Passage of the Desert.
All the young people who have read Peter Parley’s Annual for the last fifteen years, know well enough what the Desert is. Some of them also may have heard, now-and-then, of its dangers. They are, of course, varied. There is the danger by heat, the danger by thirst, and the danger from the wild robbers, who prowl about like wolves upon its arid bosom. It was in the year 1850, that Edwin Keet, a traveller of great enterprise, who had not only mounted the Nile and Pyramids, and smoked a pipe with the famous Mehemet Ali, but, what is of far greater consequence, had spent many a happy day with Peter Parley, made the journey. Keet was not to be overcome by trifles. He had proceeded across the desert to Aleppo, and met with no serious molestation until he was within fifteen miles of Bassora, when early one morning he perceived himself followed by a party of about thirty Arabs, mounted on camels, who soon overtook him. As they approached, he, by his interpreter, directed them either to advance or halt. Keet was not alone—he had half-a-dozen Englishmen with him, two of whom were Lieutenants in the Navy, one a rough old sailor, and the remaining three his servants. He again called upon the Arabs to halt, or to remove to the right or left of him, for he choose to travel by himself. They answered they would not interfere with him, and went on at a brisk rate. Keet then suspected them of some design, and kept himself upon his guard. The two lieutenants prepared their pistols, and the sailors drew their cutlasses. The Arab party proceeded only a few miles, and slunk behind some rising ground in the distance:—this move, however, did not escape the quick eye of Jim Crank, one of sailors, who had been boatswain’s-mate on board the “Fairy,” and knew how to keep a good look out a-head. As the party proceeded, they came to the range of little hillocks behind which the Arabs had crouched, like so many tigers, to spring on their prey. Keet and his companions were well mounted. It is true that the lieutenants nor the sailors sat on their horses to the best advantage. All had got their stirrups too high, and looked more like old women on horseback than men, with the exception of Keet, who rode firm, slowly, and high on his saddle. “Now my lads,” said he, “we have only to sell our lives as dearly as possible—if we must die, let us die like Englishmen—if we falter or flee, our destruction is certain—if we dare the rascals, and give them two or three good volleys, they may chance to quail, and we must trust to our good horses to get us out of the fray. Here are eight of us, and we must be prepared to form a square—to make a round, or to make an angle, if necessary. So stand to your arms, my lads, and let me go in advance. Don’t give way, nor attempt to flee while you can fight, for it is fighting alone can save us.” So Keet placed himself at the head of his little army of seven, and advanced.
He had not marched far before he saw the caps of the Arabs dodging behind some of the loose stones, topping hillocks before them. And, from what he could observe, it was clear that the foe was in ambuscade, and preparing to let fly at them as they passed. Keet’s mind was made up in a minute as to the best course to pursue; so calling to his people to follow him, and do as he did, as the only course they had, he rode quietly forward at a slow pace, but just as he got abreast of the stone-work of the hillocks, he made a sharp detour to the right, and passing round the hillocks, attacked the Arabs suddenly in flank on the other side. Bang! bang! bang! bang! from four of the double-barreled muskets, and four of the Arabs fell from their camels. Keet spurred on, and attacked the leader sword in hand, but he was speedily unhorsed by the thrust of a spear into his back. At the very moment of his falling, however, he took out one of his pistols, and blew out the chieftain’s brains. The boatswain’s mate, at the same time, cut down the lance-man who had thus intruded on Keet’s rear quarters. The two lieutenants had adroitly jumped off their horses, and, from a secure embrasure of the rocks above the hillocks, kept loading and firing their pieces with the utmost expedition, and eleven or twelve of the Arabs were soon prostrate. The remainder, observing the warm reception, and perceiving Keet, although on the ground, valiantly and deliberately loading his rifle and pistols, and feeling the “peppering” of the other sailor and the lieutenants, and being not a little astonished at the conduct of Jim Crank—who kept leaping, hollowing, firing, and shouting like a wild demon, and calling them all the wicked names of which the English tongue is so capable—began to sheer off, and, in a very short time, nothing was seen of them but a small cloud of dust far away in the desert. The remainder of the journey was passed without molestation, and Keet and his companions arrived safe at Bassora.
Glastonbury Abbey.
WITH THE STORY OF KING ARTHUR.
Glastonbury is called by Fuller “the ground of God—the first ground of the saints in England, and the rise and fountain of all religion in Britain.” Because, “it was here,” says the tradition, “that Christianity was first introduced into England.”
But the early history of the introduction of Christianity into these islands, is veiled in considerable obscurity. We see the “Light of the Word” shining here fully enough, but we see not they who kindled it. The honour of first evangelizing England has, indeed, been confidently ascribed to various individuals, and, amongst others, to Joseph of Arimathea.
The legend states, that when St. Philip, the Apostle, after the death of our blessed Saviour, was in Gaul, he was informed of the heathenish wickedness of this country. To England he therefore resolved to extend the influence of his precepts and influence, over barbarous and bloody rites, long exercised by bigoted and besotted Druids—to introduce the meek and gentle system of Christianity. Accordingly he dispatched twelve of his companions and followers, and appointed Joseph of Arimathea, who had not long before taken his Saviour from the Cross, to superintend the sacred embassy. Britain was wild and uncultivated—its inhabitants rude and inimical to strangers—yet, withal, its King Arviragus could foster a few itinerants, whom he knew not how to hate, nor wished to love. In consideration of their long and laborious journey, he disposed their habitation in a small island, then waste and untilled, and surrounded by bogs and morasses, assigning to each of the “twelve” a certain portion of land, called a “hide,” sufficient for one family to live upon; and composing in all, a territory denominated, to this day, “the twelve hides of Glaston,” and here, according to the monastic annals, St. Joseph erected to the honour of the Blessed Virgin Mary—of wattles and wreathed twigs—the first Christian Oratory in England.
This legend, however, wants much of truthfulness, I fear. I don’t see what connection there could be between Joseph of Arimathea and Glastonbury. Be that as it may—a more substantial structure was erected on the spot named above, in the year 180 after Christ, owing to the exertions of some Christian Missionaries. In the year 439 we are told that St. Patrick, the patron saint of Ireland, visited this holy spot, and collected together a body of clergy, being himself elected as the first Abbot. About the year, 530, St. David, Archbishop of Manevia, accompanied by seven bishops, took a journey to Avalon, and expended large sums of money, in adding to the building of the church. St. David was uncle to the renowned King Arthur, who, in his time (A.D. 543), having been mortally wounded in battle, was carried to this abbey to be interred, and, accordingly, on his death his body here found a grave. In the reign of Henry II., 640 years after Arthur was buried, his grave was opened, and the body of the king discovered interred in a coffin made of oak, sixteen feet deep, and nine feet below a rude leaden cross, on which the name and virtues of Arthur were described.
Such is one of the “stories” of Glastonbury—and I forgot to say that, in the churchyard, still stands the celebrated “Glastonbury thorn,” said to be derived from the rod of Joseph, of Arimathea, and which always blossoms on Christmas Day.
