Domestic Life in Palestine/Chapter 14

by Mary Eliza Rogers



 

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CHAPTER XIV.

LAST SCENES IN HÂIFA.

After Easter, we frequently enjoyed the society of English travelers, who paused for a time in the neighborhood, either in their white tents among the trees outside the town, or at the convent on Mount Carmel.

On the 23d of April, the beautiful little yacht Sylphide arrived, and was at anchor for several weeks off Hâifa. I spent some delightful hours on board. Captain Leyland, who was then the owner, had truly made this yacht a home upon the waters, for he was accompanied by his wife, his daughter, with her governess, his son, with a tutor, and by Dr. Antony, a physician and amateur photographer.

Sunday, the 24th of May, was the first day of the great Moslem feast of Bairam, which follows the long and fatiguing fast of Ramadan. The little town of Hâifa was, in consequence, unusually gay. All the people were dressed in their best, and the yacht Sylphide, and Her Majesty's ship Desperate, a man-of-war, then in port, were decked with flags and streamers. 'Akka looked as if it were being besieged again, as the guns of salute flashed from the ramparts in quick succession, enveloped the city in clouds of smoke and boomed heavily across the bay.

On Thursday, 11th of June, there was a grand ecclesiastical procession, in honor of the fête of "Corpus Domini." The monks and priests of Mount Carmel, and nearly all the Consuls, assisted in the ceremony. The Moslems did not offer the slightest opposition to the display, although there had never before been such a demonstration in Hâifa. My brother was requested to raise the English flag on the occasion, and to allow his kawasses, who were Moslems, to walk before the priests, to clear and lead the way, in company with the kawasses attached to the other European Consulates. This he politely but firmly declined to do. His refusal was taken in a good spirit, and the request was not repeated.

In the afternoon we rode along the sands, round the bay, to 'Akka, and thence to the "Bahjeh," that is, "The Garden of Delight," about twenty minutes beyond the city. It is one of the prettiest places in the Pashalic. It was formerly the harem of Abdallah Pasha, who employed Greek and Italian artists to carry out his ideas of comfort and splendor.

The place is now the property of Mr. Girgius Giammal. He and his family occupy the large villa, built in the Italian style, which stands in the midst of the garden, where cypresses and pines rise above the fragrant orange and lemon trees and acacias, and where all kinds of pleasant fruits and sweet flowers abound. I had met the ladies of this family first at Yâfa, and had visited them at their town house in ’Akka. The gentlemen had often been with us at Hâifa, and bad repeatedly invited me to the "Bahjeh;" so my brother left me there, while he made a tour in the interior, which had recently been disturbed by civil war.

Arabs who have associated much with Europeans, and who have obtained a slight European education, very often adopt European costumes and customs, and seem ashamed of their own; but this was not the case with Mr. Giammal's family, and though several members of it were pretty well acquainted with English, they had scarcely abandoned any of the Oriental fashions, either as regards dress or manners. Furrah, the youngest sister of Girgius, had been educated by the American missionaries, at Beirût. She spoke English freely, with fanciful Oriental idioms and expressions, which gave a charm to every thing she said. She was one of the very few native girls I knew who could read and write Arabic. She was betrothed to a studious and excellent man, an Arab, who at that time lived at Hâifa. He could speak no language except his own, but he knew that thoroughly, and my young friend enjoyed the unusual advantage of being able to correspond with him without the aid of a secretary.

One afternoon, as I was walking with her in the garden of roses, she showed me a little poem he had written to her, in the form of a letter, in which he complained of not having heard from her for several days.

Furrah is a happy wife and mother now, and I think that she will forgive me if I chronicle here a translation of the letter, which made her face look so bright on that 17th of June. I wrote it down in my note-book, as literally as I could, after she had kindly read it to me in Arabic two or three times, carefully explaining in English the meaning of every word which I did not understand. (Don't be angry, Furrah!) The letter was dated Haifa, June 15, 1857:

"O my heart—where art thou?

Be still, O my heart; have patience in thy sorrow.

  Behold, God gave patience unto Job!

I call to her, but she is silent;

I speak, but she does not hear.

    Why are my words unanswered?

If they will not suffer her to write,

Let her go down to the garden of roses,

    And whisper her love to the fragrant air.

I sit under the palm-trees,

And the air will bring me her love.

    The Palm-tree listens for the Rose-bud!

I sat under the palm-tree,

But no soft wind brought me her love.

    Why does her love refuse to meet mine?

My love is great: if she saw my suffering

She would have pity! Her extreme gentleness

    Could not give me such pain!

Great is my love! If my love were in the Sakhara,

The great and wonderful rock the Sakhara,

    It would be broken into a thousand pieces.

Great is my love!

If my love were in the great mountain,

The great mountain of Petra,

    It would be moved.

Great is my love! If my love were in the sun,

The sun, the sun at noonday,

    Her face would be darkened.

Great is my love! When shall my heart rejoice

With thee, O my 'Furrah?'

'Furrah,'my 'true joy!'"

"Furrah" is the Arabic word for "joy," and it was the name of the young girl to whom this poem was addressed.

The Sakhara referred to, is the great rock at Jerusalem on Mount Moriah, and the beautiful dome above it, "Kubbet es Sakhara," "the Dome of the Rock," is almost always mistaken by travelers for the Mosque of Omar, which is in fact a comparatively insignificant building. The Arabs speak of the sun in the feminine, and of the moon in the masculine gender. There was a stanza about the moon in the poem, but I did not note it down at the time, and I do not remember it now.

In Mr. Giammal's service there were several pleasant, good-natured Abyssinian girls. They looked very picturesque in their holiday dresses made of scarlet woolen stuff, with silver necklaces and anklets, and glass bracelets, with red tarbûshes and bright-colored muslin kerchiefs fancifully arranged on their heads.

One day there was great rejoicing among them, and cries of congratulation echoed through the house. I inquired the cause. I found that a young slave girl, who had been hired by Mr. Giammal, had just been set free. She was the property of an Arab widow lady who resided at 'Akka. This lady had just arrived at the "Bahjeh," and had given freedom to her slave, and told her that she had made a will in her favor.

The poor girl was at first quite overcome with delight and wonder, but on reflection she seemed almost to tremble at the loneliness and responsibility of her new position. She asked her mistress if she could love her always just as much as she had loved her before, and said, "I would rather keep your love than gain my freedom." The lady explained that she was growing old, and could not live long to watch over her, and it was the thought of approaching death which had caused her to decide to give her young slave freedom.

Furrah told me that when this girl had been ill with fever in the Spring of the year, her owner came from ’Akka, and sat up two nights by her bedside, and did not leave her till she had recovered.

The girl still remained in Mr.Giammal's service. The only change in her position was that her wages were to be paid to her, instead of to her late owner. I questioned the girl a day or two afterward, as to how she felt. She said, "I am free and I am very glad-hearted, but I do not know what it is that makes me so glad. I am the same one that I was before, and I work and live as I lived before, but every body says it is better to be free."

Late on Friday night, the 19th of June, my brother arrived and told me that we must return to Hâifa as early as possible on the following morning, and start for Beirût by the next steamer, for he had been appointed to take charge of the Vice Consulate there for a few months, as Mr. Moore was about to visit England.

A busy fortnight followed, the last few days of which were spent in taking leave of my friends at Hâifa, many of whom I never saw again.

At half-past four on the morning of the 4th of July, a large number of people, Jews, Christians, and Moslems, walked down to the rocky landing-place with us, and watched us as we went swiftly over the waters in a little Arab boat, on our way to the Austrian steamer. We were accompanied by the French Consul and Mohammed Bek, who went on board, and remained with us till the last moment.

While my brother's duties detained him in Beirût, I had the opportunity of visiting the Lebanon, and becoming acquainted with the history of the inhabitants of the mountains—the Druses and the Maronites. My brother helped me to understand the complicated and threatening aspect of affairs, for he could even then foresee how, sooner or later, the mountains would become the scene of civil war—but of these things I will not speak here.

