PART III.
ENGAGING A DRAGOMAN.
A DRAGOMAN.
We had been strongly advised by our Jaffa friends to take as guide for our long journeys a young English-speaking man living in Jerusalem. He was represented as thoroughly trustworthy and intelligent, besides being willing to fall in with our plans, rather than insisting upon our falling in with his. This was exactly the man we needed, and as the travellers' season was at its height, one of our first duties must be to find him. With this object in view we started one morning in search of his home. Two rival dragomen, of whom we inquired the way, assured us that Ameen—for so I will call him—was in Damascus with a party, and would not return for forty days. As this gratuitous information was imparted to us with unnecessary vehemence and exaggerated regrets, we distrusted its veracity and continued our search. Ameen's dwelling seemed to be hidden away in some remote region “far from the madding crowd,” but after many false turnings, we at length espied a neat little house standing in a garden, and a neat little woman with a baby in her arms standing in the doorway. We opened the gate and walked up the path to the young woman. “Does Ameen live here, and is he at home?” we asked in English. For answer she smiled, pointed to a divan inside the house, and by signs invited us to go in and “sit.” We did so, and continued our conversation by smiling inanely at each other, for our hostess evidently understood no other language but her own barbarous Arabic, which was the more disappointing as no Ameen was visible. He might be in Damascus after all. We were not going, however, to give up the object of our visit so easily. We must try another method of rousing Mrs. Ameen's understanding. A bright thought flashed through our mind. There was that Saracen maiden who long ages ago travelled from Palestine to England in search of her lover Gilbert à Becket. She only knew two words of English, “Gilbert” and “London,” but they were the talisman which, after many adventures, brought success, and her lover to her side. Why should not we try the effect of two words on the little woman before us? The louder you shout to an Arab the more important does he consider your communication, so we shouted “Ameen—dragoman,” accompanying our duet with gestures expressive of our desire to see him. Our hostess redoubled her smiles, and we redoubled our shouts, until “Ameen—dragoman” became a monotonous chant, which grew more despairing at each repetition. When our efforts seemed most hopeless, Mrs. Ameen allowed the light of intelligence to dawn on her countenance, and murmuring some indistinct apologies, she suddenly darted through the door and disappeared. Congratulating ourselves on our success, we waited patiently for ten minutes or so before the welcome sound of voices and footsteps sounded near at hand, and in walked our little friend, still carrying the baby, and proudly escorting the redoubtable Ameen, whose preposterous Turkish trousers gave him a swagger as consequential as that of a Highland piper. He greeted us courteously in excellent English, but as one who had been expecting us, and immediately inquired whether we had left his cousin in Jaffa in good health, and if he had told us any family news. Happily we had met the cousin, and were able to give the desired information, which was received simply and as a matter of course.
We were favourably impressed by Ameen's honest face and gentle manners, and though he looked delicate, he seemed capable. He told us that twice he had acted as guide to a celebrated English explorer and that he knew the country thoroughly. We were rather alarmed, on his producing an enormous sheaf of testimonials, and modestly requesting us to read them. If the few we glanced at were to be relied upon, our friend must be a Solomon in the matter of wisdom, a prince among guides, a servant with so many superlative qualities—we felt excessively small in his presence—while his record as a “provider” might have caused the cheek of the renowned Mr. Whitely to grow pale with envy.
Ameen was evidently a treasure (and such he afterwards proved himself to be), and must be secured, so we plunged at once into business, and for the next half-hour discussed routes and other minutiæ. The bargain was concluded by Ameen agreeing to take us for a four days' trip to Jericho, and a five or seven days' trip to Tiberias. The charges were to be a pound a day each. He was to provide everything, including good horses, and saddles, a muleteer, and when necessary an armed escort, which a thoughtful government—with an eye to backsheesh—insisted upon, lest the confiding traveller should fall among thieves. As the escort was invariably chosen from a tribe of raiders, the moral was obvious. We considered these terms very moderate for this time of the year, especially so, as the party was to consist only of Elizabeth and myself.
We further stipulated for the horses and saddles to be brought round for our inspection the evening before we started on our journey. Everything being now satisfactorily settled, we partook of coffee, said good-bye to the little wife, kissed the baby, who resented deeply the familiarity, and, preceded by our picturesque guide, who had already assumed an air of proprietorship, made our way into the city, where we dismissed him and continued our prowl unattended.
On one of our excursions we took part in an adventure which might have ended seriously to one of the party. Looking back now, it seems like a modern version of the story of the Good Samaritan.
It was a hot afternoon in April when Elizabeth and I, accompanied by Elias, Miss K.'s native servant, carrying a tea-basket, set out for Neby Samwîl, the ancient Mizpeh, where we intended picnicking.
As we were riding slowly down the hill in the direction of Jerusalem, we noticed afar off an unusual cloud of dust, out of which there presently emerged a horseman riding furiously. Almost before we could exclaim he had turned the sharp corner by the Pool of Hinnom and was tearing madly on towards us. In another moment the horse wheeled suddenly round and, flinging its rider to the earth, galloped back to the city gate.
We reined up near the unfortunate man, who lay stretched out unconscious in the middle of the road, a tropical sun beating fiercely on his uncovered head, and the blood slowly trickling from a nasty wound in the temple.
In an incredibly short space of time a crowd collected. White-sheeted women, like flocks of seagulls, scudded down the hill slopes, and were joined by dark-faced men, who seemed to spring from nowhere.
They stared with much curiosity at the little group below, but neither signs nor talking could induce them to approach nearer than the stone wall which bounded the road. They answered our appeals by jabbering among themselves like so many monkeys, pointing at us and gesticulating excitedly. Clearly we were each unintelligible to the other.
