Part 5

Our boat was bound for Abu Thabi, the first important town on the coast south. The wind continued favourable, and on Monday we were sailing between two islands, mere rocks and uninhabited except by a few fishermen during the season. A little further towards the mainland is the large island of Dalma, and there was a long dispute between the captain and the mate as to which island we were passing. When the words waxed warm between them my chart decided the dispute. This island is an old centre for the pearl-fishers, and every season there is a large gathering here of merchants and divers; a sort of market-place on the highway of the sea.

The weariness of five days and nights in the boat was relieved in many ways. There was opportunity to read and plenty of interruption.

We had our meals to cook and tried to fish with a line and hook; once the captain hit a wild duck with his rusty gun, but although all helped to lower the boat and they pursued the wounded bird, she escaped. One day we saw a large shark, and that afternoon there were some good fish stories. At night the black slave Abdullah sat at the wheel and told stories as only a Negro-Arab can tell them; stories of the new Arabian Nights, and of how an Arab sharper stole a favourite horse by putting the bridle on his own neck and having his mate run off with the horse! Several times it was our turn to lead the conversation, and we had a splendid opportunity to give “line upon line and precept upon precept.” One can judge at once of the ignorance and open-heartedness of the Arab sailors by the remark they commonly make after they have had a missionary or colporteur for passenger: “We had no idea that Christians were such decent folk and even prayed to Allah.”

At three o’clock on Thursday afternoon we were in sight of Abu Thabi, or “father-of-the-gazelle.” It was my first visit to this town, although Elias had been there before. We found the ruler kind, friendly and very intelligent. We were assigned to a large room in one of his houses, and during our stay of four days there was abundance of food sent to us from the ruler’s table, and all our wants were supplied from his beneficence,—huge dishes piled with rice, steeped with gravy and crowned with several pounds of prime roast mutton, the whole surrounded with dates and bread loaves, on a large circular mat, and washed down with perfumed water. We were never hungry.

When the dwellers in the mat-huts heard of the arrival of foreigners with a medicine chest and books our room was filled with the curious or the ailing from early dawn until after sunset. That is the only drawback to their kindness; the Arab idea of hospitality does not include the blessing of privacy for their guest. One is never left alone, and if you seek solitude they set you down as a magician, or delver into the hidden things of nature which are forbidden to all true believers. So we had to forego meditation, reading, and even the change of clothing until nightfall, after our long sea journey.

It was a queer crowd that collected in the court and filled our little room; a long row of Arabs sitting on the mats all around the four sides of the court. Most of them were Oman Arabs, but there was one priest from Mecca who had more to say than all the rest. He was a wanderer who wore a spotless white turban and a sneering smile. His present residence, he said, was on the Island of Kais, in the Gulf, and he lived as do all of his kind by teaching school and copying charms for the ignorant. We had some discussions and more quiet talks together after the crowd left. It was sad to hear from him what dense ignorance there is regarding our religion. The news of Queen Victoria’s death had just reached there and the sage from Mecca told fabulous stories of how and why Christians were ruled by women! Our sales of Scripture were not large, but there was a demand for other books. One poor but learned man brought a manuscript copy of Al Hariri (the Arabian Shakespeare) in exchange for other books.

We left Abu Thabi by sailing-boat for Debai, eighty miles up the coast in a straight line. The wind compelled us to go zigzag.

This place has become the metropolis of Western Oman, and in population, progress, commerce and architecture far surpasses all the other towns. Between Abu Thabi and Debai the coast is desert and neither date-tree nor hut is seen; so flat is the country that a hill two hundred feet high (the only landmark for sailors) is called “the High Mountain.”

We did not tarry long at Debai, although we had a pleasant morning at the house of the ruler and met some Arabs from the interior. One of them said he was willing for a proper consideration to take me all the way across Arabia to Jiddah, the port of Mecca. In the afternoon we started selling Scriptures on the outskirts of the town and in a very short time the crowd collected. Women came with copper coins and bright boys brought their savings to purchase Gospels—in the language of our trade, “the true story of the Living Prophet Jesus.” After we left Debai on donkeys two boys who were late ran after us and overtook us a mile from the town; they brought money and paid for three more books. The captain of our boat took us to his house for breakfast on our arrival, and showed us some poetry his wife had written. She talked with us and seemed versed in the Koran; we left her a Gospel.

