hour in breadth. Upon the mountains on both sides of the road stand the ruins of an ancient city. The houses are small, but built entirely of stones, some of which are hewn and some united with cement, but the greater part are piled up loosely. I counted the ruins of about two hundred houses. There are no traces of any large edifice on the north side; but on the southern mountain there is an extensive building, the lower part of which is of stone, and the upper part of earth. It is surrounded by private habitations, which are all in complete ruins. At the foot of the southern mountain are the remains of a small aqueduct. Upon several of the neighbouring hills are ruins of towers, and as we proceeded down the valley for about three quarters of an hour, I saw many small grottos in the rocks on both sides, hewn in the rudest manner, and without any regularity or symmetry; the greater part seemed to have been originally formed by nature, and afterwards widened by human labour. Some of the largest which were near the ruined city had, perhaps, once served as habitations, the others were evidently sepulchres; but few of them were large enough to hold three corpses, and they were not more than three or four feet high. I found no traces of antiquity in any of them. At half an hour from the last date-trees of Feiran, I saw, to the right of the road, upon the side of the mountain, the ruins of a small town or village, the valley in the front of which is at present quite barren. It had been better built than the town above described, and contained one very good building of hewn stone, with two stories, each having five oblong windows in front. The roof [p.617] has fallen in. The style of architecture of the whole strongly resembles that seen in the ruins of St. Simon, to the north of Aleppo, the mountains above which are also full of sepulchral grottos, like those near Feiran. The roofs of the houses appear to have been entirely of stone, like those in the ruined towns of the Haouran, but flat, and not arched. There were here about a hundred ruined houses. Feiran was formerly the seat of a Bishopric. Theodosius was bishop during the Monothelite controversy. From documents of the fifteenth century, still existing in the convent of Mount Sinai, there appears at that time to have been an inhabited convent at Feiran. Makrizi, the excellent historian, and describer of Egypt; who wrote about the same time, gives the following account of Feiran, which he calls Faran.[The present Bedouins call it Fyran or Feiran [Arabic], and thus it is spelt wherever it occurs in the Arabic documents in the convent. Niebuhr calls it Faran, and I have heard some Bedouins pronounce it as if it were written [Arabic, giving it nearly the sound of Fyran.]] �It is one of the towns of the Amalakites, situated near the borders of the sea of Kolzoum, upon a hill between two mountains; on each of which are numberless excavations, full of corpses. It is one day�s journey distant [in a straight line] from the sea of Kolzoum, the shore of which is there called �the shore of the sea of Faran;� there it was that Pharaoh was drowned by the Almighty. Between the city of Faran and the Tyh are two days journey. It is said that Faran is the name of the mountains of Mekka, and that it is the name of other mountains in the Hedjaz, and that it is the place mentioned in the books of Moses. But the truth is, that Tor and Faran are two districts belonging to the southern parts of Egypt, and that it is not the same as the Faran (Paran) mentioned in the books of Moses. It is stated, that the mountains [p.618] of Mekka derive their name from Faran Ibn Amr Ibn Amalyk. Some call them the mountains of Faran others Fyran. The city of Faran was one of the cities belonging to Midian, and remained so until the present times. There are plenty of palmtrees there, of the dates of which I have myself eaten. A large river flows by. The town is at present in ruins; Bedouins only pass there.� Makrizi is certainly right in supposing that the Faran or Paran mentioned in the Scriptures is not the same as Feiran; an opinion which has been entertained also by Niebuhr, and other travellers. From the passage in Numbers xiii. 26, it is evident that Paran was situated in the desert of Kadesh, which was on the borders of the country of the Edomites, and which the Israelites reached after their departure from Mount Sinai, on their way towards the land of Edom. Paran must therefore be looked for in the desert west of Wady Mousa, and the tomb of Aaron which is shewn there. At present the people of Feiran bury their dead higher up in the valley, than the ancient ruins in the neighbourhood of Sheikh Abou Taleb. There is no rivulet, but in winter time the valley is completely flooded, and a large stream of water collected from all the lateral valleys of Wady el Sheikh empties itself through Wady Feiran into the gulf of Suez near the Birket Faraoun. We rode for one hour from Feiran, and then stopped near some date trees called Hosseye [Arabic], where are several Arab huts, and where good water is found. Here I remained the rest of the day, as I felt very much the effect of yesterday�s exertions. In the evening all the females quitted the huts to join in the Mesámer, in which I also participated, and we kept it up till long after midnight. My servant[This was the same man who had accompanied me during my journey to Upper Egypt, as far as Assouan. I again engaged him in my service after my return fro[m] the Hedjaz.] attempted to join the party, but the proud WADY ROMMAN [p.619] Arabs told him that he was a Fellah, not of good breed, and would not permit him to mix in the dance. He met with the same repulse last night at Feiran. June 3d.�We followed the valley by a slight slope through its windings W.N.W. and N.W. Many tamarisk trees grow here, and some manna is collected. The fertility of these valleys is owing chiefly to the alluvial soil brought down from the mountains by the torrents, and which soon acquires consistence in the bottom of the Wady; but if a year passes without rain these alluvia are reduced to dust, and dispersed by the winds over the mountains from whence they came. The surface was covered with a yellow clay in which a variety of herbs was growing. At two hours the valley, for the length of about an hour, bears the name of Wady el Beka [Arabic], or the valley of weeping, from the circumstance, as it is related, of a Bedouin who wept because his dromedary fell here, during the pursuit of an enemy, and he was thus unable to follow his companions, who were galloping up the valley to wards Feiran. The rock on the side of the road is mostly composed of gneiss. At three hours and a half we passed to our right Wady Romman [Arabic]. I was told that in the mountains from which it descends is a fine spring, and some date- trees about four hours distant. The road now turned N.W. b. W.; the granite finishes and sand-stone begins; among the latter rock-salt is found. At five hours we halted under a large impending sandstone rock, where the valley widens considerably, and continues in a W. direction down to the sea-side. Leaving this valley to the left, we rode in the afternoon N.W. b. W. ascending slightly over rocky ground, until we reached an upper plain at the end of WADY MOKATTEB [p.620] six hours. The chain of granite mountains continued to our right, parallel with the road, which was overspread with silex, and farther on we met with a kind of basaltic tufa, forming low hills covered with sand. We then descended, and at six hours and a half entered the valley called Wady Mokatteb [Arabic]. The appellation of Djebel Mokatteb, which several travellers have applied to the neighbouring mountains, is not in use. To the north of the entrance of this valley near the foot of the higher chain, is a cluster of magazines of the Bedouins, at a spot called El Bedja [Arabic]. The Wady Mokatteb extends for three hours march in the direction N.W.; in the upper part it is three miles across, having to the right high mountains, and to the left a chain of lower sandrocks. Half way down, it becomes narrower, and then takes the name of Seyh Szeder [Arabic]. In most places the sand-rocks present abrupt cliffs, twenty or thirty feet in height. Large masses have separated themselves from the cliffs and lie at their feet in the valley. These cliffs and rocks are thickly covered with inscriptions, which are continued with intervals of a few hundred paces only, for at least two hours and a half; similar inscriptions are found in the lower part of the Wady, where it narrows, upon the sand-stone rocks of the opposite, or north-eastern side of the valley. To copy all these inscriptions would occupy a skilful draughtsman six or eight days; they are all of the same description as those I have already mentioned, consisting of short lines, written from right to left, and with the singular character represented in p. 479, invariably at the beginning of each. Some of them are on rocks at a height of twelve or fifteen feet, which must have required a ladder to ascend to them. They are in general cut deeper than those on the granite in the upper country, but in the same careless style. Amongst them are many in Greek; containing, probably, like the others, the names of those who WADY BADERA [p.621] passed here on their pilgrimage to the holy mountain. Some of the latter contain Jewish names in Greek characters. There is a vast number of drawings of mountain goats and of camels, the latter sometimes represented as loaded, and with riders on their backs. Crosses are also seen, indicating that the inscribers were Christians. It should be observed that the Mokatteb lies in the principal route to Sinai, and which is much easier and more frequented than the upper road by Naszeb, which I took in my way to the convent; the cliffs also are so situated as to afford a fine shade to travellers during the mid-day hours. To these circumstances may undoubtedly in great measure be attributed the numerous inscriptions found in this valley. We rested for the night, after a day�s march of nine hours and a quarter, near the lower extremity of the Seyh Szeder, and just beyond the last of the inscriptions. The bottom of the valley is here rocky, and as flat as if the rock had been levelled by art. June 4th.�At a few hundred paces below the place where we had slept, the valley becomes very narrow, the mountains to the right approach, and a defile of granite rocks is entered in a direction W. by S. called Wady Kenna [Arabic], where the tomb of a saint of the name of Wawa [Arabic] stands. I was told afterwards at Cairo, by some Sinai Bedouins, that lower down in Wady Kenna there is a very deep cavern in the rock. At three quarters of an hour we passed to the right of the defile, and turned N.W. into a valley called Badera [Arabic]. The valley of Badera consists of sand rock, and the ground is deeply covered with sand. We ascended gently in it, and in an hour and three quarters reached its summit, from whence we descended by a narrow difficult path, down a cliff called Nakb Badera [Arabic], into an open plain between the mountains; we crossed the plain, and at two hours and a quarter entered Wady Shellal [Arabic], so called from WADY SHELLAL [p.622] the number of cataracts which are formed in the rainy season, by the torrents descending from the mountains. A great number of acacia trees grow here, many of which were completely dried up; during the whole of our morning�s journey not a green herb could be discovered. We here met several Bedouins on foot, on their way from Suez to Feiran. They had started from the well of Morkha early in the morning; and had ventured on the journey without water, or the hope of finding any till the following day in Wady Feiran. We gave them each a draught of water, and they went off in good spirits, purposing to pass the afternoon under some shady rock, and to continue their journey during the night. We descended the valley slowly, W.N.W. and at the end of four hours and a half reached its termination, opening upon a sandy plain on the sea- shore. Many bones of camels were here lying about, as is generally the case on the great roads through the desert; I have observed that these skeletons are found in greatest numbers where the sands are deepest; which arises from the loaded camels passing such places with difficulty, and often breaking down in them. It is an erroneous opinion that the camel delights in sandy ground; it is true that he crosses it with less difficulty than any other animal, but wherever the sands are deep, the weight of himself and his load makes his feet sink into the sand at every step, and he groans, and often sinks under his burthen. It is the hard gravelly ground of the desert which is most agreeable to this animal. On the plain we fell in with the great road from Tor to Suez, but soon quitted it to the right, and turned to the north in search of a natural reservoir of rain, in which the Bedouins knew that some water was still remaining. At the end of five hours and a half, we reached a narrow cleft in the mountain, where we halted, and my guides went a mile up in it to fill the skins. This is called Wady MORKHA [p.623] el Dhafary [Arabic]; it is sometimes frequented by the Arabs, because it furnishes the only sweet water between Tor and Suez, though it is out of the direct road, and the well of Morkha is at no great distance. Some rain had fallen here in the winter, and water was therefore met with in several ponds among the rocks. This is the lowest part of the primitive chain of mountains, and, I believe, the only place, on the road between Tor and Suez, where they approach the sea, which is only three miles distant, with a stony plain ascending from it. A slave of a Towara Bedouin here partook of our breakfast; he had been sent to these mountains by his master several weeks ago, to collect wood and burn charcoal, which he was doing quite alone, with no other provision than a sack of meal. Charcoal, commonly called Fahm in Arabic, is by these Bedouins called Habesh, a term which I never heard given to it by any other Arabs; this word may perhaps be the origin of the name of Abyssinia, which may have been called Habesh by the Arabs from the colour of its inhabitants. Travellers will do well to enquire for the Dhafary, in their way to Feiran, as the water of the Morkha is of the very worst kind; this memorandum would be particularly useful to any person intending to copy the inscriptions of Wady Mokatteb. We reached Morkha, [Arabic], which bears from Dhafary N.W. b. N. in half an hour, the road leading over level but very rocky ground. Morkha is a small pond in the sand-stone rock, close to the foot of the mountains. Two date-trees grow near its margin. The bad taste of the water seems to be owing partly to the weeds, moss, and dirt, with which the pond is filled, but chiefly, no doubt, to the saline nature of the soil around it. Next to Ayoun Mousa, in the vicinity of Suez, and Gharendel, it is the principal station on this road. After watering our camels, which was our only motive for coming to the Morkha, we returned to the BAY OF BIRKET FARAOUN [p.624] sea-shore, one hour distant N.W. We followed the shore for three quarters of an hour in a N.W. b. N. direction, and then halted close by the sea, where the maritime level is greatly contracted by a range of chalk hills which in some places approaches close to the water. Before us extended the large bay of Birket Faraoun, so called, from being, according to Arab and Egyptian tradition, the place where the Israelites crossed the sea, and where the returning waves overwhelmed Pharaoh and his host. There is an almost continual motion of the waters in this bay, which they say is occasioned by the spirits of the drowned still moving in the bottom of the sea; but which may also be ascribed to its being exposed on three sides to the sea, and to the sudden gusts of wind from the openings of the valleys. These circumstances, together with its shoals, render it very dangerous, and more ships have been wrecked in the Bay of Birket Faraoun than in any other part of the gulf of Tor, another proof, in the eyes of the Arabs, that spirits or demons dwell here. This evening and night we had a violent Simoum. The air was so hot, that when I faced the current, the sensation was like that of sitting close to a large fire; the hot wind was accompanied, at intervals with gusts of cooler air. I did not find my respiration impeded for a moment during the continuance of the hot blast. The Simoum is frequent on this low coast, but the advantage of sea bathing renders it the less distressing. June 5th.