We did not return to Palestine till the following November. We steamed into the Bay of ’Akka at sunrise, and with pleasure saw again the range of Carmel, and the white convent, every window of which dazzlingly reflected the light of the morning sun. We were soon lowered into a little Arab boat, and the dusky palm-groves, the flourishing fruit-gardens, and the town of Hâifa, seemed to rise up by magic out of the sea to receive us as we rapidly approached the shore. How glad I was to land there again, and still more glad to see the well-remembered faces of my friends, and to hear their hearty words of welcome spoken in many tongues!

But there were many changes in the place—deaths, births, marriages, arrivals, and departures—old houses pulled down, and new ones built up. Saleh Bek Abdul Hady, with whom I used to play at chess, had gone with his family to settle at Arrabeh, and I heard with deep regret that his child, my little namesake Miriam, and her mother, my friend Helweh, were both dead. The child had died first, and the mother shortly afterward. Two of Saleh Bek's sons were at the French College at Antûra, near Beirût.

One of our neighbors, Signor Luïs Catafago, a widower, was the wealthiest and most influential of the Christian Arabs of Hâifa, and more learned in Arabic literature than anyone in the Pashalic. He was well acquainted with Italian and French, and lived in Semi-European style. His sons were brought up at college, and dressed like Europeans, though his little girls were quite Oriental. He had married a second wife during our absence. She was a native of Damascus. The fame of her beauty and gentleness had gone forth throughout the land. Signor Luis determined to try to win her, so he journeyed to Damascus, carrying with him offerings of rich silks from the looms of Lyons—wrought with gold—strings of pearls, and sprays of diamonds. He succeeded in his suit, and brought home his bride Lebîbeh in triumph, to grace the largest establishment in Hâifa. The bridegroom was above sixty, and the bride about sixteen years of age. She had never had any intercourse with European or even semi-European society, but with natural grace she accustomed herself to her new life and her new home.

I frequently visited her. She was the most perfect type I had met with of the truly-Oriental Christian female aristocracy, quite untinged by European innovations. Moslem female aristocracy is of a very different and far inferior order. It is comparatively barbarous in luxury and splendor.

The face of the bride pleased me exceedingly. It was a pure oval, and of that creamy, golden complexion, which looked almost fair, relieved as it was by glossy-black braids, long, dark lashes, and violet eyes. Her mouth was small and well formed. It is very unusual to see a refined-looking mouth among the Arab women. Girls often have prettily-shaped lips, but they almost invariably change in form and character in womanhood.

The first time I called on Lebîbeh it was on a Christian fête day. She was dressed in modern Damascus style. Her trowsers were long and very full, made of bright rose-colored silk, with a narrow pattern wrought in gold down each side. Her jacket, which was short, made with tight sleeves, was of violet-silk velvet, richly embroidered, and quite open in front, exposing a lilac-crape shirt, which scarcely concealed her bosom. Round the neck and down the front of this shirt, a sentence, invoking a blessing on the wearer, was worked in Arabic characters, with fine gold thread, forming a rich ornamental border of about two inches wide. She wore a necklace of very large Oriental pearls, with a diamond cross hanging from it. Her black hair was parted on one side, and divided into fourteen long, straight,Grecian plaits. Each plait was neatly intertwined, and plaited with thick, black-silk braid to add to its weight and length. The ends of the braid were finished off with little pendants of pearls and gold.

Her head-dress consisted simply of a small piece of lilac crape tastefully arranged, and secured with sprays of diamonds and emeralds, and one rosebud. Round her waist she wore a fine white-muslin shawl, embroidered with gold. She showed me her trousseau and her needlework. She was very skillful in all kinds of embroidery, and designed and drew her patterns herself with taste and precision. She used a tambour-frame, or stretcher, fixed to a stand, and very prettily made of dark wood, inlaid with mother-of-pearl and ivory. On ordinary days she wore French musilns or Manchester prints, but she invariably looked nice, and generally had a flower in her head-dress, either a rose, a pink, or a bunch of everlastings.

I almost always found her in her private room, seated on cushions on the floor, with her embroidery-frame before her, and her youngest step-daughter, Carmella, a beautiful child of about three years of age, rolling on the divan by her side. The child was always attended by a laughing, merry-looking African slave-girl, gayly dressed in yellow or crimson, with gold coins round her neck, large rings—each one a potent protector from magic—on her fingers, bracelets of glass on her black, bony arms, and tinkling ornaments round her ankles. She wore at the back of her head a shallow, red-cloth tarbûsh, with a long blue-silk tassel, secured by a gilt crescent.

On the side of her broad nose a fine turquoise appeared. It was set in silver, and, formed the head of a short, thick, blunt, silver nail, which was fixed in a hole made for the purpose in the wing of her nose.^[1] This girl always greeted me with some droll speech, and invented stories and tales unceasingly, to amuse the children. She greatly admired her young mistress, and seemed to regard her as her especial property—as something very precious, which she delighted to caress, to embellish, and to protect.

Sit Lebîbeh could speak no language but Arabic, and could not read; but she was thoughtful, shrewd, and witty, and I always enjoyed her society. She was a member of the Latin Church.

After she had been in Hâifa about one year, she said to me, "My sister, you must not form an opinion of the character and customs of Arab women generally, from what you see of them here and in this neighborhood, for in my city, Damascus, and in Aleppo, they are much more civilized, although not Europeanized in the least degree. Here I find no companions like those I left in Damascus. Here nearly all the Arab women, both Christians and Moslems, live like peasants, and are very ignorant. They tattoo and paint themselves barbarously. They wear heavy silver head-ornaments, which are only fit to put upon the heads of horses. They do not keep their houses, themselves, or their children clean. I can not associate with them; while the few who have had the opportunity of learning some European language, and have married into European or semi-European families, have almost ceased to be Arabs. They prefer Italian or French to the language which their mothers taught them; so from them also I feel separated."

But there was happiness in store for Lebîbeh. A little while afterward her mother came from Damascus to stay with her, to help her to nurse her first-born son Yusef. When I paid the visit of congratulation, I found the young mother almost silent with delight, but the grandmother was eloquent in praise of the little swaddled boy, asleep in a swing-cradle made of walnut-wood, inlaid with ivory and mother-of-pearl, and curtained with fine muslin. The covering of the cradle was purple velvet, embroidered with gold thread. Lebîbeh looked very pretty in her long, blue-cloth pelisse, lined and edged with light fur, and she smiled brightly when she heard herself called, "Um Yusef"—the Mother of Joseph. "Peace be upon her!"

New-Year's day was as usual a general holiday; visits and good wishes were being exchanged from early morning till sunset. On the first New-Year's day which I passed in Syria, I was surprised to hear our servants, and the servants of our neighbors, and all the Arabs of the poorer classes, greet us with the word "Bastrîna!" I found it was a common custom on the coast, and a present of a few piasters is always expected by the person who pronounces the word, and this is rarely refused. The custom is rather a tax upon people who hold a prominent position in Levantine towns.

I could not guess the origin of the custom, or the meaning of the word. The Arabs said, "Allah knows where the word came from; it is very ancient, but it certainly is not genuine Arabic." I inquired among the Europeans, but they threw no light on the subject. But an "Essay on the Fine Arts," by E. L. Tarbuck, led me to believe that this custom is a relic of pagan worship, and that the word "Bastrîna" refers to the offerings which used to be made to the goddess Strenia. We could hardly expect that the pagans who embraced Christianity could altogether abandon their former creeds and customs. Macaulay says, "Christianity conquered paganism, but paganism infected Christianity; the rites of the Pantheon passed into her worship, and the subtilties of the Academy into her creed." Many pagan customs were adopted by the new Church. T. Hope, in his "Essay on Architecture," says: "The Saturnalia were continued in the Carnival, and the festival with offerings to the goddess Strenia was continued in that of the New Year, with the gifts called in France étrennes;" to this I may add, that on the coast of Syria they are called "Bastrîna." The prefix "Ba," in Arabic signifies "on account of"—"for the sake of"—"for"—"by." In April we visited Nazareth and its neighborhood with Mr. J. Lewis Farley, who has given an account of the trip in his work on Syria.