From Debai to Sharkeh we rode on asses, and as our two chests were heavy they were put, one each, on the backs of two other asses; the distance is about ten miles. At Sharkeh we met old friends and were glad that even after a previous visit we were welcomed. An Arab merchant showed us much kindness and offered us a shop with a prophet’s chamber above it for rent. Since this visit our missionaries often come here. From Sharkeh we crossed over to Lingah, and thence back to Bahrein by the mail steamer, but Elias went on visiting Ajman and the villages beyond all the way to Ras-el-Jebel, which means “the top of the mountain.” The Arabic version of the seventy-second Psalm gives the promise in this way: “There shall be an handful of corn in the earth on Ras-el-Jebel; the fruit thereof shall shake like Lebanon.”

XIII

ACROSS THE DESERT OF OMAN

Oman is a little peninsula that sticks out eastward from the big peninsula of Arabia, and it might almost be called an island. On three sides are the waters of the Indian Ocean and the Persian Gulf, and on the west is the great sea of sand which the Arabs call the “empty abode,” and which has never been crossed by any traveller as far as we know. The Arabs themselves are afraid to venture beyond the limits of the oases that touch its borders, and on all the maps of Arabia this desert is marked “blank and unexplored.” Because the people of Oman for centuries past lived on such an island with the sea on one side and the desert on the other, they are quite distinct from the other Arabs. The language they speak has a peculiar accent, and their religion, although they are Mohammedans, is in many respects different from that of the other parts of Arabia.

I want to tell you of two journeys taken across this province. Many others have been made since, and our medical missionaries can now visit all the villages in the mountains back of the coast. On May 9, 1900, a colporteur and I put our two chests of books and medicines on board a small sailing-boat, and at four o’clock the wind was favourable to leave Bahrein harbour. We intended to visit the pirate coast, and thence, if the way proved open, to cross the horn of Oman to Muscat, overland.

The captain and crew of our boat were all strict Moslems, and made no secret of the fact that formerly they were slave-traders. Crossing by zigzag lines to the Persian coast to avoid shoals and catch the wind, we reached Bistana and then sailed across the Gulf direct for Sharkeh. Half-way across is the little island of Abu Musa, with a small Arab population, but splendid pasturage, good milk and water. The chief export is red oxide, of which there are two hills with a boundless supply. Steamers occasionally call here for this cheap, marketable ballast; we left our witness in the shape of Arabic Gospels.

On May 14th we reached Sharkeh, the chief town on the pirate coast. Formerly this entire region was noted for the savage ferocity of its inhabitants. Thanks to English commerce and gunboats, these fanatic people have become tamed; most of them have given up piracy and turned to pearl-diving for a livelihood; their black tents and rude rock dwellings are making room for the three or four important towns of Sharkeh, Debai, Abu Thabi, and Ras el Kheima. We found the Arabs rather hospitable, and quite willing to hear our message. The mat-hut, set apart for our use, we for seven days made dispensary and reception-room. Here over two hundred Arabs came to get medicines, buy books, or discuss the reason of our errand. Many were the quiet talks during those days with all sorts and conditions of Arabs. There was often no rest until long after sunset; and no sooner had the muezzin called to daylight prayer than the visitors began to walk in again. They were a pleasant lot of people, and more sociable than the Arabs of Yemen, while less dignified than those from Nejd.

We heard on every side that travelling in the interior of Oman was safe, so, after bargaining with camel-drivers, we secured two companions and five camels to take us to Sohar for the sum of twenty _rials_ or Arabian dollars. At 9 P. M. on May 20th we left, and after a short rest at midnight to water the camels, marched until nine o’clock the next day. By going as much as possible by starlight to avoid the heat, and resting during the day under some scraggy acacia tree or in the shadow of a Bedouin fort, we completed the distance of ninety odd miles in a little over four days. A large part of the way we took was desert, with no villages or even nomad booths; the more usual route by Wady Hom being a little unsafe, we followed Wady Hitta.

Sometimes our caravan would pass a camel’s skeleton bleached by the torrid sun. When a camel grows footsore or breaks down, there is no alternative: the poor beast is left to die in the wilderness. The second day we passed villages and cultivated fields; that night we spread our blankets on the soft sand, surrounded by thousands of sheep and goats, driven in by Bedouin lasses from their mountain pastures. Even among these shepherds we found readers, and the colporteur sold books wherever the camels halted long enough to strike a bargain. It was late on Wednesday, May 23d, that we entered the narrow pass of Hitta. Our guides preceded, mounted, but with rifles loaded and cocked; then followed the baggage camel, to which mine was “towed,” and in similar fashion my companion on the milch camel followed by its two colts. We were not troubled with the heat at night, but during the day it was intense, and it was refreshing to come to an oasis (common in this part of Oman) where water burst from a big spring, and trees and flowers grew in luxury. In the mountainous parts of Oman the roads run almost invariably along sandy watercourses or deep, rocky ravines. Tamarisks, oleanders, euphorbias, and acacias are the most common trees and shrubs. Where the country appears almost barren, we were surprised to find a considerable population of shepherds and goatherds. Their dwellings are mere oval shanties constructed of boulders or rocks. In the fertile valleys the population always centres in villages, and scarcely ever is a dwelling found at any distance from this common centre.