�We rode close by the shore, at the foot of sandy cliffs; but as the road was passable only at low water, we were obliged, as the tide set in, to take a circuitous route over the mountain. At the end of an hour we again reached the sea, and then proceeded north over a wide sandy plain. Towards the mountain is a tract of low grounds several miles in breadth, in which the shrubs Gharkad and Aszef were growing in great plenty. At the end of two hours and a half, having reached a very conspicuous WADY WARDAN [p.625] promontory, of the mountain, over which lies the road to the Hammam Mousa, or hot-wells of Moses, we turned, on its south side, into a fine valley called Wady el Taybe [Arabic], inclosed by abrupt rocks, and full of trees, among which were a few of the date, now completely withered. Want of rain is much more frequent in the lower ranges of the peninsula, than in the upper. At four hours and a half we passed Wady Shebeyke, reached soon afterwards the top of Wady Taybe, and then fell in with the road by which I had passed on my way to the convent from Suez. We rested in Wady Thale, under a rock, in the shade of which, at 2 P.M. the thermometer rose to 107°. After a march of eleven hours we halted in Wady Gharendel. June 6th.�We continued in the road described at the beginning of this journal, and at six hours and a half reached Wady Wardan. Here we turned out of the great road to Suez, in a more western direction, towards the sea, in order to take in water at the well of Szoueyra, which we came to in three hours from Wardan. The lower parts of Wady Wardan, extending six or eight miles in breadth, consist of deep sand, which a strong north wind drove full in our faces, and caused such a mist that we several times went astray. Upon small sandy mounds in this plain tamarisk trees grow in great numbers, and in the midst of these lies the well of Szoueyra, which it is extremely difficult to find without a guide. It is about two miles from the sea. We here met many Terabein women occupied in watering their camels; I enquired of them whether they ever collected manna from the tamarisks; I understood from them that in this barren plain, the trees never yield that substance. In the evening we rode along a narrow path, parallel with the sea, for two hours and a half. The wind still continued, and obliged us to seek for shelter behind a DESERT OF SUEZ [p.626] hillock in the lower part of Wady Szeder, where we found protection against the driving sands. June 7th.�In the morning we reached Ayoun Mousa. We found here, as we had previously done, in many places near the shore, the tracks of wheel- carriages, a very uncommon appearance in the east, and more particularly in deserts. It was by this road that Mohammed Ali�s women passed last year from Tor to Suez in their elegant vehicles. Towards evening we entered Suez. June 8th.�A caravan was to leave Suez this day, but its departure was delayed. As I knew that the plague had subsided at Cairo, and thought that the road was tolerably safe, I asked Hamd whether he would venture with me alone upon the journey; fear seemed to be quite unknown to this excellent young man, and he readily acquiesced in my proposal. We left Suez in the evening with some hopes of overtaking a caravan of Towaras, which we were informed had this day passed to the north of Suez, in their way to Cairo with charcoal. Towards sunset we came in sight of the castle of Adjeroud, when Hamd having descried from afar some Bedouins on foot, who, from the circumstance of their walking about in different directions in a place where no road passed, and where Bedouins never alight, appeared to him to be suspicious characters, we halted behind a hill till it was dark, and took our supper. After sunset we saw several fires at a distance, in the plain, which Hamd immediately concluded to be those of the Towara caravan. Taking advantage of the darkness, to avoid the observation of the suspected persons, we rode towards the fires, which, instead of being those of the Towara, proved to belong to a small party of Omran, encamped near the well in the Wady Emshash. Hamd was much alarmed when he perceived his mistake, for he was well acquainted with the bad character of the Omran, CASTLE OF ADJEROUD [p.627] and he dreaded them the more on account of the Arab of their tribe whom he had killed near Akaba. They looked very greedily at my travelling sack, but as I pretended to belong to the Pasha�s garrison at Suez, they did not make any attempt upon it. They told us that in coming here, they had found five Bedouins sitting near the well, who retired when they approached it, and who were probably the men we saw. As we thought it very likely that they would waylay us farther on, in the narrow pass of Montala, we deemed it prudent to retire to Adjeroud, and take shelter in the castle for the night. When we reached that place, it was with great difficulty that I persuaded the officer to open the gates and let us in; he was in no less fear of the robbers than ourselves; for two days they had driven back his people from the well of Emshash, where they were accustomed to fill their water skins, so that the garrison was reduced to great distress, as they had no provision of sweet water, and that of the castle well is scarcely drinkable. A Turkish officer, with his wife and son, and eight peasants from the Sherkieh, formed the whole garrison, and they trembled at the name and sight of the Bedouins as much as the monks of the Sinai convent. June 9th.�This morning I proposed to the officer that we should go out in force and drive the robbers from the well, which was only half an hour distant; but this he refused to do, saying that he had no orders to leave the castle; he found it more convenient to seize my skins, which I had filled at Suez, and to make use of their contents for his family. Towards noon we saw several of the Bedouins hovering round the castle, no doubt expecting us to issue from it. In this difficulty, the Turkish officer having refused to lend his horse, I mounted Hamd in the evening upon the strongest of the camels, and told him to gallop to Suez, and acquaint the commander there with our situation, or else to hire some of his [p.628] countrymen, who were there waiting for the departure of the caravan, and in their company to return to our relief, bringing with him a supply of water. He set out, but had not proceeded a mile before he saw the robbers running upon him from different quarters, and endeavouring to cut him off from the road. They fired at him, upon which he returned their fire, and gallopped back to the castle. The officer and his valiant garrison were now thrown into the greatest consternation, and could not devise any means of relief. I offered to ride to Suez, provided the officer would lend me his horse; but he appeared to be more afraid of losing the horse, than of dying from thirst. Being thus unable to effect any thing, I was under the necessity of waiting patiently till the great caravan from Suez should pass. June 10th.�There was now not a drop of sweet water in the castle, and all that we could procure of the well-water of Adjeroud had been standing in the tank since it was filled from the well at the time of the last pilgrimage. The wheels of the well, which is two hundred and fifty feet in depth, are put in motion only at that time; during the rest of the year the building which encloses the well is shut up; and the person who keeps the key was now at Cairo. The water we were thus obliged to drink was saline, putrid, and of a yellow green colour, so that boiling produced no improvement in it, and our stomachs could not retain it. June 11th.�A slight shower of rain fell, which the Turk ascribed to his prayers; but all the water we could collect in every vessel which the castle could furnish, scarcely afforded to each of us a draught. Hamd made a second attempt to night to go to Suez, but it being unfortunately moonlight, he was seen and again driven back. June 12th.�After three days blockade, I had the pleasure of descrying the Suez caravan at a distance, on its way towards WADY KHOUYFERA [p.629] Cairo; we immediately got every thing ready, and when the caravan was opposite the castle, at about twenty minutes distance, Hamd and I hastily joined it. What became of the officer and his garrison, I never heard. I bought of the Bedouins of the caravan a supply of water, sufficient to last me to Cairo. Although the passage of this desert is less dangerous than formerly, it is impossible to protect it effectually, without establishing a small body of horsemen or dromedaries at Adjeroud; and it is a discredit to the government of Egypt, that this is not done. The well of Emshash affords a seasonable supply of water to robbers, who lay in wait in the rocky country of Montala, where one of them stationed on the top of a hill gives notice of the approach of any enemy or object of plunder. The castle was undoubtedly intended as a look-out post against the Arabs. The French once had a garrison in it, and its walls have been repaired by Mohammed Ali Pasha, but the interior is in a very ruinous state, and few provisions are kept in the extensive store-houses within it. On proceeding to Cairo, the caravan took, for the first stage from Adjeroud, a route somewhat to the southward of that by which I had gone to Sinai, and joined the latter at Dar el Hamra. Six hours and a half from Adjeroud we passed Wady Khoeyfera [Arabic], the bed of a torrent, with trees growing in it, a very little below the level of the surrounding plain. Here I saw the ruins of a small stone reservoir, and to a considerable distance round it, ruins of walls, and several wells, some built with brick and others with stone. They appear to have been surrounded by a wall, which now forms a circular enclosure of mounds almost wholly covered with sands. The existence of these ruins, which I do not remember to have seen mentioned by any traveller, confirms my belief, that in the most ancient times regular stations CAIRO [p.630] were established on this road, to which we must also attribute the date trees now found in a petrified state. A road, called Derb el Ban [Arabic], leads from Adjeroud to Birket el Hadj, by the north side of the mountain El Oweybe; it is the most northern of all the routes to Suez, and is little frequented. On the 13th of June, early in the morning, I entered Cairo; the plague had ceased, and had been less destructive, than it was last year. [p.631] APPENDIX. [p.633] APPENDIX. No. I. An Account of the Ryhanlu Turkmans. Aleppo, May 12, 1810. THE district inhabited by the Ryhanlu Turkmans begins at about seven hours distance from Aleppo, to the north-westward. The intermediate plain is stony and almost deserted, but it is in many parts susceptible of culture, and contains a great number of villages in ruins. At five hours march from Aleppo to the W.N.W. upon the ridge of a low hill are some plantations of olive and fig trees; on the other side of the hill lies a valley of an oval shape about eighteen miles in circuit, called Khalaka [Arabic]; at the foot of the low hills which surround it, are the following villages: Termine, Tellade, Hoesre, Tellekberoun, Bab, Dana, and some others. The Fellahs or inhabitants of these villages live in half ruined houses, which indicate the opulence of their ancient possessors. The soil of the plain is a fine red mould, almost without a stone. In March, when I visited the Ryhanlu, it was sown with wheat, but it produces in another season the finest cotton. The whole plain is the property of Abbas Effendi of Aleppo, the heir of Tshelebi Effendi, who was in his time the first grandee of Aleppo[.] Having crossed the plain of Khalaka, and the rocky calcareous hills which border it on the western side, a very tedious passage for camels, the first Turkman tents are met with at about six hours and a half or seven hours distance from Aleppo. The Turkmans, who prfer living on the hills, erect their tents on the declivities, and cultivate the valleys below them. These hills extend in a N.W. direction, above forty miles, the mountain of St. Simon [Arabic], is in the midst of them. Their average breadth, including the numerous valleys which intersect them, may be estimated at fifteen or twenty miles. They lose themselves in the plain of Antioch, which is bounded on the opposite side by the chain of high mountains, extending along the southern coast of the gulf of Scanderoun. The river Afrin [Arabic] waters this plain; its course from the neighbourhood of Killis to where it empties itself into the lake of Antioch, is fifteen or twenty hours in length. At about seven hours above the lake, this river is about the size of the Cam near Cambridge; it regularly but moderately overflows in spring-time, and is full of carps and barbles; but the Turkmans have no implements of fishing. Besides the Afrin there are numerous smaller rivers and sources, which water the valleys. One of the must considerable of these is the river of Goul, which takes its rise near a Turkman encampment [p.634] of the same name, about six hours distant from St. Simon, to the W. by N. in a small lake, about one mile and a half in circumference, and joins the waters of the Afrin, eight miles from its source. This beautiful little lake is so full of fish, that the boys of Goul kill them by throwing stones at them. The river turns several mills near Goul, and five or six more at six miles distance, at a place called Tahoun Kash, near a spot where the chieftain of the Ryhanlu, Mursal Oglu Hayder Aga, has built a house for his winter residence, and has planted a garden. On the right bank of the Afrin, about three quarters of an hour distant from it, and at three hours ride to the N.-westward of the tent of Mohammed Ali, my Turkman host, are two warm springs at half an hour's walk from each other. I only saw the southernmost, which is strongly impregnated with sulphur, and made my thermometer rise to 102°; it constantly bubbles from a bottom of coarse gravel, in the middle of the bason, which is about twenty feet in circumference, and four feet deep. The sulphureous smell begins to be sensible at a distance of twenty-five yards from it, and I was told that the northern spring was still more sulphureous. The Turkmans hold the medicinal powers of these springs, as baths, in great estimation: women as well as men use them for the cure of violent headaches, which are very prevalent amongst them. The fields of the Turkmans are sown with wheat, barley, and several kinds of pulse. Their wheat was sown only a fortnight before my arrival, viz, about the twentieth of February. As it is only a short time since they have become agriculturists, they have not yet any plantations of fruit trees, although the olive, pomegranate, and fig would certainly prosper in their valleys. Thirty years ago the hills which they now inhabit were partly covered with wood; the trade of firewood with Aleppo, however, has entirely consumed these forests. At present they cut the wood for the Aleppo market, in the mountains of the Kurds on the northern side of the Afrin, and when that shall fail, Aleppo must depend for its fuel upon the coast of Caramania, from whence Egypt is now supplied. The Turkman hills are inhabited by vast numbers of jackals; wolves, and foxes are also numerous; and I saw flocks of Gazelles, to the number of twenty or thirty in each flock; among a great variety of birds is the Francoline, which the Syrian sportsmen esteem the choicest of all game. In the mountains of Badjazze, which borders on the Turkman plains, stags are sometimes killed. The Turkmans are passionately fond of hawking; they course the game with grey-hounds, or if in the plain, they run it down with their horses. The population of the Ryhanlu Turkmans may be roughly calculated from the number of their tents, which amount to about three thousand; every tent contains from two or three to fifteen inmates. They can raise a military force of two or three thousand horsemen, and of as many infantry. They are divided into thirteen minor tribes: 1. The Serigialar, or tribe of the chief of the Ryhanlu Turkmans, Hayder Aga, has five hundred horsemen. 2. Coudanlut, six hundred. 3. Cheuslu, two hundred. 4. Leuklu, one hundred. 5. Kara Akhmetlu one hundred and fifty. 6. Kara Solimanlu, fifty. 7. Delikanlu, six hundred. 8. Toroun, sixty. 9. Bahaderlu, one hundred. 10. Hallalu, sixty. 11. Karken, twenty. 12. Aoutshar, twenty. 