In July we went up to Esfia, a Druse village in the Carmel Range. I remained there for a short time, to enjoy the cool, fresh, mountain air, and was very kindly entertained by the people. I had excellent opportunities of becoming acquainted with their peculiarities and modes of life; but I hope to speak of these villages minutely on some future occasion, in connection with their coreligionists in the Lebanon and in the Haurân.

In August my brother went to Jerusalem, expecting to return in about a week, but he was detained on official business. I remained alone in Hâifa, and, as he had always allowed me to understand his pursuits and the principles which guided him in all his proceedings, I had the pleasure of being able, during his absence, to act as his agent in most of his affairs. Responsibility and plenty of work prevented me from feeling either dull, lonely, or timid. I am glad to be able to testify to the respectful kindness and good feeling shown to me by the Arabs, both Christian and Moslem, and to the courtesy and friendliness of the Europeans, while I was thus alone.

In November I went up to Jerusalem, and spent the Winter season there, at the English Hotel. It was a sad season for us; the Rev. J. Nicolayson was dead, Miss Creasy had been cruelly murdered, my friends at the Consulate were hopelessly watching over a suffering child, whose death they had to mourn before the close of the year. My brother was attacked by an alarming and dangerous fever, and in his delirium he was constantly taking leave of me, telling me that he was "dead," and could not rest till he knew that I was safe at home in England. But these dreadful days and nights passed away, and, thanks to the untiring attention and careful treatment of Dr. Edward Atkinson, the fever was subdued, and the new year commenced auspiciously for us. I was surprised at the severity of the cold in Jerusalem. Twice I saw the city shrouded with snow, but the sun soon melted it away, leaving only white, fleecy wreaths on the northern sides of the domes and cupolas. There were a great many new buildings in course of erection outside the city. Large plots of land had been purchased by Russia,^[2] France, and Austria, and foreign schools, hospices, and other institutions were being established.

Our friend, Kamil Pasha, was no longer there. Surreya Pasha had succeeded him. He was a man of an entirely different character. He had not so much sympathy with the Europeans. He was a strict Moslem, and kept the mosque and all the holy places religiously closed against unbelievers, and fostered a spirit of fanaticism. It was acknowledged, however, that he was in many respects a clever ruler, and an energetic and vigilant disciplinarian. It was said that he never took bribes, but caused the taxes to be regularly enforced. They had been neglected by some of his predecessors, on the principle that it is easier to take bribes than to collect taxes.

To facilitate the taxation of the citizens of Jerusalem, he had caused all the houses to be numbered, and large Arabic numerals now appeared on the doors. There was no division into streets or quarters, as in European cities, but the figures, commencing with units, rose up to hundreds, till every dwelling, however obscure, had its especial mark. Then a careful record was made of the names of the owners and inmates. This was quite a novelty, and I was told that modern Jerusalem had never before been systematically numbered. The lower classes of Arabs regarded it as unlucky, and were strongly prejudiced against it—others spoke of it as a very tyrannical proceeding. Isaiah, in 22d chapter and 10th verse, says reproachfully, "Ye have numbered the houses of Jerusalem."

We left the Holy City in January, and rode over the hills of Judea, and across the plain of Philistia, many parts of which were dangerous to pass through, for the water rested in large lagoons, and the earth was swampy; but our guide knew the road well, and we reached Yâfa in safety, and in time for a Russian steamer which conveyed us to Hâifa.

Our little town was rising rapidly in importance; many large houses had been built during the year, and outside the western wall a hamlet was springing up, which was called by the Europeans the Faubourg of Mount Carmel. A handsome church with a large cupola had just been completed for the Greek Catholic or Melchite congregation.

The Russian Government had obtained a firman, which granted them permission to make a jetty at Hâifa, and Signor Pierotti, an architect and engineer in the Russian service, formerly Captain of Engineers in the Sardinian army, came to superintend the work, which gave employment to a large number of people, and created a great deal of animation in the place. The jetty was made of wood, and cost the Russian Government upward of three thousand pounds. There is not another such landing-place on the coast of Syria. It was freely used by all people, and no tax or toll of any kind was imposed.

A hospice adjoining the Greek Church was in the mean time erected. When these were finished, Signor Pierotti went to Nazareth to superintend architectural works for the Greek church there. He is now architect to the Pasha of Jerusalem. When I inquired, "Why has the Russian Government gone to the expense of building a jetty and a hospice here and another hospice at Nazareth?" Russian employés and seemingly-satisfied Turks invariably answered, "It is for the benefit of Greek pilgrims, who come every year in great numbers to visit the holy places." But there were Europeans who shrugged their shoulders suspiciously, and said, "Perhaps this jetty is only built for the devotees of the Greek Church, but it would certainly, nevertheless, facilitate the landing of troops. Perhaps the hospices are only erected to shelter pilgrims, but they would, for all that, make excellent barracks." The generality of the Arabs were quite satisfied, and said, "God is bountiful!" and, "The Franjîs have long purses." Others said, "God knows what these things portend!" and then they silently smoked their pipes.

Russian influence was increasing every-where. A line of Government steamers had been established on the coast of Syria, and they called at Hâifa twice a week. We thus frequently came into contact with Russian captains and officers, and found them agreeable, well-educated, and liberal-minded men. Throughout the country Russia was well represented, and the consuls are almost invariably excellent linguists and independent of native interpreters. They thus avoid all those disputes and misunderstandings which arise out of the intrigues or the blunders of consular dragomen.

The Emperor of Russia had agents at work, eagerly investigating the ancient literary stores of Syria. For him the monasteries have been ransacked, and early manuscripts of the Gospels and of the Epistles have been brought to light. Through private Russian enterprise the Samaritans have been induced to part with some valựable MS. copies of the Pentateuch. Of one of these MSS. a fâc-simile has been made, and it is now—1861—being multiplied by means of lithography at Jerusalem, by Dr. Levisohn, who has devoted himself for some time to the study of Samaritan literature. He can read this ancient and rarely-acquired language as easily as Priest Amran the Levite can. Russian gold has been freely spent in the prosecution of such works as these—works of world-wide interest, and by which all the public libraries of Europe will be enriched. Dr. Levisohn will no doubt eventually publish the discoveries he has made of certain variations in the Samaritan and Hebrew versions of the Laws of Moses, which have not yet been noticed by commentators.^[3]

In March, orders were issued for the thorough cleansing and sweeping of the chief streets of Hâifa, that they might be in a fit state to receive His Royal Highness Prince Alfred, who had landed at Yâfa and gone thence to Jerusalem, Hebron, and to the Dead Sea, or "Bahr Lutt," that is, the Sea of Lot. He was journeying through the interior toward Hâifa to meet his ship, the Euryalus, which had been in port for several days. The Pasha of 'Akka ordered all subordinate officers to hold themselves in readiness to go out with him to welcome the royal sailor-boy, who came from Tiberias by way of Shefa 'Amer, and arrived at Hâifa before sunset on the 4th of April—1859—with the commander and some of the chief officers of the Euryalus, attended by Mr. Finn, Her Britannic Majesty's Consul, and my brother.

The young Prince made a very favorable impression on all the people who were so happy as to see him in Syria. Every one had something to say in praise of his bright, frank face, and clear, quick-seeing blue eyes, or some story to tell, illustrative of his good-nature and good sense.