Just at the top of the pass of Hitta is the village ’Ajeeb rightly named “wonderful.” The view down the mountains over the fertile stretch of coast called the Batinah and out over the boundless Indian Ocean was grand. We descended to the sea, and the turbulent mountain stream, so cold to our bare feet as we waded it in the early dawn, dwindled to a brook, and at last ebbed away along the beach a tiny stream of fresh water. These perennial streams are the secret of a coast fertile for nearly a hundred and fifty miles.

At Shinas, on the sea, we spent a hot day. The mosque was our pulpit and salesroom. One graybeard took us to his hut after noonday prayer to offer us simple hospitality. He spoke with fervour of my brother, Peter J. Zwemer, who came to his village three years previous. From Shinas our camels took us to Sohar. At the large village of El Wa we were unable to stop, as the camel-men were afraid of smallpox, which was prevalent there. Every one we passed on the way was friendly to a remarkable degree. The women brought fresh milk and fruit to us ere we dismounted, and the boys, instead of mocking the strange foreigners, _salaamed_, delighted to hear that in spite of our appearance we spoke Arabic. Not one copper did we spend for food and lodging; it is the land of large-hearted hospitality. To help a sick child or give quinine to some ague-tormented Arab was to them a large return for their kindness to a “son-of-the-road.”

My second journey across the northern horn of Oman was made in May, 1901, with the same travelling companion; and sailing from Bahrein to Abu Thabi we went straight east to the coast of Oman and then along its shores all the way to Muscat by camel. It was the longest camel journey that ever I made, and when I reached Muscat I was convinced that the camel is not only the ship, but the hardship of the desert.

The town of Abu Thabi from which we started is situated on a sort of island formed by the back-water of its harbour. A chasm about two hundred yards wide, and even at low water, four or five feet deep protects the town against desert invasion, and a fort has been built close to this water barrier. After our camels had waded through the water breast deep and nearly soaked our luggage, we began the desert journey. For three hours the road was as level as a table and equally barren; then we passed some outcropping rocks called the devil’s castle. All that day and the next we rode through sandy deserts with scarcely any vegetation, resting at noon under the shade of a blanket roped over our two boxes. It was hot indeed, and the water in our water skins had taken on a bad taste after the long and jerky ride. We had dates and made some soup from condensed vegetables, but the Bedouins of our party caught big lizards and made a boiled mess of them, with rice. They were displeased that we did not share their meal.

On Sunday we arrived at an Arab encampment and rested. They made a feast for us of fresh milk, and at night killed a fat kid, and made cakes baked on hot ashes. At nine o’clock that night we left our Bedouin friends, and rode on until past midnight, always due east by the stars. It was very cold at night in the desert. These extremes of temperature are trying, but not unhealthy. The following day we came across a poor nomad girl who was lost in the desert and nearly dying of thirst. She had been seeking for a strayed camel, and had then missed all traces of the road herself. For two days she had been alone in the desert, and had almost given up hope. Our guide gave her some water and dates and showed her the nearest way to the encampment. All this stretch of country as far as Bereimy is a wide wilderness of sand for miles and miles in every direction; not level sand, but sand in big folds and billows a hundred feet high, that change with every storm.

It was a delightful change to reach the oasis of Bereimy with its seven villages, joined by streams of fresh water, and date plantations, as well as high mango trees and gardens of vegetables. Beyond this oasis the mountain road passed numerous villages to Obri and Dank. We took the shorter road through Wady-el-Jazi, direct to Sohar. The Arabs in this part of the world are perpetually at war with each other. Everybody gets up armed and goes to bed with a rifle by his side. Even little boys carry a dagger in their belts, and old men will part with anything rather than their shotguns. We met with no mishap by the way, however, and reached Sohar safely, but we did not go to Muscat by sea because there was no wind. Instead we encouraged each other to stick to our rough camel saddles for four days more, which made the entire distance from Abu Thabi to Muscat nearly three hundred miles.

The whole country is most interesting. In spite of continual warfare, the peasants seem to find time to cultivate every fertile spot, and raise all sorts of crops. We saw barley, wheat, sesame, vegetables and even tobacco. In one village we rested on the wide threshing floor where the old-fashioned instrument with sharp teeth, of which the Bible speaks, lay idle. The Oman plow is much better than those in North Arabia. There they plow with a crooked stick, whose sharp prong is strong enough to break up the sandy loam, but in this mountain region the peasants make a real coulter of iron and fit it to a heavy frame, braced to an upright handle of three bars set at right angles. The dress of the men and women is quite distinct from that in other parts of Arabia, and their houses are built like castles. Nearly every well is protected by a fort, and villages only a mile or two apart often carry on war with each other for many, many years. This is the chief obstacle to travel in the hill country of Oman.