13. Okugu, fifty. The Serigialar derive their origin from Maaden, the Cheuslu from the [p.635] neighbourhood of Badjazze, the Babaderli from the mountains of St. Simon, the Halalis from Barak. Each tribe has its own chief, whose rank in the Divan is determined by the strength his tribe; Hayder Aga presides amongst them whenever it is found necessary to call together a common council. His authority over the Ryhanlus seems to be almost absolute, as he sometimes carries his motions in the Divan even against the opinion and will of the assembled chiefs. He settles the disputes, which occur between these chiefs, and which are often accompanied by hostile incursions into one another�s territory. The chiefs decide all disputes among their own followers according to the feeble knowledge which they possess of the Turkish laws; but appeals from their tribunal may be made to that of the grand chief. The whole Ryhanlu tribe is tributary to Tshapan Oglu, the powerful governor of the eastern part of Anatolia, who resides at Yuzgat. They pay him an annual tribute of six thousand two hundred and fifteen piastres, in horses, cattle, &c. He claims also the right of nominating to the vacant places of chieftains; but his influence over the Turkman Ryhanlu having of late much diminished, this right is at present merely nominal. The predecessors of Hayder Aga used to receive their Firmahn of nomination, or rather of confirmation, from the Porte. When the tribute for Tshapan Oglu is collected, Hayder Aga generally gives in an account of disbursements incurred during the preceding year for the public service, such as presents to officers of the Porte passing through the camp, expenses of entertaining strangers of rank, &c. &c. The tribute, as well as Hayder Aga�s demands, are levied from the tribes according to the repartition of the minor Agas; and each chief takes that opportunity of adding to the sum to which his tribe is assessed, four or five hundred piastres, which make up his only income as chief. The Turkmans do not pay any Miri, or general land tax to the Grand Signor, for the ground they occupy. Families, if disgusted with their chief, often pass from one tribe to another without any one daring to prevent their departure. The Ryhanlu, like most of the larger Turkman nations, are a nomade people. They appear in their winter quarters in the plain of Antioch at the end of September, and depart from thence towards the middle of April, when the flies of the plain begin to torment their horses and cattle. They then direct their march towards Marash, and remain in the neighbourhood of that place about one month; from thence they reach the mountains of Gurun and Albostan. The mountains which they occupy are called Keukduli, Sungulu, and Kara Dorouk, (upon Kara Dorouk, they say, are some fine ruins). Here they pass the hottest summer months; in autumn they repass the plains of Albostan, and return by the same route towards Antioch. The winter habitations of the Turkmans in the hilly districts are, as I have mentioned before, erected on the declivity of the hills, so as to be by their position somewhat sheltered from the northerly winds. Sometimes five or six families live together on one spot in as many tents, but for the greater part tents of single families are met with at one or two miles distance from each other. In proportion to the arable land, which the hilly parts contain, these districts are better peopled than the plain, where a thousand tents are scattered over an [p.636] extent, of the most fertile country, of at least five hundred square miles. The structure of the habitations of these nomades is of course extremely simple: an oblong square wall of loose stones, about four feet high, is covered over with a black cloth made of goats hair, which is supported by a dozen or more posts, so that in the middle of the tent the covering is elevated about nine feet from the ground. A stone partition is built across the tent, near the entrance: I found in every tent that the women had uniformly possession of the greater half to the left of the door; the smaller half to the right hand side is appropriated to the men, and there is also a partition at H [figure not included], which generally serves as a stable for a favourite horse of the master or of one of his sons. The rest of the horses and the cattle are kept in caverns, which abound in these calcareous hills, or in smaller huts built on purpose. Besides those who live in tents, many of the Turkmans, especially in the plain, live in large huts fifteen feet high, built and distributed like the tents, but having, instead of a tent covering, a roof of rushes, which grow in great abundance on the banks of the Afrin. The women�s room serves also as the kitchen; there they work at their looms, and strangers never enter: unless, when, as I was told, the Turkmans meaning to do great honour to a guest, allow him a corner of the Harem to sleep in quiet among the women. The men�s apartment is covered with carpets, which serve as beds to strangers and to the unmarried members of the family; the married people retire into the Harem. The Turkmans have also a kind of portable tent made of wood, like a round bird cage, which they cover with large carpets of white wool. The entrance may be shut up by a small door; it is the exclusive habitation of the ladies, and is only met with in families who are possessed of large property. The tent or hut of a Turkman is always surrounded by three or four others, in which the Fellah families live who cultivate his land. These Fellahs are the remaining peasants of abandoned villages, or some poor straggling Kurds. The Turkmans find the necessary seed, and receive in return half the produce, which is collected by a few of them who remain for this purpose in the winter quarters the whole year round. The Fellahs live wretchedly; whenever they are able to scrape together a small pittance, their masters take it from them under pretence of borrowing it; I was treated by several of them at dinner with the best dish they could afford: bad oil, with coarse bread; they never taste meat except when they kill a cow or an ox, disabled by sickness or age; the greater part of them live literally upon bread and water, neither fruits or vegetables being cultivated here; they are nevertheless, a cheerful good-natured people; the young men play, sing, and dance, every evening, and are infinitely better tempered [p.637] than their haughty masters. My host, Mohammed Ali, began a few years ago to plant a small garden of fruit trees near his tents; his example will probably be generally followed, because the Ryhanlu families, at every returning season, pitch their tents on the same spot. It is only about ten years, that the Ryhanlu have cultivated the land; like the other Turkman hordes they had always preferred the wandering life of feeders of cattle. Agriculture was introduced among them by the persuasion of Hayder Aga, whose daughter having married a chief of the neighbouring Kurds, an alliance took place, which enabled the Turkmans to perceive the advantages, derived by the Kurds from the cultivation of the soil. The principal riches of the Turkmans however still consist in cattle. Their horses are inferior to those of the Arabs of the desert, but are well adapted for the mountains. Their necks are shorter and thicker than those of the Arab horses, the head larger, the whole frame more clumsy: the price of a good Turkman horse at Aleppo is four or five hundred piastres, while twice that sum or more is paid for an Arab horse of a generous breed. Contrary to the practice of the Arabs, the Turkmans ride males exclusively. The family of my host possessed four horses, three mares, about five hundred sheep, one hundred and fifty goats, six cows, and eight camels; he is looked upon as a man in easy circumstances; there are few families whose property does not amount to half as much, and there are many who have three or four times as many cattle. I have heard of some who are possessed of property in cattle and cash to the amount of one hundred and fifty thousand piastres. Such sums are gained by the trade with Aleppo and by usury amongst themselves. At the time of their departure for Armenia the Ryhanlu buy up buffaloes and Arab camels, which they exchange in Armenia for a better breed of camels and for some other cattle, for the Aleppo market. The Armenian or Caramanian camel is taller and stronger than the Arab, its neck is more bent, and the neck and upper part of the thighs are covered with thick hair; the Arab camel, on the contrary, has very little hair. The common load of the latter is about six hundred weight, or one hundred and twenty rotolos, but the Armenian camel will carry one hundred and sixty rotolos, or eight hundred weight. The price of an Arabian camel is about two hundred and fifty piastres, that of an Armenian at Aleppo is twice as much. This breed of camels is produced by a he-dromedary and a she- Arabian camel. The people of Anatolia keep these male dromedaries as stallions for the purpose of covering the females of the smaller Arabian breed, which the Turkmans, yearly bring to their market. If left to breed among themselves the Caramanian camels produce a puny race of little value. The Arabs use exclusively their smaller breed of camels, because they endure heat, thirst, and fatigue, infinitely better than the others, which are well suited to hilly districts. The camels of the Turkmans feed upon a kind of low bramble called in Turkish Kufan, which grows in abundance upon the hills; in the evening they descend the mountains and come trotting towards the tents, where each camel receives a ball of paste, made of barley meal and water, weighing about one pound. The expense of feeding these useful animals is therefore reduced to the cost of a handful of barley per day. The Turkmans do not milk their camels, but use them exclusively as beasts of burthen. Through [p.638] their means they carry on a very profitable trade with Aleppo. They provide the town with firewood, which they cut in the mountains of the Kurds, distant about four hours to the N.W. of Mohammed Aga�s tent; the Kurds themselves who inhabit those mountains have no camels, and are obliged to sell their wood and their labour in cutting it at a very trifling price. Besides wood the Turkmans carry to town the produce of their fields, together with sheep and lambs, wool, butter and cheese in the spring, and a variety of home made carpets. They transport the merchandize of the Frank merchants at Aleppo from Alexandretta to the city. The profits arising from the trade with Aleppo are almost entirely consumed by the demands of their families for cloth, coffee, sweetmeats, and various articles of eastern luxury; they seldom take back any cash to their tents. The manner of living of the Turkmans is luxurious for a nomade people. Their tents are for the greater part clean, the floor in the men�s room is furnished with a Divan or sophas, leaving only a space in the middle where a large fire is continually kept up to cheer the company and to make coffee, of which they consume a great quantity. Their coffee cups are three times the size of those commonly used in the Levant, or as large as an English coffee cup; whenever coffee is handed round, each person�s cup is filled two or three times; when I was with them, I often drank twenty or more cups in the course of the day. The servants roast and pound the coffee immediately before it is drank. They pound it in large wooden mortars, and handle the pestle with so much address, that if two or three are pounding together they keep time, and made a kind of music which seemed to be very pleasing to their masters. The Turkmans taste flesh only upon extraordinary occasions, such as a marriage or a circumcision, a nightly feast during the Ramazan, or the arrival of strangers. Their usual fare is Burgoul; this dish is made of wheat boiled, and afterwards dried in the sun in sufficient quantity for a year�s consumption: the grain is re-boiled with butter or oil, and affords a very palateable nourishment; it is a favourite dish all over Syria. Besides Burgoul they eat rice, eggs, honey, dried fruit, and sour milk, called Leben. They have none but goats milk. Their bread is a thin unleavened cake, which the women bake immediately before dinner upon a hot iron plate, in less than a minute. Breakfast is served at eight o�clock in the morning, the principal meal takes place immediately after sunset. The Turkmans, are great coxcombs at table, in comparison with other Levantines; instead of simply using his fingers, the Turkman twists his thin bread very adroitly into a sort of spoon, which he swallows, together with the morsel which he has taken out of the dish with it. I remember sitting with a dozen of them round a bason of sour milk, which we dispatched in a few minutes without any person, except myself, having in the least soiled his fingers. The Turkman women do not hide themselves, even before strangers, but the girls seldom enter the men�s room, although they are permitted freely to talk with their father�s guests. I was much struck with the elegance of their shapes and the regularity of their features. Their complexion is as fair as that of European women; as they advance in age the sun browns them a little. As to their morals, chastity becomes a necessary virtue where [p.639] even a kiss, is punished with death by the father or brother of the unhappy offender. I could mention several instances of the extreme severity of the Turkmans upon this subject; but one may suffice. Three brothers taking a ride end passing through an insulated valley, met their sister receiving the innocent caresses of her lover. By a common impulse they all three discharged their fire-arms upon her, and left their fallen victim upon the ground, while the lover escaped unhurt; my host Mohammed Ali, upon being informed of the murder, sent his servant to bring the body to his tent, in order to prevent the jackals from devouring it: the women were undressing and washing the body to commit it to the grave, when a slight breathing convinced them that the vital spark was not yet extinguished; in short the girl recovered. She was no sooner out of immediate danger, than one of Ali�s sons repaired to the tent of his friends, the three brothers, who sat sullen and silent round the fire, grieving over the loss of their sister. The young man entered, and saluted them, and said, �I come to ask you, in the name of my father, for the body of your sister; my family wishes to bury her.� He had no sooner finished than the brothers rose, crying: �if she was dead you would not have asked for her, you would have taken the body without our permission.� Then seizing their arms, they were hurrying out of the tent, in search of the still living victim; but Mohammed Ali�s son opposed the authority of his father and his own reputation of courage to their brutal intentions; he swore that he would kill the first who should leave the tent, told them that they had already sufficiently revenged the received injury, and that if their sister was not dead it was the visible protection of the prophet that had saved her: and thus, he at last persuaded them to grant his request. The girl was nursed for three months in Mohammed Ali�s family, and married after her complete recovery to the young man who had been the cause of her misfortune. Notwithstanding such severity the young Turkmans boast of their intrigues, and delight in all the dangers of secret courtship; and I have been assured, upon indisputable authority, that there are few men among them who have not enjoyed the favours of their mistresses before the consumnnation of their nuptials. If the woman happens to become a mother, she destroys her illegitimate offspring as the only means of saving her own life and that of the father. The Turkman ladies dress in the common style of Syrian women; their bonnet is adorned with strings of Venetian zequins, or other gold pieces. The dress of the men is that of the Turks of Anatolia. The horsemen wear wide riding pantaloons, or Sherwalls, of cloth; their head-dress consists of a red cap round which they twist a turban of cotton or silk stuff; the wealthy wear turbans of flowered stuffs, or even Persian shawls. Twenty years ago the national head-dress was a tall and narrow cap of white wool, in the shape of a sugar-loaf, since that time the Ryhanlu have left off wearing it, but I remember to have seen a headdress of this kind during my stay with the Turkmans near Tarsus. The Turkman women are very laborious; besides the care of housekeeping, they work the tent coverings of goats hair, and the woollen carpets, which are inferior only to those of Persian manufacture. Their looms are of primitive simplicity; they do not make use of the shuttle, but pass the woof with their hands. They seem to have made great progress in the art of dyeing; their colours [p.640] are beauitful. Indigo and cochineal, which they purchase at Aleppo, give them their blue, and red dyes, but the ingredients of all the others, especially of a brilliant green, are herbs which they gather in the mountains of Armenia; the dyeing process is kept by them as a national secret. The wool of their carpets, is of the ordinary kind; the carpets are about seven feet long and three broad, and sell from fifteen to one hundred piastres a piece. While the females are employed in these labours the men pass their whole time in