Those who accompanied His Royal Highness on his tour through Palestine, spoke of his love of fun, his brave, buoyant spirit, and his quickness of perception, but more particularly of his implicit and ready obedience to his governor and friend, Major Cowell. He was exceedingly active, and he very much enjoyed outdoor exercises and sports, and the freedom of tent life. He never sacrificed comfort to state, unless etiquette obliged him to do so. For instance, whenever a Mutsellim sent him a splendidly-caparisoned horse, with a richly-wrought and embossed saddle, he only mounted it for a few minutes, or on some special occasion, just to acknowledge the courtesy, for he preferred his own plain English saddle. When he approached Hebron, he was riding, as a duty, in state, on one of the Pasha's favorite horses. Hundreds of people had assembled to do homage to him. He good-naturedly and cheerfully returned their greetings, then leaped from the gorgeous saddle, ran through the crowd to the spot chosen for the encampment, took up a large hammer, and began to drive in the pegs for the tent-ropes most lustily, greatly to the surprise of the stately Orientals. One of the ship's boats was conveyed by camels from Yâfa to the Dead Sea, that His Royal Highness, who is very fond of boating, might have an opportunity of rowing on its heavy waters. He also navigated the Lake of Tiberias.

On Wednesday, the 6th of April, the royal midshipman explored 'Akka, and then joined his ship to proceed to Beirût. He was the first English prince who visited the Holy Land since the time of the Crusades.

On Sunday afternoon, April 17th, my brother and I were reading together at the Vice-Consulate, when suddenly we were disturbed by the abrupt entrance of a tall black slave and six Moslem boys. They closed the door of the room the moment that they were all safe within it. They looked frightened, fatigued, and excited, as if they were seeking escape from some great danger. The boys caught hold of us, kissed our hands and our garments vehemently, and cried out, "Ana dakhaliek! Ana dakhaliek!"^[4] I immediately perceived that the boys were the sons and nephews of my old friend, Saleh Bek Abdul Hady. The slave who was with them explained, in a few hurried words, that Arrabeh was being besieged by Turkish troops, assisted by the Jerrar and the Tokan factions, and that the Abdul Hady family had no hope of being able to defend the town, so Saleh Bek sent his young sons away, to seek an asylum in Hâifa. The boys were fully persuaded that they should be in safety if they could only reach the English Vice-Consulate. They had met with many narrow escapes on the road. The slave concluded by saying, "Thank God, I have seen these children in safety under the roof of my lord, their protector!" Then he hastened away, before we could answer him.

The boys were very tired. They had crouched down on the carpet, close to my side, and two of them had taken firm hold of my dress. They said, "Ya habeebee! ya sittee Inglesi!" (O beloved! O my English lady!) "you will protect us—you will not let them take us to prison—you will not send us away!"

They watched my brother's countenance anxiously while he was speaking to me in English, for they did not know whether to hope or to fear. They said to me, "Speak to the Consul for us. Speak good words for us, O lady!"

We ordered food to be immediately prepared for the boys. They heard the order given, and one of them exclaimed, "We can not eat till the Consul gives us hope of his protection."

My brother then said, "I will do all I can for you, my boys. Eat now, and peace be upon you." While they were eating, my brother reminded me that it was against the law for him to interfere to protect a Turkish subject; but that, as these boys were too young to have offended personally, he decided on writing to his superiors in office, the Consul and Consul-General, to explain the circumstances, and to consult them on the subject. He added, "I will take care of the boys till I receive instructions how to act. In the mean time, we may hope that Saleh Bek will be able to show that he is not implicated in this rebellion."

This plan he at once carried out, and sent special messengers to Jerusalem and Beirût. Soon afterward, as we expected, the Governor, with several soldiers, came to claim the boys as prisoners. My brother informed him of his decision, and the Governor politely withdrew; but a sentinel was placed to watch near the door of the Vice Consulate, ready to take into custody any of the boys who might venture to go out. This watch was, however, abandoned in a few days.

We gave the boys the use of one room, and whenever we went out, they locked themselves in from the inside, and did not venture to open the door till they heard our voices. When they knew that I only was at home, they used to say, "Perhaps the Governor will come, and try to make you give us up—but you will be firm for us, and strong—you will not let him take us away to prison, even if he should ask for us ever so fiercely." They told me that their sister Asmé died soon after her marriage, and they said, "Perhaps we alone of our family remain living."

On Friday, the 22d, about midday, the sound of tum-tums, and loud shouts, attracted me to the window, and I shuddered on seeing a regiment of Turkish infantry marching through Hâifa. They had come from Arrabeh. The town had been taken, and these soldiers had had the privilege of pillaging the place for an hour or more. It was said that they had secured some valuable jeweled pipes, ancient gold coins, necklaces, chains, head-dresses, and other valuables. They looked very barbarous and fierce, elated as they were with success and plunder. They had charge of a band of handcuffed prisoners from Arrabeh, who were to be conveyed to the galleys at 'Akka.

The poor boys, after this sight, were more alarmed and distressed than ever, for we had not been able to ascertain with certainty the fate of their fathers, though it was said that they had escaped beyond Jordan.

It was reported that the town had been quite destroyed, all the women and children barbarously murdered, and nearly all the men killed or taken prisoners. We did not discover, till some time afterward, that this was, to a great extent, an Oriental exaggeration. The poor boys were left in terror, suspense, and doubt. They could not tell whether they were orphans or no. The youngest boy, who was about ten or eleven, said to me one day, "If my father has been killed, God grant that I may live to be a strong man, that I may revenge his death!" It was difficult sometimes to know how to soothe or answer the excited children.

There were several other refugees from Arrabeh in town, but they were all soon taken prisoners, and conducted to ’Akka. My little protégés, or dakhiels as they were called, seemed to be forgotten. My brother removed them to a neighboring house, where they were taken care of by Moslems.

On Friday, May 6th, after the post had come in, my brother handed my packet to me, and then went out. I was absorbed in letters from England, when, suddenly, four of my protégés burst into the room, and jumped on to the broad divan where I was seated. Two of them got behind me, and threw their arms over my neck, and the other two tried to cover themselves with the skirt of my dress. They were all crying and trembling violently, and could only say, sobbingly, "Ana dakhaliek! Ana dakbaliek!"

Before I had learned from them the cause of their new trouble, the Governor, attended by two military officers and several common soldiers, fully armed, entered the room. The boys actually shrieked with terror and despair, clinging to me more desperately than before. I half rose and asked the Governor to take a seat by my side. The soldiers stood in a row before the door, and the officers sat near to them. After we had exchanged customary greetings, the Governor showed me an official order for the apprehension of the boys, who were crying so convulsively that I could not help crying also; and the Governor himself seemed affected.

I said, as calmly as I could, "Tell me, my lord, to what place are these children to be taken?" He said, "To 'Akka, to the presence of his excellency the Pasha, O lady." The boys cried, "We will not go to 'Akka, unless our English lady, our protector, will go with us. You may kill us here, but you can not take us from her." They said much more, which I could not understand; for they spoke vehemently and rapidly, and all at once.

I tried to calm them, and inquired where the other boys were. The eldest one said, "They are prisoners. We were together, when we heard the footsteps and the voices of the soldiers. We jumped out of a high window into the street, to come to you; but our youngest brother fell and broke his foot, so that he could not run—and he and his cousin, who staid to help him, were taken away by the soldiers—but we escaped to this house."

The Governor then spoke kindly to the children, saying, "Your brothers are quite safe. Come with me, and I will lead you to them. Do not think that you are my prisoners; I will be as a father to you, and you shall be my sons." But the boys refused to be comforted. They had heard that a reward had been offered for the capture of their fathers, dead or alive, and they had no faith nor hope in any Turkish officer.

The Governor would willingly have saved them, had it been in his power, but, as he said, he was only acting as agent, and was bound to convey them all to 'Akka.

I had already explained to the boys that my brother could only afford them conditional protection, but they had such unbounded and childlike confidence in my power and will to take care of them, that they were filled with astonishment when I told them, as tenderly as I could, that they must submit to the Governor, and go with him. Their renewed tears and sobs quite overcame me. As I tried to disengage myself from their embraces, they prayed passionately that I would not forsake them. One boy said, "Ask the Governor to give our little brother to you. He is sick—let him be brought to you. O, my brother—my brother!" Another said, "Darling lady, do not let him take us away. Protect us—save us!"