Before you forget our journey across this part of Arabia, I want you to think of an Arab praying in the desert. One of the names the Arabs give to the desert is the “Garden of Allah,” because they say there is nothing but God; no other life, or sound or scene to distract one’s attention; only the great blue vault above, without a cloud, and the wide stretch of sand and rock all around the horizon. No wonder that the desert has been God’s training school for many of His prophets and teachers. Think of Moses, and Elijah and Paul and Christ.

XIV

JAIL-BIRDS

Did you ever hear of missionaries who were jail-birds? Well, that has been my experience. This is how it was.

The day after Christmas about ten years ago it was decided that we make a tour to the mainland of Arabia from the island of Bahrein, our station. The picnic basket was packed with fresh bread and canned meats and good things, and we also took along extra clothing, a box of books and some medicines for the people. Our Arab servant had a hard time of it to secure a boat that would take us over because the people were still suspicious of Christians and were not at all anxious to have them begin work in new places. After a boat had been secured whose captain was willing for a good consideration to allow Christians to travel with him we still waited. When one travels by native boat in Arabia there is always delay; it may be a couple of hours or it may be a few days. Time and tide and the Arab temper are equally unreliable in the Persian Gulf. It is no use fussing and getting impatient. That only makes the Arab more immovable.

At four o’clock a small boat came as close to the shore as the water would allow, and then we rode out on donkeys through the surf to the tossing boat, and in this small “jolly-boat” we were taken to the native ship where we settled on the poop-deck with all our belongings. The deck of this little sailing craft did not measure more than six feet by four, and so we had to sit close or we would fall overboard. The man at the tiller can manage on three or four square inches of room, and his bare toes cling to the edge of the boat just like a monkey on the bough of a tree. The sail was hoisted and away we went for about three hours. Then the wind dropped and we were becalmed almost in sight of shore until the next morning. After prayers at daybreak the sail was again hoisted, and the awkward paddle oars which the Arabs use were taken out to help increase the speed. Finally, after a severe struggle we arrived at our destination.

The pretty little town of Darain stood out clearly in the bright sunlight, and we were glad that at last we were to reach the mainland of Arabia. I was the first Christian woman that had ever landed on this part of the coast. There was a ride through the shallow water of about a quarter of a mile, and our Arab host was kind enough to send out a choice of vehicles for my use,—a chair, a horse and a donkey. I chose the donkey as the safest and mounted and splashed through the surf to the land. The rest of our party followed. We were then conducted to the guest chamber in the tower,—a large airy room with about twenty window frames and no windows, only shutters; so that when the wind blew the dust from the desert, the wooden shutters were fastened, and the light and air had to be shut out also. Our host was very cordial and laid no special restraint upon us, although he too was suspicious that we had come to begin missionary work in earnest in his village,—a thing which he would not allow. He treated us royally and with genuine Arab hospitality, but yet his suspicion was evident because he kept us away from another guest of his, the Turkish governor of Katif, as he did not wish him to know that he had friends among the Christians. After three days of entertainment we went on board our boat again on the way to Katif. We landed there in a few hours but found ourselves in a real “hornet’s nest.” Our very best and most winning smiles could not melt the harshness of the custom-house officials. They said our passports were not properly made out, and the motion was soon made and carried that we should be returned whence we came at once.

Fortunately, there was no boat ready to take us back, and it was not our intention to be turned back without at least attempting to dispose of some of the Gospels which we had brought with us and to win the confidence of some of the people. We were not despondent because even in this inhospitable place there was a man who was anxious to receive us and who invited us to come and stay at his home. We were so happy for a few brief hours. The man’s wife prepared a guest meal and received us very courteously. They gave us a well-furnished room and we were delighted to see that this Moslem was already a Bible reader, for in one of the alcoves of the room was a well-thumbed New Testament.

But no sooner did we begin to unpack our things than a gruff voice from below called for us to come down immediately and bring all our belongings. A lank-looking individual, who said he was a police agent, compelled us to follow him, and so we went through narrow, dirty alleys and smelling streets, and were finally conducted into the courtyard of a large tumble-down house, the steps all crumbling and indescribably filthy. After struggling up the steep, irregular stairway, we were shown into a small room in a part of the house quite by itself, which opened out on to a small roof. It had no windows and only one dingy door.