indolence; except at sunset, when they feed their horses and camels, they lounge about the whole day, without any useful employment, and without even refreshing their leisure by some trifling occupation. To smoke their pipes and drink coffee is to them the most agreeable pastime; they frequently visit each other, and collecting round the fire-place, they keep very late hours. I was told that there are some men amongst them, who play the tamboura, a sort of guitar, but I never heard any of them perform. If the young men would condescend to assist in agriculture, the wealth of the families would rapidly increase, and the whole of the plains of Antioch might in time be cultivated: at present, as far as I could observe, there are few families growing rich; most of them spend their whole income. A Turkman never leaves his tent to take a ride in the neighbourhood without being armed with his gun, pistols, and sabre. I was astonished to see that they do not take the smallest care of their fire arms: a great number of them were shewn to me, to know whether they were of English manufacture; I found them covered with rust, and they complained of their often missing fire. They have no gunsmiths amongst them; nor any artizans at all, except some farriers, and a few makers of bridles and of horse accoutrements[.] There are no lawyers or Ulemas among the Ryhanlu. Some families of consequence carry with them a Faqui or travelling Imam, to teach their children to read and to pray, and who in case of need performs likewise the duties of a menial servant, much like the young German baron�s governor. These Faqui are for the greater part natives of Albostan, educated there in mosques: they follow the Turkmans to participate in the pious alms which the Koran prescribes. They are generally ignorant, even of the Turkish law: they are often consulted however by the chiefs, and their sentence is generally confirmed by the chief whenever there is no precedent or customary law in point to the contrary. I did not see any books amongst the Turkmans, and I am certain that out of fifty hardly one knows how to read or write. Even few of them know the text of their prayers (which are throughout the Mohammedan countries in the sacred language, the Arabic), and therefore perform the prescribed prostrations silently and without the usual ejaculations. The married people, men as well as women, are tolerably exact in the performance of their devotions, but the young men never trouble themselves about them. I did not stay long enough among the Turkmans to be able to judge correctly of their character, especially as I was ignorant of their language. I saw enough, however, to convince me that they possess most of the vices of nomade nations, without their good qualities. The Turkmans are, like the Arabs and Kurds, a people of robbers, that is to say, [p.641] every thing which they can lay hold of in the open country is their lawful prize, provided it does not belong to their acknowledged friends. The Arabs make amends in some measure for their robberies by the hospitality and liberality with which they receive friends and strangers. In this respect I soon found that I had been led to form a very erroneous opinion of the Turkman character. I was introduced at Aleppo to Mohammed Ali Aga, a man of considerable influence amongst the Ryhanlu, as a physician who was travelling in search of herbs, and I succeeded in supporting my assumed character during near a fortnight�s stay under his tent. Before my departure from Aleppo, I made him a present of coffee and sweetmeats, to the amount of sixty piastres, and I promised him another present, when he should have brought me back in safety to Aleppo. Notwithstanding these precautions, my reception in his tent was rather cool, and I soon found that I was among men who had no other idea than that of getting as much out of me as they could. They were not under the least restraint, but calculated in my presence how much my visit was worth to them, as I sufficiently understood, from their animated tone and gestures, added to the few Turkish words, which I learnt. To spare my dinner my host took me out a visiting almost every day, just before the dinner hour; and that he might know how far it would be prudent to incur expence on my account, he permitted one of his friends to search my pockets, and was cruelly disappointed when he found that my purse did not contain more than four or five piastres. My horse, for the maintenance of which I had agreed with my host, was fed with straw, until I told them that I should take care of it myself, when they were obliged to deliver its daily portion of barley into my own hands. Such was the liberality which I experienced in return for the medical advice and medicines which they received without hesitation from me upon demanding them. Their minds seemed intent only upon money, except among the lovers there was no other subject of conversation, and instead of the Arab virtues, of honour, frankness, and hospitality, there appeared to be no other motive of action among them than the pursuit of gain. The person of a Frank may be safe among them, but his baggage will be exposed to close search, and whatever strikes the fancy of a powerful man, will be asked of him in such a manner, that it is adviseable to give up the object at once. I had fortunately hidden my compass in my girdle, but a thermometer which they found in my pocket, attracted general notice; if I had explained to them the use I meant to make of it, it would have confirmed the suspicion already hinted to me by one of them, that I intended to poison their springs. I pretended that the thermometer was a surgical instrument, which being put into the blood of an open wound served to shew whether the wound was dangerous or not. It is not more from the behaviour of the Turkmans towards myself, that I formed my opinion of their character, than from their conduct towards each other. They are constantly upon their guard against robbers and thieves of their own tribe; they cheat each other in the most trifling affairs, and like most of the Aleppo merchants, make use of the most awful oaths and imprecations to conceal their falsehood. If they have one good quality it is their tolerance in religious matters, which proves, on the other hand, how little they care about them. [p.642] The men marry at fourteen or fifteen, the girls at thirteen. Excepting Hayder Aga, and some of his brothers, there are very few who have more than one wife. They celebrate their marriage feasts with great pomp. The young men play upon those occasions at a running game much resembling the �jeu de barre,� known on the continent of Europe. Their music then consists in drums and trumpets, only, for the Turkmans, are not so fond of music as the Aleppines and the Arabs, nor did I ever meet among them with any of the story-tellers, who are so frequent amongst the Arabs of the desert. Whenever a son reaches the marriageable age, his father gives him, even before his marriage, a couple of camels and a horse to defray, by the profits of trade, his private expenses. At the death of the father, his property is divided amongst the family according to the Turkish law. The Ryhanlu bury their dead in the burying places which are found scattered among the ruins of deserted villages. My observations were confined to the Ryhanlu. But they will probably in great measure apply to all the large Turkman tribes which inhabit the western parts of Asia Minor, and concerning which I obtained a few particulars. In the level country between Badjazze and Adena lives a tribe which is tributary to the governors of these two places. They are called Jerid, and are more numerous than the Ryhanlu; they likewise leave their plains towards the approach of summer, and winter in the Armenian mountains, in the neighbourhood of the Ryhanlu. Like the latter they have one head, and several minor chiefs, and they are divided into six tribes: viz. Jerid (chief Shahen Beg), Tegir (chief Oglu Kiaya), Karegialar (chief Rustam Beg), Bozdagan (chief Kerem Oglu), Aoutshar (chief Hassan Beg), Leck (chief Agri Bayouk). The Lecks speak, besides the Turkish, a language of their own, which has no resemblance either to the Arabic, Turkish, Persian or Kurdine; �it sounds like the whistling of birds,� said the Turkman from whom I obtained this information, and the same remark was confirmed by others. The name of the Leck, renders the supposition probable that they are descendants of the Lazi, a people inhabiting the coast of the Black sea, and who in the time of the great Justinian opposed his forces with some success. Chardin mentions having met descendants of the Lazi near Trebizond, whom he describes as a rude sea-faring people, with a peculiar language. The Pehluvanlu are the most numerous tribe of the whole nation of Turkmans. They are governed by a chief, (Mahmoud Beg), who is tributary to Tshapan Oglu. A part of them have for a long period been cultivators, others are shepherds. They inhabit the country from Bosurk to near Constantinople, and pass the summer months at one day�s journey distance from the Ryhanlu. They are in possession of a very profitable transport trade, and their camels form almost exclusively the caravans of Smyrna and of the interior of Anatolia. They drive their sheep for sale as far as Constantinople. The Rishwans are more numerous than the Ryhanlu, but their tribe is not held in esteem among the Turkmans. They were formerly tributary to Rishwan Oglu, governor of Besna, which lies at one day�s journey from Aintab; and they used then to winter in the neighbourhood [p.643] of Djeboul, on the borders of a small salt lake, five hours to the S. E. of Aleppo. They are at present dependent on Tshapan Oglu, and winter in the plains near Haimani in Anatolia; they pass their summer months in the neighbourhood of the Ryhanlu. Their principal tribes are Deleyanli (chief Ali Beg Oglu), Omar Anli (chief Omar Beg), Mandolli (Omar Aga), Gelikanli (Hassan Beg Mor Oglu). The Rishwans are noted, even among robbers, for their want of faith. The great tribes of the Turkmans are often at war with each other, as well as with the Kurds, with whom they are in contact in many places. These wars seldom cause the death of more than three or four individuals, after which peace is concluded. In a late war between the Ryhanlu and the Kurds, which lasted five or six months, and brought on several battles, the whole list of deaths was only six Kurds and four Turkmans. In the mountains, the Turkmans are accompanied in their military expeditions by foot soldiers, armed with muskets; these are men of the tribe who cannot afford to keep a horse. Neither the lance, nor the bow is used among them. Some tribes of Kurds, on the contrary, have never abandoned the use of the bow. The Tar, or blood-revenge, is observed among the Turkman nations, as well among themselves, as with respect to foreigners. They have a particular species of Tar which I have never heard of among the Arabs. It attaches to their goods; the following incident will best explain it: a caravan of Turkman camels laden with wood was seized last winter, just before the gates of Aleppo, by a detachment of Karashukly (a mixt tribe of Turkmans and Arabs, who inhabit the banks of the Euphrates, in the vicinity of Bir). One of the Turkmans was wounded, the loads were thrown down, and fifty camels driven away, worth about five hundred piastres apiece. The Turkmans immediately dispatched an old Arab woman as ambassadress to their enemies, to treat for the restoration of their camels, and she succeeded in recovering them at the rate of one hundred and sixty piastres apiece, or eight thousand piastres, for the whole. �Thus,� I was told by a Turkman chief, �the Tar between us will not be for the whole sum of twenty-five thousand piastres, the real value of the camels, but only for the sum of eight thousand piastres, for which we shall, on the first opportunity take our revenge.� There are no Sherif families, or families claiming a descent from the prophet, amongst the Ryhanlu. But family pride is not unknown among them. Descendants from ancient and renowned chiefs claim, though poor, some deference from wealthy upstarts. In one of their late battles with the Kurds, a young man of noble extraction, but poor, and without authority, was crying out in the heat of action: �Comrades, let us attack them on the left flank.� Hayder Aga, who heard it, exclaimed: �Who are you? hold your tongue.� After the victory the young man, was seen thoughtful and melancholy in the midst of the rejoicings of his brethren; Hayder Aga, as proud a man as ever sat upon a throne, to whom it was reported, sent for the young man, and when he entered the tent rose, and kissed his beard, begging [p.644] him to forget whatever lie might have said in the heat of action, when he was not always master of himself. Their ideas of decency appear singular, when compared with our own. A Turkman will talk before his wife, daughter, or sister upon subjects which are banished from our discourse; at the same time that he would be much offended if any friend should in the presence of his females speak in raptures or poetical terms of the charms of a beloved mistress. Remains of Antiquity. One of the principal motives of my visit to the Turkmans was my desire to visit some ruins near their encampments, particularly those of Deir Samaan, which at Aleppo I had heard compared to the temples at Baalbec. I therefore made it a condition with my Turkman host, that he should take me to Deir Samaan as well as to several other ruins whose names I had collected from different Aleppines. The day after my arrival under his tent, he set out with me towards the Deir, and we reached it after a ride of four hours over the rocky hills which encircle the mountain of St. Simon, called Djebel Samaan, or Sheikh Barekat. The Deir Samaan consists of the ruins of a church, monastery, or episcopal palace, built upon the top of an insulated hill, bearing from the top of the mountain of St. Simon, N. 20 E., about eight miles distant. It is now inhabited by several families of Kurds, who have their black goat hair tents pitched in the middle of the ruins. They received us with much hospitality; a sheep was immediately killed, and all the delicacies of the season were served up to us. After dinner and coffee, Tshay[FN#1] was served round, which the Aleppines and all Syrians esteem as one of the greatest dainties: it is a heating drink, made of ginger, cloves, rosewater, sugar and similar ingredients, boiled together to a thick syrup. Mursa Aga, the chief, a handsome young man, then took up his Tamboura or guitar, and the rest of the evening passed in music and singing. The whole summit of the hill, which is six hundred paces in length and one hundred and seventy in breadth, was once covered with stately buildings. A thick wall of square hewn stones, is traceable all round. The principal ruins consist of two separate buildings, a palace, and a church, or monastery, which were separated from each other by a court- yard one hundred and ten paces in length. The palace, or perhaps the high priest�s habitation, is not remarkable either for its size or elegance. I could not enter it because it was occupied by the Harem of Mursa Aga. A colonnade led from the palace to the church gate; the broken fragments only of the columns remain. Of the church most of the side walls are still standing, ornamented with pillars and arches worked in the walls; it is divided into two circular apartments [p.645] of which the inner may have been the sanctuary. On the eastern side of the church is a dark vaulted room, which receives the daylight only from the door, and which appears to have been a sepulchre. A number of niches (if I recollect right, nine), not perpendicular like the Egyptian sepulchral niches, but horizontal, have been built around the wall. Into this chamber opens a subterraneous passage, which is said by the Kurds, to continue a long way under ground, in the direction of Antakia. I could not persuade any body to enter it with me. Adjacent to this sepulchre is another vaulted, open hall, which has been changed by its present proprietors into stables, and an apartment for receiving strangers in the heat of summer. The softness of the calcareous stone from the adjacent hills, with which the buildings are constructed, has caused all the ornaments of the arches and columns and even the shafts themselves to decay; enough remains however, of their clumsy and overcharged ornaments, to shew that the edifices are of an advanced period of the Greek empire. The columns are very small in proportion to the arches which they support, and I did not see any above eighteen or twenty feet high. The perishable nature of the stone has not left a single inscription visible, if there ever were any, with the exception