They were still clinging to me. The Governor rose. There were tears in his eyes, and he said, "Lady, I cannot bear to see your sorrow"—then, to my great wonder, he took leave of me, spoke to the boys gently, and went out with all his attendants.

Shortly afterward my brother returned, and after speaking a few soothing words to the children, who were still sobbing, he said to me, "We will leave the boys here, while we breakfast." So I went with him unsuspiciously into an adjoining room. We had not been seated many minutes, when I heard the tramp of soldiers in the court of the house. I looked out, and saw the poor boys being led away down the steps. They were crying sadly, but offering no resistance. The Governor himself led the eldest boy with gentle firmness, and the younger boys were conducted one by one by the soldiers. I looked on in silence, and they did not see me again.

My brother then told me that he had received by post an order to give up the boys, and had hoped to be able to execute it without my knowledge. It was chiefly in anticipation of this order that he had removed the boys from the Vice-Consulate, that I might not see them made prisoners. He added, "When I came in just now, I met the Governor. He seemed quite disturbed, and said,'O Mr. Rogers, I beg you to cheat your sister for us. The Abdul Hady boys are with her, and I can not take them from her. Her sorrow is too great for me. Cheat her, and let the boys be left alone, and I will come again for them.'"

On hearing this, I begged to be allowed to speak a word to the Governor. My brother did not object, so I sent a kawass to ask him to come to me for a minute, before starting for ’Akka. He kindly came, and I inquired seriously what he expected would be the fate of the boys. He said, "Because of their youth, and because they are of a high family, I think that they will be gently treated, and held only till they shall be redeemed. I will myself conduct them to the Pasha, instead of sending them with the soldiers, and I will in your name speak in their behalf." I said, "Will you let me have news of them as soon as possible?" He promised to do so, and kept his word. In a few days, a horseman came from 'Akka to greet me, in the name of the Pasha, to assure me that the boys were in good health, were well fed, and well lodged in an apartment of the seraglio; and though they were not allowed to go outside the city, or even into the streets, they walked every day on the ramparts as much as they pleased—they were detained simply as hostages, and were treated almost as guests. His Excellency wished me to know that he had given them each new tarbûshes, new shoes, and changes of under and outer garments, and had sworn by the life of his son that not a hair of their heads should be hurt. I received several messages afterward, all to the same effect.^[5] At this time we were busy making preparations for a visit to England. We had made arrangements to spend the Summer months there; but when all was in readiness for the trip, the Vice -Consul found that he could not leave his post, and I was obliged to make up my mind to travel by myself, for loud voices were calling to me from my English home. All the Austrian steamers had been recalled, to swell the Austrian fleet; so my brother planned to take me to Beirût by a Russian steamer, and then to place me on board an English merchant steamship bound for England.

Hanné, my Arab maid-servant—a daughter of Angelina, the bride dresser—an affectionate girl of seventeen or eighteen, who had been with me nearly three years, begged earnestly to go with me; and when I explained that I could not take her, she said, with passionate and impetuous eloquence, "Why did you make me love you, if you meant to leave me? Why did you take me from my mother, and teach me to like the life of the Inglese, if you must send me away to live like an Arab again? I can not live with Arabs any more." I had not attempted to teach her English, and she had only acquired three or four words. She had not in any respect changed her mode of dress, but had learned to appreciate neatness and order, and could not bear the idea of the uneven floors of earth and the unplastered and smoke-blackened walls of the houses of the poorer class of Arabs. I reasoned with her, and showed her how happy she might make an Arab home, and how she could render me a much greater service by remaining in Hâifa than by accompanying me to England.

On June 2d she came to my bedside, before sunrise, and awoke me, saying, "Ana dakhaliek, ya habîbî!"—"The steamer is here, and the day of our separation has come!" A number of our friends had already congregated at the Vice-Consulate, to say good-by, and an English traveler had come down from the convent to accompany us to Beirût. We were soon by the seaside, in the midst of a noisy crowd of boatmen, kawasses, porters, and heaps of luggage; for the French and Prussian Vice-Consuls of Hâifa, and the Père Vicaire of the Convent of Mount Carmel, were going with us.

I went off in the first boat, with Hanné and a few friends. I was anxious to hasten to the steamer, as I knew that Miss Frederica Bremer was on board. I soon found her in the saloon, and though we knew each other only by correspondence, we required no introduction. It was a great pleasure to clasp her hand, and to hear her voice. She speaks English distinctly, but with a musical foreign accent. I was in earnest conversation with her, when my maid, who was by my side crying, murmured, "Who is that stranger who is stealing from me my last moments with you? If she is not your mother, how can you look so glad while I am so full of sorrow?" I soothed her by saying, "The lady is a stranger here; she is my friend, and is traveling quite alone; she will land presently at Hâifa with you. For my sake you must try to help her. You, with the kawass, will lead her to the house of Dr. Kölle, where a room has been made ready for her."

With her usual impulsiveness, she kissed Miss Bremer's hand, saying, "I am your servant, O lady!" In about an hour I took leave of my Hâifa friends, with the expectation of seeing them again in a few months, and it was with conflicting emotions that I watched the little boats going toward the shore as we steamed out of the bay. The deck of the steamer was crowded with Russian and Greek pilgrims—men, women, and children—who had spent the Easter week in the Holy City, and to their great consolation had bathed in the waters of the River Jordan. In the pleasant airy saloon there were several passengers, French, Italian, Prussian, and Swiss, most of whom I knew, but there were no ladies.

Soon after we had started the captain of the steamer came to me and said, speaking in French, "Mademoiselle, to-day is the fête-day of our Grand Duke Constantine—with your permission the Bishop of ——— will celebrate it, and we shall be happy if you will assist at the service." Immediately afterward, four Greek priests in black robes came in and spread "a fair linen cloth " over a table at the end of the saloon, and placed on it a quaint old Byzantine picture, representing some sacred subject. The nimbus round the head of the principal figure was of gilt metal, and there were several precious stones introduced in the clasps and decorations of the dresses. The priests handled this picture with great reverence. They propped it up carefully, and placed in front of it a silver basin, filled with holy water, and three large silver candlesticks, in which gilt and ornamented wax-candles were fixed and lighted. The captain and officers in full uniform, the sailors, the steward and waiters, and the first-class passengers stood in a group together, at the lower end of the saloon, facing the impromptu altar. Then a Russian bishop and an archdeacon entered. They were powerful and earnest-looking men, and were robed as gorgeously as if they were about to celebrate service in a cathedral.

They each had long brown wavy hair, which was parted in the middle, and hung down in front, so as to unite with their mustaches and their thick beards. They kneeled down side by side in front of the picture with their heads uncovered. One of the attendant priests placed a large missal before the bishop, who read the prayers and the Gospel and Epistle for the day in the Russian language; then a second priest prepared a censer and swung it, while the archdeacon chanted a litany. He commenced softly and plaintively in a minor key, but suddenly changed the melody to one of a more cheerful but very simple measure, and the concluding portions were like shouts of joy and triumph. The responses were very heartily made, especially by the sailors; and the sounds, evidently familiar, were caught up and echoed by the three hundred devotees on deck.

The bishop concluded the service by pronouncing a general benediction. He held in his hand a little cross, carved out of a piece of the rock of the hill on which the city of Jerusalem stands. It is a rather soft stone, and is about the color of Sienna marble. The captain solemnly advanced and kneeled down to kiss this cross, then the bishop with it made the mark of the cross on the broad, smooth, reverential forehead of the still kneeling captain.

