Chapter 25

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.