of some names of Frenchmen from Aleppo, who visited the place eighty years ago. The sign of the cross is visible in several places. If these buildings were constructed in pious commemoration of the devout sufferings of St. Simon Stylites, who passed thirty-five years of his life upon a column, they are probably of the sixth century. St. Simon died towards the end of the fifth century, and in the seventh century Syria was conquered and converted to Islamism by the successors of Mohammed. The structures are certainly not of the date of the Crusades. On the eastern side of the building are the remains of an aqueduct, the continuation of which is again met with on the opposite hill. The Kurdine inhabitants of these ruins collect at present the rain water in cisterns. Descending from the top of the hill on the western side, the remains of a broad paved causeway lead to an arch, which stands about ten minutes walk from the castle, and faces the ruins of a city, built at the foot of the hill, of which a number of buildings are still extant. These ruins, called Bokatur, are uninhabited, their circumference may be estimated at about one mile and a half. Amongst the many private houses a palace may be distinguished, surrounded by a low portico, at which terminates the causeway leading from the arch. At half an hour�s distance to the S.W. of Bokatur, are ruins resembling the former in extent and structure. I saw several houses of which the front was supported by columns, of a smaller size than those of the palace at Bokatur. This place is now called Immature, at three quarters of an hour to the W. of it, are other similar ruins of a town called Filtire, which I did not see. The two latter places are now inhabited by some poor Kurdine families. The style of building which I observed in the houses of these ruined cities approaches more to the European than the Asiatic taste. The roofs are somewhat inclined, and the windows numerous, and large, instead of being few and small, as in Turkish houses. The walls, most of which are still remaining, are for the greatest part without ornament, [p.646] from one foot to about one foot and a half thick, and built of calcareous squared stones, like Deir Samaan. The pillars which are still to be seen in some of the ruined buildings are none of them more than fifteen feet high. Their capitals, like those of the columns in the Deir Samaan, are rude and unfinished; if any order is discernible it is a corrupted Corinthian. The neighbourbood of these towns, at least for five miles round, presents nothing but an uneven plain, thickly covered with barren rocks, which rise to the height of two or three feet above the surface. A few herbs grow in the fissures of the rocks, which are scarcely sufficient to keep from starving half a dozen horses, the property of the present miserable inhabitants. There are several wells of good water in the neighbourhood of the ruins. To the S.S.E. of the Deir, at an hour and a half�s distance, stands a single pillar about thirty-five feet high, the base and capital of which are like those of the Deir. No inscriptions are visible. At a few yards from the column is the entrance to a spacious subterraneous cavern. I passed this spot on my way to the Deir, and purposed to examine the contents of the cave on our return; I returned however by another route. We left our friendly Kurds on the following day at noon. At taking my leave I told the chief that I should be happy to make him some acknowledgments for the hospitality shewn to me, whenever he should visit Aleppo. He excused himself for not having been able to treat us according to his wishes, and begged me to send him from Aleppo a few strings for his guitar; which I gladly promised. These Kurds have been for some time past at war with the Janissaries at Aleppo, which prevents them from going there. On our road back to Mohammed Ali�s tents, through Bokatur and Immature, we met halfway a poor gypsy, or as they are called here, Kurpadh; these Kurpadh are spread over the whole of Anatolia and Syria. The Kurds have spread themselves over some parts of the plain which the Afrin waters, as well as some of the neighbouring mountains. They live in tents and in villages, are stationary, and are all occupied in agriculture and the rearing of cattle. They form four tribes, of which the Shum, who live in the plain, are the most considerable. The Kurds seem to be of a more lively disposition than the Turkmans; the Aleppines say that their word is less to be depended upon than that of the Turkmans. My hosts at Deir Samaan asked me many questions relative to European politics. I found the opinion prevalent among them which Buonaparte has taken such pains to impress upon the winds of the continental nations, that Great Britain is and ought to be merely a maritime power. This belief, however, proves very advantageous to English travellers in these countries. A Frenchman will every where be taken for a spy, as long as the French invasion of Egypt and Syria is in the memory of man, but it seems never to enter into the suspicions of these people that the English can have any wish to possess the countries of the Levant. I was astonished to find that all the Kurds spoke Arabic fluently, besides the Turkish and their own language, which latter is a corrupted mixture of Persian, Armenian, and Turkish. On the other hand, I only met three or four Turkmans who knew how to express themselves [p.647] in Arabic, though both nations are alike in almost continual intercourse with Arab peasants and Aleppines. Besides the ruins just described, there are many others dispersed over the Turkman territories; which, to judge from the prevailing architecture, are of the same date as those already mentioned. Tisin, Sulfa, Kalaa el [B]ent, Jub Abiad, and Mayshat, all of them at two or three hours distance from the tent of Mohammed Ali, are heaps of ruined buildings, with a few remains of houses. Kalaa el Bent and Jub Abiad contain each of them a square tower about sixty feet high. They have only one small projecting window near the top; the roof is flat. Tradition says that Kalaa el Bent or in Turkish Kislar Kalassi, (the castle of girls), was formerly a convent; probably of nuns. At Mayshat, a Turkman encampment on the top of a hill, at the foot of which is a large deep well, with a solid wall, I was shewn a subterraneous chamber, about twenty feet long and fifteen in breadth, hewn out of the rock, at the entrance to which are two columns; there are two excavations in the bottom of it, like the sepulchral niches which I saw in the Deir Samaan. I have been told that near Telekberoun, a village situated at the foot of the hills which encircle the plain of Khalaka, there are remains of an ancient causeway elevated two or three feet from the ground, about fifteen feet broad, running in the direction from Aleppo to Antioch; it may be traced for the length of a quarter of an hour. In the plain of the Afrin, about three miles from Mursal Oglu�s residence, and half an hour from the Afrin, stands an insulated hillock in the plain with the ruins of a Saracen castle, called Daoud Pasha; four miles to the N.E. of it is situated another similar hillock, with ruins of a castle, called Tshyie. The sight of these numerous ruins fills the minds of the Turkmans and Kurds with ideas of hidden treasures, and they relate a variety of traditionary tales of Moggrebyn Sheikhs, who have been once on the point of getting out the treasure, when they have been interrupted by the shrieks of a woman, &c. &c. Having provided myself at Aleppo with a small hammer to break off spesimens of rocks, the Turkmans could not be pursuaded that this instrument was not for the purpose of searching for gold. Several Turkmans pressed me to do them the favour of working for a day in their behalf. I endeavoured to persuade them that the hammer was to assist me in procuring medicinal herbs. [FN#1] Tshay is the Chinese word for tea; and our word is corrupted from it. The word Tshay is used all over Tartary and Turkey, where the dried herb, which is brought over land from China, is also well known. In Syria and Egypt, where the word is better known than the herb, real tea is generally distinguished by the name of Tshay Hindy (tea of India). Ed. APPENDIX. No. II. On the Political Division of Syria, and the recent Changes in the Government of Aleppo. THE political division of Syria has not undergone any changes, since the time of Volney. The Pashaliks are five in number. To the pashalik of Aleppo belongs the government of Aintab, Badjazze, Alexandretta, and Antakia. Damascus comprehends Hebron, Jerusalem, Nablous, Bostra, Hums, and Hama. The Pashalik of Tripoli extends along the seacoast from Djebail to Latikia; that of Seide or Akka, from Djebail nearly to Jaffa, including the mountains inhabited by the Druses. The Pasha of Gaza governs in Jaffa and Gaza, and in the adjacent plains. The present Pasha of Damascus is at the same time Pasha of Tripoli, and therefore in possession of the greater half of Syria. The Pashalik of Gaza is at present annexed to that of Akka. Such is the nominal division of Syria. But the power of the Porte in this country has been so much upon the decline, particularly since the time of Djezzar Pasha of Akka, that a number of petty independent chiefs have sprung up, who defy their sovereign. Badjazze, Alexandretta, and Antakia have each an independent Aga. Aintab, to the north of Aleppo, Edlip and Shogre, on the way from Aleppo to Latikia, have their own chiefs, and it was but last year that the Pasha of Damascus succeeded in subduing Berber, a formidable rebel, who had fixed his seat at Tripoli, and had maintained himself there for the last six years. The Pashas themselves follow the same practice; it is true that neither the Pasha of Damascus nor that of Akka has yet dared openly to erect the standard of rebellion; they enjoy all the benefits of the protection of the supreme government, but depend much more upon their own strength, than on the caprice of the Sultan, or on their intrigues in the seraglio for the continuance of their power. The policy of the Porte is to flatter and load with honours those whom she cannot ruin, and to wait for some lucky accident by which she may regain her power; but, above all, to avoid a formal rupture, which would only serve to expose her own weakness and to familiarize the Pashas and their subjects with the ideas of rebellion. The Pashas of Damascus and of Akka continue to be dutiful subjects of the Grand Signior in appearance; and they even send considerable sums of money to Constantinople, to ensure the yearly renewal of their offices. (The Pashaliks all over the Turkish dominions are given for the term of one year only, and at the beginning of the Mohammedan year, the Pashas receive [p.649] their confirmation or dismissal) The Agas of Aintab, Antakia, Alexandretta, Edlip, and Shogre, pay also for the renewal of their offices. There are a few chiefs who have completely thrown off the mask of subjection; Kutshuk Ali, the Lord of Badjazze openly declares his contempt of all orders from the Porte, plunders and insults the Sultan�s officers, as well as all strangers passing through his mountains, and with a force of less than two hundred men, and a territory confined to the half ruined town of Badjazze, in the gulf of Alexandretta, and a few miles of the surrounding mountains, his father and himself have for the last thirty years defied all the attempts of the neighbouring Pashas to subdue them. The inhabitants of Aleppo have been for several years past divided into two parties; the Sherifs (the real or pretended descendants of the Prophet), and the Janissaries. The former distinguish themselves by twisting a green turban round a small red cap, the latter wear high Barbary caps, with a turban of shawl, or white muslin, and a Khandjar, or long crooked knife in their girdles. There are few Turks in the city who have been able to keep aloof from both parties. The Sherifs first showed their strength about forty years ago, during a tumult excited by their chiefs in consequence of a supposed insult received by Mr. Clarke, the then British Consul. Aleppo was governed by them in a disorderly manner for several years without a Pasha, until the Bey of Alexandretta, being appointed to the Pashalik, surprised the town and ordered all the chief Sherifs to be strangled[.] The Pasha however, found his authority greatly limited by the influence which Tshelebi Effendi, an independent Aleppine grandee, had gained over his countrymen. The immense property of Tshelebi�s family added to his personal qualities, rendered his influence and power so great that during twenty years he obliged several Pashas who would not yield to his counsels and designs to quit the town. He never would accept of the repeated offers made by the Porte to raise him to the Pashalik. His interests were in some measure supported by the corps of Janissaries; who in Aleppo, as in other Turkish towns, constitute the regular military force of the Porte; but until that period their chiefs had been without the smallest weight in the management of public affairs. One of Tshelebi�s household officers, Ibrahim Beg, had meanwhile been promoted, through the friends of his patron at Constantinople, to the first dignities in the town. He was made Mutsellim (vice governor), and Mohassel (chief custom house officer), and after the death of Tshelebi, his power devolved upon Ibrahim. This was in 1786. Kussa Pasha, a man of probity and talents, was sent at that time as Pasha to Aleppo. Being naturally jealous of Ibrahim Beg�s influence, he endeavoured to get possession of his person, by ordering him to be detained during a visit, made by Ibrahim to compliment the Pasha [p.650] upon his arrival, for a debt which Ibrahim owed to a foreign merchant, who had preferred his complaints to the Pasha�s tribunal. Ibrahim paid the debt, and was no sooner out of the Pasha�s immediate reach, than he engaged Ahmed Aga (one of the present Janissary chiefs), to enter with him into a formal league against Kussa. The Janissaries, together with Ibrahim�s party, attacked the Pasha�s troops; who after several days fighting, were driven out of the town, and Ibrahim was soon afterwards named Pasha of three tails, and for the first time Pasha of Aleppo. From that period (1788-89) may be dated the power of the Janissaries. Ibrahim had been the cause of their rising into consideration, but he soon found that their party was acquiring too much strength; he therefore deemed it necessary to countenance the Sherifs, and being a man of great talents, he governed and plundered the town, by artfully opposing the two parties to each other. In the year 1789, Ibrahim was nominated to the Pashalik of Damascus. Sherif Pasha, a man of ordinary capacity, being sent to Aleppo, the Janissaries soon usurped the powers of government. At the time of the French invasion of Egypt, the intrigues of Djezzar Pasha of Akka drove Ibrahim from his post at Damascus, and he was obliged to follow the Grand Vizir�s army into Egypt. When after the campaign of Egypt the Grand Vizir with the remains of his army, was approaching Aleppo upon his return to Constantinople, Ibrahim conceived hopes of regaining his lost seat at Aleppo. Through the means of his son Mohammed Beg, then Mobassei, the Janissaries were persuaded that the Vizir had evil intentions against them, forged letters were produced to that effect, and the whole body of Janissaries left the town before the Vizir�s arrival in its neighbourhood. Their flight gave Ibrahim the sought for opportunity to represent the fugitives to the Vizir as rebels afraid to meet their master�s presence; they were shortly afterwards, by a Firmahn from the Porte, formally proscribed as rebels, and the killing of any of them who should enter the territory of Aleppo was declared lawful. They had retired to Damascus, Latikia, Tripoli, and the mountains of the Druses, and they spared no money to get the edict of their exile rescinded. After a tedious bargain for the price of their pardon, they succeeded at last in obtaining it, on condition of paying one hundred thousand piastres into the Sultan�s treasury. Ibrahim Pasha, who had in the meanwhile regained the Pashalik of Aleppo, was to receive that sum from them, and he had so well played his game, that the Janissaries still thought him their secret friend. The principal chiefs, trusting to Ibrahim�s assurances, came to the town for the purpose of paying down the money; they were a few days afterwards arrested, and it was generally believed that Ibrahim would order them the same night to be strangled. In Turkey however, there are always hopes as long as the purse is not exhausted. The prisoners engaged Mohammed, Ibrahim�s beloved son, to intercede in their favour; they paid him for that service one thousand