All the officers in turn, and then the sailors, went forward with earnest simplicity and devotion to claim this benediction, and Mons. Aumann and several of our fellow passengers—although they belonged to the Latin and other Churches—followed the example. Then the bishop went out on to the deck to give his blessing to the pilgrims there, and to let them kiss the cross, while the priests were sprinkling them with holy water and swinging the censers. When the bishop passed through the kneeling crowd, the pilgrims pressed the hem of his robes to their lips, and looked up to him as if they regarded him as an angel from heaven. Then followed a material feast. Large cans of meat and soup, and loaves of bread, were distributed to all the deck passengers, in the name and for the sake of the Grand Duke Constantine, the Emperor's brother; while the first-class passengers were invited by the captain to partake of a champagne déjeûner à la fourchette. The temporary altar was quickly removed, the picture was hung in its customary place at the end of the saloon.^[6] The table was soon spread with fruit and flowers, tastefully arranged. The captain led me to a seat by his side, and the rest of the company followed. We were twenty-two altogether, including the bishop and archdeacon. A very récherché Russian breakfast was served. The made dishes, which were numerous, were composed of curious combinations, and those which I tasted were piquant but peculiar.

A toast for the Grand Duke was proposed, and the captain requested my brother to start an English cheer for His Imperial Highness, and "hip! hip! hurrah!" resounded again and again through the saloon, echoed by Russian, French, Prussian, Swiss, and Italian voices, which mingled strangely together, with varied accentuations; and the pilgrims, on hearing or guessing the meaning of the cry, repeated it as well and as noisily as they could. [I observed that nearly every one at the table spoke French fluently, but I think that the only foreigner present who understood English was the learned linguist, Dr. Rosen, the Prussian Consul at Jerusalem.] After a few other loyal toasts and complimentary speeches, in which the Alliance was particularly alluded to, the piano was opened, and the national anthems of Russia, England, France, and Turkey were sung in chorus, while I played the accompaniments. We arrived at Beirût in the afternoon, and when we took leave of the captain and the ship's officers, they assured us that they had never had such a pleasant passage on the Syrian coast. We went to the Hôtel de Belle Vue, with our English fellow -traveler. From the lofty terrace, after sunset, I saw the Russian steamer brilliantly illuminated. Its general form was completely marked out by lines of light, and fireworks were thrown in rapid succession from the deck; while, from the residences of some of the Greek merchants in town, rockets were rushing and whizzing high into the purple night sky, and showers of stars were falling, all in honor of the Grand Duke Constantine. His Imperial Highness had been recently traveling in Syria with the Grand Duchess and a large suite.

The next morning I was in a pleasant, many-windowed room, surrounded by oleanders and roses in full blossom, and trees covered with large white bell flowers. I was comparing sketches and notes of travel with an English tourist, when my brother entered, to tell me that he had taken a passage for me in the Demetrius, a merchant steamer bound for Liverpool. I found it rather difficult to keep up my courage.

We went on board on the following afternoon, Saturday, June 4th. I was introduced to the captain, a good-natured, rough Sunderland sailor. I was the only cabin passenger, and although I was on my way home, I felt strangely desolate when my brother had taken leave of me, and we steamed away from the shores of Syria. But I was determined to try to enjoy the voyage, and I soon made friends with the captain, who seemed almost frightened at first of the responsibility of having me in his charge, and was nervously anxious to make me comfortable. I asked him if he had any books. He said, "Only ships' books, Miss—none that a young lady 'ud care to read." However, he showed them to me, and I found that they were very interesting guides to the Mediterranean shores, explanatory of the large charts with which the captain was provided. When he saw how pleased I was with these, he was at home with me directly, for he was an enthusiastic and practical seaman. He took pains to point out how we were steering, and to make me understand some of the principles of navigation. He showed me all his nautical instruments, and explained their uses, and promised to let me see him take his observations every day. On Sunday we were out of sight of land. The captain made a divan for me, of cushions covered with a union-jack, under an awning on the quarter-deck.

There was a very steady, orderly set of sailors on board. One of the mates, a self-educated man, spent all his leisure time in studying the rudiments of French, so I had the pleasure of helping him over a difficulty now and then.

On Monday morning, the 6th of June, we anchored in the port of Alexandria, where the Demetrius had to take in a cargo of cotton. Here all the deck passengers landed, with the exception of one man, a Jew of Aleppo, who was bound for Liverpool. The captain wished to give him some directions one day, while we were off Alexandria, but found that he could not make himself understood; so he requested me to act as interpreter. I went out on to the deck, and approached the solitary Syrian, whom I had not before observed, for he had occupied the other end of the ship. He was a man of about thirty years of age, and appeared very intelligent, but extremely timid. His dress, which was scrupulously clean, was of the kind usually worn by respectable town Arabs. When I was near to him, I said in Arabic, "God save you!" He started with astonishment, and, bowing down, kissed my hands vehemently, exclaiming, "God bless you, and God bless the voice which speaks to me in Arabic! I thought that I was left here alone!" When he found that I was going all the way to Liverpool, he said fervently, "Thank God! Thank God! This is good!" After telling him, in the captain's name, that a sheltered sleeping-place had been prepared for him in the forepart of the ship, I entered into conversation with him, and found that he was going to some Syrian merchants at Manchester, to whom he had been recommended; but he had never seen any of them, and knew no one in England. He asked me how he was to find his way from Liverpool, and begged me to help him. He made many inquiries, which proved to me that he had no idea of the wide difference which there is between life in the East and life in the West. He did not know a word of English. He wrote his name "Shaayea"—that is, Isaiah—"Ateyas," in Arabic characters in my pocket-book, and a day or two afterward I wrote for him, in English and Arabic orthography, the names of the three Manchester merchants of whom he had spoken. I also gave him a letter of introduction to a Syrian gentleman of Liverpool. From this time, whenever I was on deck reading, studying the charts, or sketching, Shaayea was by my side, and always watched impatiently for my appearance, greeting me with the words, "Ana dakhaliek!" He appeared to me to be a very good Hebrew scholar. He had several printed books and MSS. with him, and sometimes, at my request, he translated passages from the Hebrew Pentateuch into Arabic literally. Thus the time passed pleasantly. We did not leave the port of Alexandria till the 10th, for the Demetrius had, on the 7th, been struck by the Meander, a French steamer. Our figure-head and largest anchor were carried away, and the mainmast was snapped in two. The upper half fell on to the quarter-deck, where I was sitting alone. It came down as steadily as the funnels of the steamers do, when they stoop to pass under the London bridges, and so slowly that I had time to watch it and move out of its way. The collision was very violent; the head of the Demetrius was lifted up on to the Meander, and lodged there for about twenty minutes, causing great agitation and alarm, and a running to and fro on the decks of both the steamers. The mate said, "The Meander has hurt herself almost as much as she has hurt us, Miss!" The case was amicably arbitrated, the necessary repairs were quickly made, and the Demetrius proceeded on her way.

We reached Malta on the 14th, and passed through the Straits of Gibraltar on the 21st. I had seen the Mediterranean sometimes smooth and blue under a burning sun, and at other times plowed into deep dark furrows, which seemed as if they would swallow us up.

I observed that Rabbi Shaayea was by this time looking ill and weak. I think that the food which he took was not sufficient. He had brought provisions with him, for he could not eat food prepared by Christians, and he had nothing but bread and Aleppo conserves, lemons, coffee, and tobacco. I tried to induce him to kill a fowl and cook it himself, but he said that he could not do so, because he had not a properly-prepared slaughtering-knife.^[7] I asked him if there was any kind of food we could give him, which it would be lawful for him to eat. He only answered, "I have plenty of bread, it is sufficient for me."

The captain was very anxious on the subject, and often said, in his good-natured, bluff way, "I don't like to see a man starving while there's plenty of good food to be had;" and one day, as he was assisting himself to pea-soup, he exclaimed, "I wish you could get 'Solomon' to take some o' this soup, Miss—but I suppose it smells too much o' the pork!"