zequins in advance, and promised as much more: and he effectually extorted from his father a promise not to kill any of them. It is said that Ibrahim foretold his son that the time would come when he would repent of his intercession. A short time afterwards Ibrahim was nominated a second time to the Pashalik of Damascus, which [p.651] became vacant by Djezzar�s death, in 1804. His prisoners were obliged to follow him to Damascus; from whence they found means to open a correspondence with the Emir Beshir, the chief of the Druses, and to prevail upon him to use all his interest with Ibrahim to effect their deliverance. Ibrahim stood at that time in need of the Emir�s friendship; he had received orders from the Porte to seize upon Djezzar�s treasures at Akka, and to effect this the co-operation of the Druse chief was absolutely necessary. Upon the Emir�s reiterated applications, the prisoners were at last liberated. When Ibrahim Pasha removed to Damascus, he procured the Pashalik of Aleppo for his son Mohammed Pasha, a man who possesses in a high degree the qualification so necessary in a delegate of the Porte, of understanding how to plunder his subjects. The chief of a Sherif family, Ibn Hassan Aga Khalas (who has since entered into the corps of the Janissaries, and is now one of their principal men), was the first who resolved to oppose open force to his measures; he engaged at first only seven or eight other families to join him, and it was with this feeble force that the rebellion broke out which put an end to the Pasha�s government. The confederates began by knocking down the Pasha�s men in the streets wherever they met them, Janissaries soon assembled from all quarters to join Hassan�s party; and between two or three hundred Deli Bashi or regular troops of the Pasha were massacred in the night in their own habitations, to which the rebels found access from the neighbouring terraces or flat roofs. Still the Pasha�s troops would have subdued the insurgents had it not been for the desperate bravery of Hassan Aga. After several months daily fighting in the streets, in which the Pasha�s troops had thrown up entrenchments, want of food began to be sensibly felt in the part of the city which his adherents occupied near the Serai, a very spacious building now in ruins. He came therefore to the resolution of abandoning the city. At Mohammed�s request a Tartar was sent, from Constantinople, with orders enjoining him to march against Berber, governor of Tripoli, who had been declared a rebel. Having thus covered the disgrace of his defeat, he marched out of Aleppo in the end of 1804, but instead of proceeding to Tripoli, he established his head quarters at Sheikh Abou Beker, a monastery of Derwishes situated upon an elevation only at one mile�s distance from Aleppo, where he recruited his troops and prepared himself to besiege the town. His affairs, however, took a more favourable turn upon the arrival of a Kapidgi Bashi or officer of the Porte from Constantinople, who carried with him the most positive orders that Mohammed Pasha should remain governor of Aleppo, and be acknowledged as such by the inhabitants, The Kapidgi�s persuasions, as well as the Sultan�s commands, which the Janissaries did not dare openly to disobey, brought on a compromise, in consequence of which the Pasha re-entered the city. So far he had gained his point, but he soon found himself in his palace without friends or influence; the Janissaries were heard to declare that every body who should visit him would be looked upon as a spy; on Fridays alone, the great people paid him their visit in a body. The place meanwhile was governed by the chiefs of the Janissaries and the Sherifs. At length the Pasha succeeded, by a secret nightly correspondence, to detach the latter from the Janissaries, who were gaining the ascendancy. The Sherifs are the natural supporters [p.652] of government in this country; most of the villages round Aleppo were then in their possession, they command the landed interests, all the Aleppo grandees of ancient families, and all the Ulemas and Effendis belong to their body, and the generality of them have received some education, while out of one hundred Janissaries, there are scarcely five who know how to read or to write their own names. The civil war now broke out afresh, and Mohammed had again the worst of it. After remaining three months in the town, he returned to his former encampment at Sheikh Abou Beker, from whence he assisted his party in the town who had taken possession of the castle and several mosques. This warfare lasted nearly two years without any considerable losses on either side. The Sherifs were driven out of the mosques, but defended themselves in the castle. Generally, the people of Aleppo, Janissaries as well as Sherifs, are a cowardly race. The former never ventured to meet the Pasha�s troops on the outside of their walls, the latter did not once sally forth from the castle, but contented themselves with firing into the town, and principally against Bankousa, a quarter exclusively inhabited by Janissaries. The Pasha on his side would have ordered his Arnaouts to take the town by assault, had not his own party been jealous of his military power, and apprehensive of the fury of an assaulting army, for which reason they constantly endeavoured to prevent any vigorous attack, promising that they would alone bring the enemy to terms. After nearly two years fighting, during which time a considerable part of the town was laid in ruins, the Pasha with the Sherifs were on the point of succeeding, and compelling the Janissaries to surrender. The chiefs of the Janissaries had applied to the European Consuls for their mediation between them and the Pasha, the conditions of their surrender were already drawn up, and in a few days more their power in Aleppo would probably have been for ever annihilated by a treacherous infraction of the capitulation, when, by a fortunate mistake, a Tartar, sent from Constantinople to Mohammed, entered the town, instead of taking his packet to Sheikh Abou Beker; the Janissaries opened the dispatches, and found them to contain a Firmahn, by which Mohammed Pasha was recalled from his Pashalik of Aleppo. This put an end to the war; Mohammed dismissed the greater part of his troops and retired: the Janissaries came to a compromise with the Sherifs in the castle, and have since that time been absolute masters of the city. I cannot omit mentioning that during the whole of the civil war, the persons and property of the Franks were rigidly respected. It sometimes happened that parties of Sherifs and Janissaries skirmishing in the Bazars, left off firing by common consent, when a Frank was seen passing, and that the firing from the Minarets ceased, when Franks passed over their flat roofs from one house to another. The Janissaries have this virtue in the eyes of the Franks, that they are not in the smallest degree fanatical; the character of a Sherif is quite the contrary, and whenever religious disputes happen, they are always excited and supported by some greenhead. Since the removal of Mohammed Pasha the Porte has continued to nominate his successors; but the name of Pasha of Aleppo is now nothing more than a vain title. His first successor was Alla eddin Pasha, a near relation of Sultan Selim: then Waledin Pasha, Othman [p.653] Pasha Darukly, Ibrahim Pasha, a third time, and the present governor Seruri Mohammed Pasha. Except the last, who is now in the Grand Vizir�s camp near Constantinople they have all resided at Aleppo, but they occupied the Serai more like state prisoners than governors. They never were able to carry the most trifling orders into effect, without feeing in some way or other the chiefs of the Ja[n]issaries to grant their consent. The corps of Janissaries, or the Odjak of Aleppo, was formerly divided, as in other Turkish towns, into companies or Ortas, but since the time of their getting into power, they have ceased to submit to any regular discipline: they form a disorderly body of from three to four thousand men, and daily increase their strength and number by recruits from the Sherifs. Those who possess the greatest riches, and whose family and friends are the most numerous, are looked upon as their chiefs, though they are unable to exercise any kind of discipline. Of these chiefs there are at present six principal ones, who have succeeded in sharing the most lucrative branches of the revenue, and what seems almost incredible, they have for the last six years preserved harmony amongst themselves; Hadji Ibrahim Ibn Herbely is at this moment the richest and most potent of them all. The legal forms of Government have not been changed, and the Janissaries outwardly profess to be the dutiful subjects of the Porte. The civil administration is nominally in the hands of the Mutsellim, who is named by the Pasha and confirmed by the Porte. the Kadhi presides in the court of justice, and the Mohassel or chief custom house officer is [a]llowed to perform his functions in the name of his master, but the Mutsellim dares not enforce any orders from the Porte nor the Kadhi decide any law suit of importance, without being previously sure of the consent of some of the chief Janissaries. The revenue which the grand Signior receives at this moment from Aleppo is limited to the Miri, or general landtax, which the Janissaries themselves pay, the Kharatsh or tribute of the Christians and Jews, and the income of the custom house, which is now rented at the yearly rate of eighty thousand piastres. Besides these there are several civil appointments in the town, which are sold every year at Constantinople to the highest bidder: the Janissaries are in the possession of the most lucrative of them, and remit regularly to the Porte the purchase money. The outward decorum which the Janissaries have never ceased to observe towards the Porte is owing to their fear of offending public opinion, so as to endanger their own security. The Porte, on the other hand, has not the means of subduing these rebels, established as their power now is, without calling forth all her resources and ordering an army to march against them, from Constantinople. The expense of such an enterprize would hardly be counterbalanced by the profits of its success; for the Janissaries, pushed to extremities, would leave the town and find a secure retreat for themselves and their treasures in the mountains of the Druses: both parties therefore endeavour to avoid an open rupture; it is well known that the chief Janissaries send considerable presents to Constantinople to appease their master�s anger, and provided the latter draws supplies for his pressing wants, no matter how or from whence, the insults offered to his supreme authority are easily overlooked. The Janissaries chiefly exercise their power with a view to the filling of their purses. [p.654] Every inhabitant of Aleppo, whether Turk or Christian, provided he be not himself a Janissary, is obliged to have a protector among them to whom he applies in case of need, to arrange his litigations, to enforce payment from his creditors, and to protect him from the vexations and exactions of other Janissaries. Each protector receives from his client a sum proportionate to the circumstances of the client�s affairs. It varies from twenty to two thousand piastres a year, besides which, whenever the protector terminates an important business to the client�s wishes, he expects some extraordinary reward. If two protectors happen to be opposed to each other on account of their clients, the more powerful of the two sometimes carries the point, or if they are equal in influence, they endeavour to settle the business by compromise, in such a way as to give to justice only half its due. Those Janissaries, who have the greatest number of clients are of course the richest, and command the greatest influence. But these are not the only means which the Janissaries employ to extort money. They monopolize the trade of most of the articles of consumption, (which have risen in consequence, to nearly double the price which they bore six years ago), as well as of several of the manufactures of Aleppo; upon others they levy heavy taxes; in short their power is despotic and oppressive; yet they have hitherto abstained from making, like the Pashas, avanies upon individuals by open force, and it is for that reason that the greater part of the Aleppines do not wish for the return of a Pasha. Though the Janissaries extort from the public, by direct and indirect means, more than the Pashas ever did by their avanies, each individual discharges the burthen imposed upon him more readily, because he is confident that it insures the remainder of his fortune; in the Pasha�s time, living was cheaper, and regular taxes not oppressive; but the Pasha would upon the most frivolous pretexts order a man of property to be thrown into prison and demand the sacrifice of one fourth of his fortune to grant him his deliverance. Notwithstanding the immense income of the chief Janissaries, they live poorly, without indulging themselves in the usual luxuries of Turks-women and horses. Their gains are hoarded in gold coin, and it is easy to calculate, such is the publicity with which all sort of business is conducted, that the yearly income of several of them cannot amount to less than thirty or forty thousand pounds sterling. It is necessary to have lived for some time among the Turks, and to have experienced the mildness and peacefulness of their character, and the sobriety and regularity of their habits, to conceive it possible that the inhabitants of a town like Aleppo, should continue to live for years without any legal master, or administration of justice, protected only by a miserable guard of police, and yet that the town should be a safe and quiet residence. No disorders, or nightly tumults occur; and instances of murder and robbery are extremely rare. If serious quarrels sometimes happen, it is chiefly among the young Janissaries heated with brandy and amorous passion, who after sunset fight their rivals at the door of some prostitute. This precarious security is however enjoyed only within the walls of the city; the whole neighbourhood of Aleppo is infested by obscure tribes of Arab and Kurdine robbers, who through the negligence of the Janissaries, acquire every day more insolence and more confidence in the [p.655] success of their enterprises. Caravans of forty or fifty camels have in the course of last winter been several times attacked and plundered at five hundred yards from the city gate, not a week passes without somebody being ill-treated and stripped in the gardens near the town; and the robbers have even sometimes taken their night�s rest in one of the suburbs of the city, and there sold their cheaply acquired booty. In the time of Ibrahim Pasha, the neighbourhood of Aleppo to the distance of four or five hours, was kept in perfect security from all hostile inroads of the Arabs, by the Pasha�s cavalry guard of Deli Bashi. But the Janissaries are very averse from exposing themselves to danger; there is moreover no head among them to command, no common purse to pay the necessary expences, nor any individual to whose hands the public money might be trusted. [p.656] APPENDIX. No. III. The Hadj Route from Damascus to Mekka. IN later times the Hadj has been accustomed to leave Damascus on the 15th Shauwal. On the 26th or 27th it leaves Mezerib, and meets the new moon at Remtha or Fedhein. The Hadj route from Damascus to Mekka has changed three different times; at first it passed on the eastern side of Djebel Haouran; the fear of the Arabs made the Pashas prefer afterwards the route through the Ledja and Boszra; about eighty years ago the present caravan route was established. 1st. day. The Emir el Hadj leaves the town about mid-day, and remains the night at Kubbet el Hadj el Azeli [Arabic], an ancient mosque at a quarter of an hour from Bab Ullah or the southern gate of Damascus. Near the Kubbe lies the village of Kadem [Arabic]. 2. At four hours is the village of Kessoue [Arabic], with a well provided Bazar. One hour Khan Denoun [Arabic], situated on the river Aawadj [Arabic], which comes from Hasbeia and empties itself into the Ghouta of Damascus. The Khan is in ruins. At a quarter of an hour to the S.E. from it lies the village of Khiara [Arabic]. 3. Four hours from Denoun is the village Ghebaib [Arabic]; it has a small Khan to the left of the Hadj route, to the right of it is a Birket or reservoir of water, which is supplied by the river Shak-heb [Arabic], whose source, Ain Shak-heb, with a village called Shak-heb, lies to the N.W. of Ghebaib. In that source the barbers of Damascus collect leeches [Arabic], The Shak-heb loses itself in the plain of the Haouran, after having watered the gardens and Dhourra fields of Ghebaib. Three hours farther the village Didy [Arabic]; one hour farther the ruins of a town and castle called Es-szanamein [Arabic], where there are two towers built of black stone, still remaining. The Fellahs have a few houses there. An hour and a half farther a hill with a small Birket at its foot, called El Fekia [Arabic], containing a source which loses itself in the eastern plain. The Hadj passes the night sometimes here, and sometimes at Szannamein. 4. At four hours from Szannamein is a hill called the hill of Dilly [Arabic], with a ruined village at the top. At its foot flows a river whose source is at Tel Serraia [Arabic], a hill two hours W. of Dilly, likewise with a ruined village. The river works a mill near Dilly. In winter and spring time the district of Dilly is a deep bog; at four hours farther is a village [p.657] called Shemskein [Arabic], of considerable size, and in a prosperous state. Three hours farther is Tafs [Arabic], a village, ruined by the Wahabis in June 1810. One hour farther is El Mezareib [Arabic], with a castle of middling size, and the principal place in the Haouran next to Boszra. 5. At one hour from Mezareib is the Wady el Medan [Arabic], which comes from the Djebel Haouran. In winter time the Hadjis were often embarrassed by it. Djezzar Pasha ordered a bridge to be built over it. The ground is a fine gravel; even in summer time, when the Wady is dry, water is found every where underground by digging to the depth of two or three ells. At three hours is the village El Remtha [Arabic], inhabited by Fellahs, who have about ten cisterns of rain-water, and a small Birket in the neighbourhood of the village. Most of them live in caverns underground, which they arrange into habitations; the caverns are in a white rock. The Sheikh of Remtha is generally a Santon, that dignity being in the family of Ezzabi [Arabic], who possesses there a mosque of the same name. On account of the sanctity of his family, the Pasha does not take any Miri from the Sheikh Ezzabi. The Hadjis sometimes sleep at Remtha, at other times they go as far as Fedhein [Arabic], also called Mefrak [Arabic], a castle four hours from Remtha, where the Pasha keeps a small garrison, under the orders of an Aga, or Odabashi. The Arabs of the Belka are in the habit of depositing in the castle of Fedhein their superfluous provisions of wheat and barley, which they retake the next year, or sell to the Hadj, after having paid to the Aga a certain retribution. From Fedhein runs a Wady E. which turns, after one day�s journey towards the S. and is then called Wady Botun. The Djebel Heish, which continues its southerly course to the W. of the Hadj route, changes its name in the latitude of Fedhein into that of Djebel Belka [Arabic]. To the east of Fedhein the Djebel Haouran terminates, not far to the North of Boszra. At one day�s journey from where the mountain finishes lies the village of Szalkhat [Arabic]. From Fedhein to the south-east the plain is uncultivated, and without habitations. 6. The castle of Zerka [Arabic] is at one day�s journey from Fedhein. The Hadj rests here one day, during which the Hadjis amuse themselves with hunting the wild boars which are found in great numbers on the reedy banks of Wady Zerka. The castle is built in a low Wady which forms in winter-time the bed of a river of considerable size, called Naher Ezzerka [Arabic], whose waters collect to the south of Djebel Haouran. In summer time the Wady to the E. of the castle has no water in it, but to the west, where there are some sources, the river is never completely dried up. It then enters the Djebel Belka and empties itself into the Sheriat el Kebir. The Pasha of Damascus has an Aga in the castle, who is always an Arab of the tribe of Ehteim [Arabic], part of whom live in tents round the castle and sow the ground. They have plenty of grapes, and sow Dhourra and wheat. 7. One day�s journey is Kalaat el Belka [Arabic]. The name of Kalaat, or castle, is given on the Hadj route, and over the greater part of the desert, to any building walled in, and covered, and having, like a Khan, a large court-yard in its enclosure. The walls are sometimes of stone, but more commonly of earth, though even the latter are sufficient to withstand an [p.658] attack of Arabs. The castle of Belka has a large Birket of rain-water. Its commander or Odabashi is always chosen from among the Janissaries of Damascus. It serves the Arabs of the Djebel Belka as a depot for their provisions. To the west of the castle the mountain of Belka terminates. The Arabs of Belka live in tents round the castle, and are Felahein or cultivators of the ground. 8. One day�s journey from the latter is the Kalaat el Katrane [Arabic], whose Odabashi is likewise a Janissary from Damascus. It has a Birket of rainwater. At one day�s journey to the N.W. of it is the Kalaat Kerek [Arabic], from whence the Arabs of Kerek bring wheat and barley for sale to the Odabashi of Katrane, who sells it again to advantage to the Hadjis. 9. One day�s journey Kalaat el Hassa, [Arabic], with a fine source, whose water is drawn up by means of a large wheel. The castle is built in the middle of a Wady running from E. to W.; in the winter a river runs through the Wady, which is dry in summer; but at a quarter of an hour W. from the castle, there are several springs of good water, which are never dry. They collect into a river which empties itself into the Jordan or Sheriat el Kebir at two days� journey from El Hassa. The Fellahs who live round the castle in the Wady, in several small villages, sow Dhourra and barley, those that live towards the western mountains, sow for their masters the El Hadjaia Arabs [Arabic], and receive from them half of the harvest in return. To the S.E. of El Hassa, on the northern side of the Wady, about five hours distance from El Hassa, is a high hill, called Shehak [Arabic], which is visible from Masn and Akaba. At the same distance due east from El Hassa is a watering place called Meshash el Rekban [Arabic], where water is found on digging to a small depth. To the S. of Wady el Hassa, in the Djebel Shera, is the town of Tafyle. South of it the Shera spreads into four or five branches, and embraces the whole country as far as Djebel Tor. At two days journey from Wady el Hassa, is a road leading along the summit of the mountain towards Gaza; this road is called Akaba, or more frequently Eddhohel [Arabic]; it is much frequented by the people of Tafyle and the Arabs Toueiha. 10. Half a day�s journey is Kalaat Aeneze [Arabic], with a Birket of rain-water. 11. Another half day�s journey Kalaat Maan [Arabic], where the Hadjis remain for two days. Maan has a large well of water. The town consists of about one hundred houses on both sides the Hadj route, which divides the town; the eastern part is called Shamie, the western Maan. The inhabitants cultivate figs, pomegranates, and plums in large quantities, but do not sow their fields. They purchase wheat from Kerek, which their women grind; and at the passage of the Hadj they sell the flour as well as their fruits to the pilgrims; which, is their means of subsistence. They purchase articles of dress and luxury from Ghaza and El Khalil. 12. A long day�s journey to the castle of Akaba Esshamie [Arabic], or the Syrian Akaba, so called in opposition to the Akaba el Masri or the Egyptian Akaba which is on the eastern branch of the Red-sea, at one day�s journey from the Akaba Esshamie; here is a Birket of rain-water. The Hadj road, as far as Akaba, is a complete desert on both sides, yet not incapable [p.659] of culture. The mountain chain continues at about ten hours to the west of the Hadj route. Akaba is in the hands of the Arabs el Howeytat [Arabic], who are in communication with Cairo. From the foot of the castle walls the Hadj descends a deep chasm, and it takes half an hour to reach the plain below. The pilgrims fear that passage, and repeat this prayer before they descend; �May the Almighty God be merciful to them who descend into the belly of the dragon� [Arabic]. The mountain consists of a red gray sand stone, which is used at Damascus for whetstones. There are many places where the stones are full of small holes. When the pilgrims reach the bottom of the descent they fire off their pistols for the sake of the echo. The mountain sinks gradually, and is lost at a great distance in the plain, which is very sandy.[FN#1] 13. Medawara [Arabic], one day�s journey, a castle with a Birket of rainwater. 14. Dzat Hadj [Arabic], a castle surrounded by a great number of wells, which are easily found on digging two or three feet. It has likewise a Birket of rainwater. At four hours from it is a descent, rendered difficult by the deep sand. It is called El Araie [Arabic], or Halat Ammar [Arabic]; it was here that in the time of Daher el Omar, Pasha of Acre, and of Osman, Pasha of Damascus, the Arabs Beni Szakher plundered the Hadj in the year 1170 of the Hedjra (1757), the only example of such an event in the last century. From Halat Ammar the plain is no longer sandy, but covered with a white earth as far as Tebouk. The vicinity of Dzat Hadj is covered with palm trees: but the trees being male, they bear no fruit, and remain very low. The inhabitants sell the wood to the Hadj. 15. One day from Dzat Hadj is Tebouk [Arabic], a castle, with a village of Felahein, of the tribe of Arabs Hammeide. There is a copious source of water, and gardens of fig and pomegranate trees, where Badintshaus (egg plant), onions, and ether vegetables are also cultivated. The Fellahs collect in the neighbouring desert the herb Beiteran (a species of milfoil), which the Hadjis buy up, and bring to Damascus. The castle is also surrounded by shrubs with long spines called Mehdab, which the Fellahs sell to the Hadj as food for the camels, and likewise two other herbs called Nassi and Muassal. They thus earn their livelihood. If the Hadj arrives in the neighbourhood of Tebouk at night, the bones of dead camels indicate the way to the castle. The Hadj rests here one day: and on its return is met by the Djerde, or provision caravan, headed by the Pasha of Tripoli, by which all the Syrian pilgrims, receive refreshments, sent by their families. 16. Akhdhar [Arabic], a castle with a Birket of rainwater, upon a small ascent. Two or three hundred years ago, the Hadj went to the E. of the present route, and it is even now called the eastern road. 17. El Moadham [Arabic], a very long day�s march. [p.660]18. Dar el Hamra [Arabic]. 19. Medayn Szaleh [Arabic], with a number of habitations hewn in the rock; and many sculptured figures of men and animals. 20. El Olla [Arabic], a village of about two hundred and fifty houses, with a rivulet and agreeable gardens of fruit trees. Its inhabitants are all of barbaresque origin. 21. Biar el Ghanam [Arabic], with many wells of fresh water. 22. Byr Zemerrod [Arabic], a large well. 23. Byr Djedeyde [Arabic]. 24. Hedye, where the Hadj remains two days. It is a Ghadeir, or low Wady coming from Khaibar, which is four hours distant. The people of the caravan often go thither to buy fresh provisions. 25. El Fahletein [Arabic]; apes, and what the Arabs call tigers, are met with here. An ancient building of black stones is near it; it is called Stabel Antar. 26. Biar Naszeif [Arabic], a number of wells in the sandy ground, which are every year newly digged up, because the wind covers them immediately after the caravan�s departure. El Fahletein is the last castle. At all these stations small castles have been built, close to the basons in which the rain water is collected. If there are any wells, they are within the walls of the castle, and the water is drawn up by camels in order to fill the basons, on the arrival of the Hadj. The pilgrims, in order to lighten their loads, generally leave in every castle a small parcel of provisions, which they take on their return. These castles are garrisoned by four or five men of Damascus, who remain shut up there the whole year until they are relieved by the passage of the caravan. It often happens that only one man is left alive of the number; the others having been either killed by the Arabs, or having died from the effects of the confinement, for the fear of the Arabs seldom permits them to issue out of the castle. Each of these castles has a Meghaffer [Arabic], or protector, among the neighbouring Arab tribes, to whom the Pasha pays a certain tribute. The office of these guardians, who are usually inhabitants of the Meidhan or suburb of Damascus, is very lucrative, on account of the presents and small contributions paid to them by the pilgrims. One of them has been known to remain for twenty-three years at Fahletein. Ibn Balousa, a man of the Meidhan of Damascus, is looked upon as the chief of all these castles, and resides generally at El Hassa. 27. El Medine, where the Hadj remains three days. There are two different roads leading from Medine to Mekke, the eastern and western. The principal men of the Arab tribes of both routes meet the Pasha at Medine, to learn which road the Hadj intends to take, and to treat with him about the passage duty. On the eastern route [Arabic], the first station from Medine is: 28. (1) El Khona [Arabic], a deep Wady with rain water. 29. (2) El Dereybe [Arabic], a village with walls. 30. (3) Sefyne [Arabic], a village. 31. (4) El Kobab [Arabic], an assemblage of wells. [p.661] 32. (5) Biar el Hedjar [Arabic], wells. 33. (6) Set Zebeyde [Arabic], a ruined village with a large Birket. 34. (7) El Makhrouka [Arabic], wells. 35. (8) Wady Leimoun [Arabic], a village with a rivulet. 36 (9) Byr el Baghle [Arabic], wells. 37.(10) Mekke [Arabic]. The western road, or as it is likewise called, the great road [Arabic] is the more usual, but Djezzar always used to take the other. The first station from Medine on this route is: 28. (1) Biar Aly [Arabic], a village with wells and gardens. 29. (2) El Shohada [Arabic], a spot in the plain, without any water. 30. (3) Djedeyde [Arabic], and at a short distance before it the well called Byr Dzat el Aalem [Arabic]. Djedeyde is a considerable village on the sides of a rivulet. The Sheikh of the western route lives here [Arabic]. The year before the last Hadj caravan effected its passage, Abdullah Pasha of Damascus was attacked in a Wady near Djedeyde by the armed population of that village, who were Wahabi. They routed his army, and obliged him to pay forty thousand dollars for his passage. From Djedeyde the route leads through the villages of Esszafra [Arabic], and El Hamra [Arabic], to the second station, which is: 31. (4) The famous Beder [Arabic], where Mohammed laid the foundation of his power by his victory over his combined enemies. It contains upwards of five hundred houses, with a rivulet. The Egyptian pilgrim caravan generally meets here the Syrian. 32. (5) El Kaa [Arabic], a spot in the desert without any water. From thence a long march to 33. (6) El Akdyd [Arabic], which is twenty-eight hours distant from Beder. 34. (7) Rabagh [Arabic], a village. Between Rabagh and Khalysz, the Red sea is seen from the Hadj route. There are Wadys coming from the Red sea, which in times of high flood are filled with the sea water; it remains sometimes during the whole summer, at a distance of six and seven hours from the sea. The water brings with it a large quantity of fish. The camels and horses drink the water of these Wadys. 35. (8) Khalysz [Arabic], a village with a rivulet. 36. (9) El Szafan [Arabic], two wells. 37.(10) Wady Fatme [Arabic], a rivulet, with a village and gardens. 