On the 23d we were off Lisbon, and as soon as I went on deck Shaayea came to me, threw himself on his knees, and caught hold of my dress, crying pitifully. I raised him up, and said, "Why is your heart trembling, Shaayea?" He looked terrified, and replied, "The sailors will kill me—they will kill me. I am afraid of them!" I said, "Tell me quietly, Shaayea, has any one hurt you?" He whispered, "I am frightened." I said, "Indeed, Shaayea, you have nothing to fear; I can protect you. Tell me what has happened." He took out his clasp-knife and opened it, and made signs as if he meant to say that he feared that the sailors would cut his throat. I said, "Put away that knife and answer me plainly, Shaayea. Did any one on this ship ever hurt you, or try to hurt you?" He said, "No—but they say dreadful words to me—they curse me!" I answered, "How do you know that they speak bad words, Shaayea? You do not understand their language. Tell me what they say." He was about to answer, but he looked cautiously round, and seeing that a sailor was near, busy at work, he would not speak, but took my pencil out of my hand, and wrote on the fly-leaf of a Hebrew and Italian grammar the Arabic letters which represent the sounds, "j, a, k." I thought that he intended this for some Arabic word, and I pronounced it accordingly, and said, "I do not think that I have ever heard that word; what does it mean?" He answered, "Hush, O lady! it is not Arabic it is in English." Then the signification of the word, which looked so unfamiliar in Arabic orthography, flashed into my mind, and I could not help smiling, as I uttered the word, "Jack," with its true English accent. He exclaimed, "Yes, yes, O lady, that is the word with which they continually curse me." "O Rabbi," I replied, "this is not a curse—it is not a bad word; 'Jack' is the English way of saying, 'Yuhanna'. The sailors do not know that your name is Shaayea Ateyas, so they call you 'Jack', and they would call me by the same name perhaps if I were a boy." He seemed satisfied, and was more composed. He smoked a few cigarettes silently, as he watched my pencil while I made sketches of the beautiful town of Cintra. But the next morning the captain said to me, "Solomon wants to speak to you, I think, Miss—he looks so miserable, and is watching at the door." So I went out to him before taking breakfast. I found him more distressed than ever. He told me that the sailors had called out to him, "Hallo, Jack!" and all my attempts to reassure him were in vain. He felt convinced that it was a curse which they pronounced. He asked me if I had felt afraid when I was first left alone among strangers on this ship; he added, "I saw the Consul leave you. Were you not afraid then?" I said, "No, Shaayea, I was sorry to leave my brother, but not afraid; we are quite safe here." He answered, "You are safe, because you are among your own people; but I am a Jew, and the Christian sailors curse me loudly." I tried to convince him to the contrary, adding, "The Christians of England love the Jews, and our country is governed and our laws are made jointly by Jews and Christians. We have Jews in our Medjlis, and people of all creeds and countries are safe with us;" but he refused to be comforted. After this he would not go to the forepart of the ship, but kept as near as he could to me all day, and at night slept in a nook between some bales of cotton, which were covered with tarpaulin, and stood opposite to the cabin-door. The captain kindly overlooked this breach of order, and allowed him to do as he liked.

I perceived that Shaayea's timidity and weakness increased every day, but his confidence in me, individually, was unbounded. "Where are you going after you land at Liverpool?" he inquired. "To my parents in London," I said. "Then I will also go to London—I will go with you," was his answer. I told him that this would not be possible, and advised him not to think of altering his arrangements, saying, "Before you left Aleppo, you no doubt made your plans carefully, and now you must persevere in carrying them out. You are weak and timid from want of proper food and rest, but you will soon be strong and happy again, when you are with your fellow-countrymen in Liverpool and Manchester." I had asked the captain and mates to use their influence with the sailors, to prevent them from startling Shaayea in any way, especially with the terrible word, "Jack." I also spoke to them on the subject, but although there was an exceedingly good feeling shown toward the poor fellow by all the men, this injunction was naturally regarded as a joke. However, I believe care was taken to avoid the word, though when sails were being taken in, or hoisted hastily, an occasional "Now, Jack," or "Out o'the way, Jack," escaped the most cautious and kind-hearted. Shaayea continued to express an overwhelming fear of the sailors, and told me how, whenever a Jew is alone among Christians, he is sure to be murdered, and he related instances which he said had occurred in Aleppo and Damascus. I tried in vain to inspire him with courage and hope. The captain, who invariably called him "Solomon," used often to greet him good-naturedly, but always in a very loud voice, and generally in broken English, with a word or two of French which he happened to know; as if he had the idea that in addressing a foreigner, it was only necessary to speak very loudly, and in some foreign language.

It was this habit, I believe, which caused Shaayea erroneously to imagine that the captain was angry with him. He used often to exclaim, "I pray you, O lady, ask the captain to forgive me!" and at my request the captain sometimes came out to comfort him, when he would tap him on the shoulder and say, "All right, old fellow, you not enough mangez!" or, if it were in the evening, he would say, "Cheer up, Solomon, it's all right; you'll be better to-morrow—dormez! dormez!" On the evening of the 25th of June, Shaayea startled me by declaring himself a Christian. I said, "Shaayea, for what reason do you say you are a Christian?" He astonished me still more by answering, "For the sake of the Messiah," and added, "Tell the captain, I pray you, that I am a Christian, and then he will not be angry with me any more." I said, "I assure you, Shaayea, that the captain is not and never has been angry with you; and whether you are a Moslem, a Christian, or a Jew, you are as safe in his ship as if you were in your home at Aleppo, and if you could understand his language how kind he is." But he urged me still, and I consented to tell the captain what he had said, though I could very clearly see that he was only prompted to make this declaration by excessive and ill grounded fear. I did all I could to inspire him with confidence. I reminded him of the courage of David and of Daniel, when they were in real danger, and of their trust in God. I told him that he might take food from us with out doing violence to his conscience by calling himself a Christian. I said, "I think, if Rabbi Mûssa himself could speak to you, he would say,'Peace be upon you, Shaayea; eat that you may live.'" I added, "Remember how David and his attendants, when they were hungry, did eat even of the consecrated bread." He said, "God bless you, O my protectress!" Soon afterward he took a cup of coffee from the steward, as he had frequently done before, and smoked a cigarette. He seemed more peaceful than usual when I wished him good-night.

The next day, Sunday, the 26th of June, when I saw Shaayea, I did not refer in any way to the conversation of the previous night, for fear of exciting him, but I led him to speak of general subjects, such as the commerce, the products, and the manufactures of Northern Syria, and I asked him to teach me the Hebrew alphabet. This amused him for a little time, and while I read to myself, he sat near smoking, reading silently from a Hebrew psalter. We had crossed the Bay of Biscay, and in the evening we stood by the cabin-door, watching the sun go down, red and glorious, behind the dark clouds which seemed to rest upon the broad Atlantic. Shaayea said that he was sorry that the night had come, and then complained of feeling very low-spirited, and very tired of the journey. I told him that after one more day we should land at Liverpool, and I gave him my London address, saying that he might write to me from Manchester to tell me how he was, whether he liked England, and to let me know if I could help or serve him in any way. He kissed my hands and cried, as if from extreme weakness.

The captain requested me to advise Shaayea to rest that night in a sheltered place, as there was a heavy swell on the sea, and he would be likely to get wet if he remained in an exposed part of the deck. I explained this to Shaayea, but he said, "I can not go to the other end of the ship-I am afraid." He seemed very much agitated, and when the captain was going to his cabin, Shaayea caught hold of him, and kissed his hands and his feet vehemently, but the captain raised him up and said, "Come, Solomon, no more o'that; cheer up, be a man! Dormez! dormez!"

He asked for an effervescing draught, and I requested the steward to bring one for him, and he did so. Shaayea had taken one a few days before.

At half-past nine or ten o'clock, I said, "It is late, Shaayea — you must go to rest now! Peace be upon you!" He said, "Good-night, O my protectress!" I answered, "A hundred good-nights to you, O Shaayea!" He took off his red morocco slippers, and placed them carefully side by side on a ledge, and then crawled into his favorite nook between the cotton bales, and covered himself with his wadded quilt. I never saw poor Shaayea again! On the following morning, as soon as I opened my door, I called to the steward, and said, "How is Solomon this morning, steward?" He answered very sadly, "I don't know, Miss; he's missing." I said, "What do you mean, steward?" He replied, "Why, Miss, the captain has been looking every-where for him, and can't find him and he's in a dreadful way — he's looked in every hole and corner, Miss, except in your cabin!"