38. Mekke. [FN#1] To the southward of Kerek all the women on the Hadj route wear the Egyptian face veil or Berkoa [Arabic], which is not a Syrian fashion. [p.662] APPENDIX. No. IV. Description of the Route from Boszra in the Haouran, to the Djebel Shammor. ON the western side of the Djebel Haouran, at a small distance from its southern extremity, lies Boszra. On the eastern foot and declivity of Djebel Haouran, are upwards of two hundred villages built of black stone in ruins, at a quarter or half an hour�s distance from each other. The country beyond them is completely level and is called El Hammad [Arabic]. About five hours to the S. of the Djebel, lies the half ruined town of Szalkhat [Arabic]; it has a large castle, with strong walls, several cisterns and Birkets of rainwater. From that place begins the Wady Serhhan [Arabic], which runs to the E.S.E. It is a low ground, with sloping sides; at every three or four hours a well is met with in the Wady, with a little grass round it, but even in winter there is no running stream; though water is found in many places at a small depth below the surface of the earth. The traveller frequently passes in that Wady small hills (Tels), which consist of thin layers of salt (about six inches thick), alternating with layers of earth of the same thickness. The Arabs sell the salt in the villages of the Haouran. Following the course of that Wady, which at length takes a more southerly direction, you arrive, after ten or eleven days journey (with camels about eight days), in the country called Djof [Arabic]. The Tels about Djof are called Kara [Arabic]. The Djof is a collection of seven or eight villages, built at a distance of ten minutes or a quarter of an hour from each other, in an easterly line. The ground is pure sand. These villages are called Souk (or markets), the principal of them are: Souk Ain Um Salim [Arabic], Souk Eddourra [Arabic], Souk Esseideiin [Arabic], Souk Douma [Arabic], Souk Mared [Arabic]. These villages are all built alike: the houses are built round the inside of a large square mud wall, which has but one entrance. This wall therefore serves as a common back wall to all the houses, which amount in some of the Souks to one hundred and twenty, in others from eighty to one hundred. The middle part of the enclosed square is empty. The roofs of the houses are made of palm wood, and their walls of bricks, called Leben, dried in the sun, which are about two feet square, and one foot thick. When strangers arrive, their camels remain in the middle of the Souk, and they themselves lodge at the different houses. Round the Souk are gardens of palm trees, which the inhabitants call Houta [Arabic]: in several of these are deep [p.663] wells, the water from some of which is conducted by small canals [Arabic] into the gardens of those, who not having any wells are obliged to purchase water from their neighbours. She camels are employed to draw the water out of the wells; this is done by tying a rope round the camel, which walks away from the well till the bucket, which is fastened to the other end of the rope, is drawn up, and empties its contents into the canals. These she camels are called Sanie [Arabic]. Most of the inhabitants of the Djof are either petty merchants or artificers; they work in leather, wood, iron, and make boots, sword hilts, horse shoes, lance heads, &c. which they sell to the Arabs, together with the produce of their palm trees; in return they, take camels. They sow very little wheat; the small extent of ground which they cultivate is worked with the hand; for they have no ploughs. They eat very little bread, living upon dates, butter, and flesh meat. Besides the game which they hunt in the neighbourhood, they eat camels flesh almost daily, and they even devour the ostriches and wild dogs, the former of which are sold to them by the Arabs Sherarat. They preserve their dates in large earthen jars for the use of the great Arab tribes which often pass here; of these the Rowalla come almost every year: before the time of the Wahabi, the El Hessene and Beni Szakher likewise visited the Djof. The Felahein of the Djof are called Karaune [Arabic], a name which in the neighbourhood of Damascus is given to all Syrians or those who are presumed to be of Syrian origin. Although Fellahs, the people of the Djof intermarry with Arab girls, whence it happens that many Arabs of Shammor and Serhan have settled here and become Fellahs; and they continue notwithstanding, to be looked upon in their respective tribes by the heads of families, as proper husbands for their daughters. The workmen or artificers [Arabic], on the contrary, never can marry Arab girls, nor even the daughters of the Fellahs, their immediate neighbours; they intermarry exclusively amongst themselves, or amongst the workmen who have settled in the Bedouin encampments. Every Souk has a Sheikh or chief; the name of the present grand Sheikh is Ibn Deraa [Arabic]. It is about twenty years since they were converted to the Wahabi creed. Their grand Sheikh collects the tribute or Zika [Arabic], for Ibn Saoud, and lodges it in a particular house; after taking from it the necessary expense for entertaining strangers, or for provisions for Wahabi corps which pass by, he sends the remainder to Saoud. The people of the Djof are all armed with firelocks; they have no horses. At Souk Mared is an ancient tower of remarkable structure. Its height, I was told, is greater than the Minaret near my lodgings at Damascus, which I should compute at about forty-five feet. Its basis is square, it rises in steps and ends in a point; I had already heard at Aleppo from some travelling Turks, that there were in the desert, towards Deraye, pyramids like those of Cairo; by which they probably meant the Souk Mared. The door of the tower is about ten feet high and eight broad; but it is half filled up. The Kasr gate of Salamia,[FN#2] which is of wood with iron bars, has been transported here by the Arabs to serve as a gate for the tower. [p.664] The inside is not paved. There are three floors, and staircases leading from one to the other. There are very small windows in the sides of the tower, which seem rather to have been destined for loop holes for musquetty. The walls of the tower are built of large square white stones, and are in good preservation. The two floors one over the other are not vaulted. On the top of the tower a watchman constantly resides, to give notice of the arrival of strangers. To the E. and somewhat to the S. from Djof, three hours, begins the plain called Eddhahi or Taous [Arabic], a sandy desert full of small hills or Tels, from which it derives the name of [Arabic]. Although there is no water in the plain, a tree is very abundant which the Arabs call Ghada [Arabic], about eight feet high; the people of Djof burn it as fire wood. Near the trees grows in spring a kind of grass, which in summer soon dries up, it is called Nassy [Arabic], and resembles wheat. Wild cows [Arabic] are found here. My man told me that they resemble in every particular the domestic cow. The Arabs Sherarat kill them, eat them, and make of the leather targets, which are much esteemed [Arabic]. Of their horns the people of Djof make knife handles. Wild dogs, Derboun [Arabic], of a black colour, are likewise met with here; the Arabs kill and eat them. It is principally in the Dhahy that ostriches breed, and great quantities of them are killed there. This desert is moreover inhabited by a large lizard called Dhab [Arabic], of one foot and a half in length with a tail of half a foot, exactly resembling in shape the common lizard, but larger. The Arabs eat them in defiance of the laws of their prophet; the scaly skin serves them instead of a goat skin to preserve their butter in. These Arabs likewise eat all the eagles [Arabic] and crows which they can kill. The plain of Eddhahi continues for three days camel�s march (with a caravan it would take six days), without any water, extending as far as the chain of mountains called Djebel Shammor [Arabic] which runs in an easterly direction five or six days journey. From where it ends to Deraye, the seat of Ibn Saoud, are ten days more. The Djebel Shammor is inhabited by the Arabs Shammor, many of whom have become Fellahs, and live in villages in these mountains. They are true and faithful Wahabis. [FN#2] Salamia is a ruin eight or ten hours S.E. of Hamah. [p.665] APPENDIX. No. V. A Route to the eastward of the Castle El Hassa. FROM Kalaat el Hassa, towards E.S.E. continues the already mentioned Wady el Hassa. Passing the Tel Esshehak, two days journey from it, you meet with a great number of Tels, in the midst of which there is a well of good spring water called Byr Bair [Arabic]; near it is a tombstone, said to be the burial place of the son of Sultan Hassan. From Bair eastwards the Wady and its vicinity are called the district of Hudrush [Arabic]; it is without water, with the exception of the rain water which collects in the low grounds. The Hudrush extends for two days, as far as the country called Ettebig [Arabic]. From the beginning of Hudrush the Wady makes a bend to the N. and describing a half circle, again returns in the Tebig to its original direction. To the N. from Hudrush and Tebig the plain takes the name of Szauan [Arabic], (i.e. flint) and extends for two days till it borders upon the Wady Serhhan. The plain Szauan is covered so thickly with small black flints, that the Arabs, whenever they are about to light a fire there, cover the ground with earth, which they carry with them, in order to prevent the splinters of the flint heated by the fire, from flying about and hurting them. There is but one spring in the Szauan: it is about two hours from Wady Serhhan, and at the same distance from Hudrush and Tebig, and is called Byr Naam el aatta Allah [Arabic], in honour of a Christian travelling merchant, who about sixty years ago lying upon the flint, heard the noise of the water under his head, and thus discovered the spring. On the western side of the Szauan, nearer to the Wady Serhhan than to the Hudrush, is a castle called Kaszr Amera [Arabic], and at a quarter of an hour from it, on the foot of a hill, the ruins of a village. Between the Kaszr and the village is a low ground where the rain water collects, and forms a small lake in winter half an hour in length. Before the castle is a well more than thirty feet deep, walled in by large stones, but without water. Over the well are four white marble columns, which support a vaulted roof or Kubbe, such as are often seen at wells in these countries. The castle is built of white square stones, which seem not to have been cemented together. Its dimensions are thirty-six or forty feet from W. to E. and twenty-five from S. to N. The entrance door, which is only about three feet high, is on the S. side, and leads into an apartment half the size of the whole building. In the middle of the western wall of this apartment is another door, as low as the former, leading to a second apartment of the [p.666] same size as the former, except that one corner is partitioned off to form a third chamber. Each of the two latter have a window in the western wall. The roof of the apartments are vaulted below, and flat above. The walls which divide the apartments are two yards in thickness; in the two first rooms there is a stone pavement, in the small room the Arabs have taken up the pavement to dig for treasures; but they found nothing underneath, except small pieces of planks and some rusty iron. The ceiling of all the three apartments is chalked over, and looks quite new. In the small room it is painted all over with serpents, hares, gazelles, mares, and birds; there are neither human figures nor trees amongst the paintings. The colour of the paintings is red, green, and yellow, and they look as bright and well preserved, as if they had been done a short time ago. There are no kinds of niches, bas-reliefs, or inscriptions in the walls. From Hudrush branches out a Wady towards Wady Serhhan, called Chadef [Arabic]. Four days beyond Tebig you arrive at a Byr called El Sheben or Szefan [Arabic], situated upon a small ascent. According to my informant the Byr is two hundred yards in depth. To the north of that well the desert is called Beseita [Arabic]. For two days farther the earth is covered to the depth of six inches with small black gray stones, looking like flints. The plant Samah [Arabic] grows there, which is collected by the people of Djof. From the end of the Beseita to the Djof is one day�s journey farther, and the Beseita ends in the Dhahi. All the Arabs along this road from El Hassa, are Sherarat, the Aeneze do not come this way. Between Tebig, Szauan, Hudrush, and to the S. of these places, are a quantity of wild asses, which the Arabs Sherarat hunt, and eat (secretly). Their skins and hoofs are sold to the wandering Christian pedlars, and in the towns of Syria. Of the hoofs rings are made, which the Fellahs of eastern Syria wear on the thumb, or tied with a thread round the arm-pit, to prevent, or to heal rheumatic complaints. I may here make a general remark that there is an infinity of names of places in the desert. Every Tel, every declivity, or, elevation in a Wady, every extent of plain ground, where a particular herb grows, has its name, well known to the Arabs. The Khabera [Arabic], or places where the rain-water collects, winter-time, are generally distinguished by the name of some well known Sheikh who once pitched his tent near them; as Khabera Ibn Ghebein [Arabic], the watering places of Ibn Ghebein. The side of a Wady where the Arab descends is called by him Hadhera [Arabic], the opposite side, where he re-ascends Sende [Arabic]. A Ghadir [Arabic] is distinguished from a Wady, the two sides of the latter are hills which rise above the surface of the adjacent plain; the Ghadir on the contrary is only a hollow in the plain. The Wady is seen from afar, the Ghadir only on arriving near the descent. [p.667]APPENDIX. No. VI. Description of the Desert from the Neighbourhood of Damascus towards the Euphrates. From the Wady Serhhan northward and north-eastward, the whole desert is called El Hammad [Arabic], till it reaches the neighbourhood of the Euphrates, where the broad valley of the river is by the Arabs called Oerak (Irak). That name therefore is not exclusively applied to the Djezire or island between the Tigris and the Euphrates, but (in the Bedouin acceptation of the word at least), to the fertile country also between the desert and the river�s right bank. At the end of the Ghouta or Merdj of Damascus, begins the Djebel Haouran,[FN#3] which takes a south direction; to the north runs the Djebel Ruak (towards Tedmor). The intermediate plain, which is about a day and a half in breadth, is called Ard Esseikal [Arabic], having journied for two days in this plain, the mountains to the S. are no more visible, and a waterless plain lies before the traveller, which according to the camels strength may be crossed in seven, eight, or ten days. Water is met with on the road, only in winter, when rainwater collects in the low grounds, and Ghadirs. There are no hills or Wadys. Small pipe heads, in the eastern fashion, and made of stone, are frequently found in the plain. The Arabs say that an ancient tribe called Beni Tamour [Arabic] fabricated them. At the end of the number of days above-mentioned, a high insulated hill is met with, which is visible all round to the distance of two days journey. The Arabs call it [p.668] Djebel Laha [Arabic]. It consists of sandy earth: there are no springs near it. From the Djebel Laha run two Wadys towards the Euphrates, the one called Wady Haouran [Arabic], begins on the hill�s western side; the other Wady Tebbel [Arabic], on its northern side. They run in a parallel direction, till they unite in the vicinity of the Euphrates. To the N.W. of the Laha, at one day�s march, is another Wady, called Souan [Arabic], which takes the same direction with the other two, and joins them, near their termination. In the middle of the Wady Tebbel is spring water. To the E. of Laha, about three days from it, is a low ground called Kaar [Arabic] (the general name given to such places), which is four or five days in circuit. It extends towards the Euphrates. The descent into it is two hundred or two hundred and fifty yards. There are two watering places in it, at a good day�s march from each other; Rahh [Arabic], with a number of springs, and Molassa [Arabic]. There is always some verdure in the Kaar, and when the Aeneze pass that way, the whole tribe encamps there. From Molass it is one day�s journey to Gebesse, a poor village in a N.E. direction, from thence to Hit one. Hit, or Ith, is a well known station and village on the banks of the Euphrates. The Djebel Ruak and the Djebel Abiad (which comes from the west) are united behind Tedmor with the Djebel Belaes [Arabic] which continues its course in a northerly direction, (somewhat to the E.) for two days. There is water in the Belaes but no villages. This mountain at the end of two days changes its name to Djebel Bishr [Arabic], and terminates after one day�s journey in the Zor [Arabic], which is the name of the broad valley of the Euphrates, on its right bank, from Byr down to Aene and Hit. There are sources in the Bishr, and ruins of villages. It produces also a tree which is about eight feet high, and whose root has so little hold, that the smallest effort will throw it down. London: Printed by W. Bulmer and W. Nicol, Cleveland-row, St. James�s. [FN#3] This northern part of the Djebel Haouran is called Es-Szaffa [Arabic]. On the eastern side of it is a pass called Bab es-Szaffa, where the mountain is entered by a deep clet in the perpendicular rock, about two yards broad. The passage is about one hundred yards long, it leads to a plain in the middle of the mountain, also called Szaffa, which has no other known entrance, and is two days in circuit. This pass and plain are famed among the Arabs, who often retire there, before the troops of the Pasha of Damascus. There is no water in the Szaffa, except the ponds formed by the winter-rains. The earth is fertile and is occasionally sown by he Arabs when they remain there a sufficient time.