On fully realizing these startling words, I reëntered my cabin, which contained two berths. I had always used the lower one as a wardrobe, and I drew its little red curtains aside with a trembling hand, hoping intensely, and yet fearing, that I should find Shaayea there, but it was not so. The captain entered at this moment, looking very much agitated. He told me that he had searched every nook in which a cat could be hidden. He said that he had never lost man or boy, under any circumstances, on his ship, and he did not know what to do. I said, "Who saw Shaayea last?" On inquiry we found that one of the sailors, who had been aloft in the night, remembered to have seen Shaayea at about midnight, leaning against the ship's side, beyond the foremast. He thought it rather strange, for he had never seen Shaayea in that part of the ship before; but as he did not suspect any thing wrong, he took no further notice. No one else could give any tidings about him. I noticed that Shaayea's slippers were exactly where I had seen him place them on the previous night.

Every one looked sad and thoughtful. The general impression was that Shaayea had thrown himself overboard, but I told the captain that a Jew was not likely to commit suicide, and I suggested that some accident might have happened to him. He begged me to go round the ship with him, that I might judge for myself whether there was any place from which a passenger could fall into the sea accidentally. After examining every part carefully, and making minute inquiries, I reluctantly came to the conclusion that poor Shaayea had, through excessive fear and an excited imagination, lost his self-control, and had either voluntarily or unconsciously thrown himself into the sea.^[8]

All Shaayea's property was collected together: I assisted the captain to make an inventory of it, and then it was put under lock and seal.

We arrived at the Liverpool Docks on Tuesday morning, June 28th. I had an interview with the quarantine officer, and after having entered the name of the "missing" deck passenger in his book, in Arabic and in English, I hastened up to London.

An official inquiry was made into the history of Rabbi Shaayea's disappearance, by order of the Turkish Consul at Manchester; and as it was soon known that I was the only person on board who had conversed with the poor fellow, I was called upon to state all that I knew about him. I had kept a careful journal on the way, and was consequently able to furnish an account, which eventually satisfied the inquirers, that the balance of Shaayea's mind had been destroyed by his continual anxiety and groundless fears. I signed a solemn declaration of the above facts in the presence of a magistrate, whose signature was certified by the Turkish Consul-General in London, and a full report of the case was made to the Ottoman Government. The history of poor Shaayea, and many somewhat similar circumstances which I had witnessed, prove to me that the Oriental Jews still regard blessings and curses with great awe. Even a blessing pronounced by mistake was declared by Jacob to be irrevocable, and Balak entreated Balaam to "curse the people of Israel," as if he thoroughly believed that a curse would act as a charm, and alter and determine the course of events. Shaayea's case is one example, out of many which I could give, of the excessive fear with which Christians are regarded by Oriental Jews, especially by the Jews of Northern Syria. This is a sad and striking proof that the Christianity of the East is not the world embracing, harmonizing Christianity which Christ taught.

THE END.

 

 

1. This is a common custom, and I have frequently seen poor girls insert cloves, instead of jewels, into these holes. An artificial clove made of gold, clasping a pearl, which forms the round part at the top, is a very favorite nose -jewel. These nose-nails are worn by the younger girls, and are very fashionable; the elder women wear rings instead.
2. "Masons and builders are busy on the Meidan—the plain on the north side of Jerusalem. A portion of it, belonging to Russia, containing 16,000 square yards, has been inclosed by a stone wall. Several houses have been built there, and four large tanks constructed for the supply of water.
   
   "A cathedral, dedicated to the 'Holy Trinity,' has sprung up as if by magic, and is now ready to receive its cupolas. A large house for the Russian Ecclesiastical Mission is nearly completed. A hospital to receive ten beds has reached the first floor; the next story will be finished during this year. Foundations are laid for an asylum capable of receiving 300 male pilgrims.
   
   "Inside the city, the ground belonging to Russia, near to the Holy Sepulcher, has been cleared of the rubbish which formerly covered it to the hight of 35 feet. During the excavations, pillars and porticoes of the time of Constantine were discovered. Before the end of this year an asylum for Russian female pilgrims will be commenced."—Jerusalem, August, 1862.
3. In a letter dated Jerusalem, September 26, 1861, I am told that "Dr. Levisohn's work is delayed for want of funds." Will not the lovers of Oriental and ancient literature in Western Europe inquire into this matter, and assist Dr. Levisohn to complete his undertaking?
4. "Ana dakhaliek" will scarcely admit of translation into English. It means, "I am your protégé." Among Bedouin tribes there is an ancient law called the law of "dakhal." An escaped prisoner, or a man in danger of being captured by an enemy, may by this law claim refuge in the tent of an Arab, even in the encampment of an opposing tribe. The refugee enters the tent, takes hold of the robe of the occupant, and exclaims, "Ana dakhaliek!" and thus becomes a "dakhiel" or protégé. A true Arab will defend his "dakhiel" with his life. The law of "dakhal" is, however, only in full force among those tribes who are, by their strength or geographical position, independent of the Turkish government. Among tribes in which the law is maintained, a man who proved false to his dakhiel would be disgraced for life! The expression "Ana dakhaliek" is used by town Arabs as a term of endearment, implying perfect reliance and trust.
5. To make this incident more clear, I must explain that Mahmoud Bek Abdul Hady, after having been displaced on account of serious complaints made against him, had in 1858 been reappointed to the governorship of Nablûs by the late Kourshid Pasha, for the consideration, it is said, of a large bribe paid at the Serai. But in January, 1859, Mahmoud was arrested without opposition and sent to Beirut, and Riza Bey, a Turk, succeeded him. In April, a military expedition was sent to Arrabeh to arrest all the leaders and factious members of the Abdul Hady family, and all those who were implicated in the Nablûs riots of 1856. The people resisted, and the town was besieged by the Turkish troops, assisted by two opposing and equally notorious factions. It is the Turkish policy to set one interest against another, and affairs become very complicated when at one time the troops are fighting for and with a faction, and a few months afterward are employed to fight against it. The town of Arrabeh was not so much injured as we had at first been led to believe; the upper chambers only were demolished, and they were broken down by masons employed by the Turkish officers, because these upper chambers, with their battlemented terraces, which formerly made the town appear so picturesque, bad been used as fortresses by the besieged. (See p. 236.) The power of the Abdul Hady faction is for the present destroyed. The leaders are banished, but Saleh Bek and some others, who had not been active agents in the affair, have been restored to favor, and the children, my protégés, have been restored to their parents.
6. Pictures of patron saints, or of the holy family, are invariably seen in the saloons and cabins of Russian steamers.
7. The slaying of food is a very important matter among the Jews, and it is under the immediate superintendence of the Chief Rabbi. No Jew may kill any kind of cattle or poultry without a license. This license is never granted, till the person applying for it has been strictly examined as to his qualifications. The slaughtering of cattle is regarded as a religious performance, and requires rabbinical and traditional learning. The knife which is used is examined minutely, and whenever the slaughterer applies for a renewal of his license, he must submit his knife to inspection. The license is revocable at pleasure, either for misconduct or for any particular mistake or neglect.
8. I did not know that emotional disturbance was the cause and condition of insanity, or I should certainly have kept a continual and careful watch over poor Shaayea, but I never suspected that he was in any real danger. I was strongly reminded of his overwhelming dread of imagined dangers while reading lately the very important fact, that "the common causes of insanity are such as produce emotional changes, either in the form of violent agitation of the passions or that chronic state of abnormal emotion which pronounces itself in the habitually exaggerated force of some one passion or desire, whereby the healthy balance of the mind is at length destroyed."—See Bucknill's Psychology of Shakspeare, p. 133. Longman, 1859.