We next tried to awaken the sympathy of a family living close at hand; but, much to our indignation, they refused help though they showed considerable interest in us, wondering why we took so much trouble about a stranger who was nothing to us. We could only be sorry that with the knowledge of English had not come the knowledge of our Lord's answer to the question, “Who is my neighbour?”
Appeals to the passers-by met with the same heartless indifference. They stared at the unconscious cause of the commotion and looked at us with eyes which plainly said, “The English are mad, they are always minding other people's business.”
In the meantime the man was in great danger from the heat. He was too heavy for us to move, and Elias, with true Oriental timidity, refused to touch him. The case was becoming desperate when we saw a benevolent-looking priest coming along the road. He joined the circle, looked at the wounded man, and turned to resume his journey.
Elizabeth stopped him and eagerly accosted him in French, but he was evidently ignorant of that tongue. She then attacked him in German, but he shook his head deprecatingly. As a last resource she bombarded him in Italian, which language he did understand, for he immediately replied that he was at the signora's service.
“Then,” said Elizabeth, “will you kindly tell us, signor, what to do with that poor man? He was thrown from his horse a few minutes ago. He is wounded, and may be dying. Could you not get him carried to a place of safety and find out who he is?”
During this address the priest's countenance changed from courteous attention to grave disquietude. He scarcely waited for its conclusion before he gathered up his skirts and, murmuring that “he knew nothing—it was not his affair,” walked rapidly away.
We were more perplexed than ever. Could there be defilement in the touch of the wounded man? Or did the fact of his wearing European clothes proclaim him an infidel and one whom it was best to leave alone?
While we were deliberating on the best course to take, Elias shook off his fear and began talking to a big porter who was looking on. After what seemed to us an endless discussion, he came forward and intimated that the porter would carry the man to a hakeem (doctor) in Jerusalem.
It was not without a great deal of talking, appealing looks from the porter, and, I must add, evident reluctance on his part, that the wounded man was placed on his shoulders and the procession started for the city, Elizabeth riding on ahead in the hope of finding some intelligent person who would interpret for us, for we were still puzzled how to act for the best.
Among the motley crowds always assembled at the Jaffa Gate, we caught sight of a young clerk, with whom we had had dealings, and who spoke English fairly well. He was standing near his office. In response to Elizabeth's sign, he crossed the road with alacrity, and was all attention to her commands. When, however, he understood their extent, and grasped the fact that a stranger had met with an accident, and saw him apparently dead on the back of the brawny porter, he bolted into his office, shut the door with the words, “Excuse me, madame, but I am too busy to help.” There was no time to analyse our own feelings, for the procession had increased considerably, the babel of tongues was deafening, donkeys braying, camels grunting, men screaming and gesticulating; even the lepers rushed forward and added to the noise and confusion. The porter's face bore a look of unmistakable terror, as he caught a glimpse of the ragged uniform of a soldier, but on we went, hoping that the hakeem's house was not far off.
Happening to glance round we saw to our intense relief the swaggering form of Ameen approaching. In him we saw also an end to all our difficulties. We attacked him at once.
“Find a doctor, please, or do something for this poor man, and do, if you can, stop that awful noise!” we exclaimed. Alas, Ameen manifested the same extraordinary unwillingness to interfere, though his sympathy was excited. “Do look at him,” we urged, “perhaps you may know him, and why are all the people calling to him and shouting hakeem?”
Yielding to our entreaties Ameen examined the face of the object of our solicitude, added his contribution to the hubbub, and exclaimed—
“He's the Russian doctor from the hospital, the people say; he was riding into Bethlehem this afternoon, it is the day he sees patients among the pilgrims there. Poor man, we will carry you to the Russian hospital, that is,” continued he, turning to us, “if you will take all the responsibility, Miss N.”
“Of course I will take the responsibility!” was the impatient answer. “Be quick, unless you want him to die!”
Ameen now assumed leadership, issued his orders with much importance, using the English lady's name with great effect, we could see. The porter, however, kept close to us, talking earnestly.
“What is he saying?” inquired Elizabeth.
“He is afraid that he will be punished. He thinks he will be accused of the doctor's death and be put into prison; he begs of you to say that he is only acting under the English ladies' orders; he is their slave, and cannot help himself,” replied Ameen.
“Assure him that he need have no fear, he shall not get into trouble for helping us; we will see to that,” Elizabeth answered, looking down kindly on the man, who seemed as grateful as if he had been rescued from some terrible danger.
“You see, Miss N.,” said Ameen, “we are all afraid to help in an accident of this kind, the risk is too great. We might be seized and thrown into prison, accused of having murdered, or attempted to murder, the person we were only assisting. Certainly if he happened to die, we should be held responsible for his death, and could not escape prison unless a big backsheesh were constantly paid to the governor. You of the English nation are different, you are just, and do not understand our Government. Your word they will take, ours they would not believe. We are not naturally inhuman, we have to pretend to be.”
This explanation threw a new light on the indifference to suffering which we had witnessed. Under the circumstances it certainly required a very brave man to follow the dictates of ordinary humanity where a stranger was concerned. We were truly thankful that we were “of the English nation,” and free to exercise our privileges here.
But we had now reached our goal after being nearly forty minutes on the road. The poor porter's strength was giving out, but he managed to get up the steps of the hospital and lay his burden down on the cool floor of the hall. The nurses gathered round the unconscious doctor, talking volubly in Russian, which none of us understood. There was a look of consternation on their faces as they carried him gently into an inner room. We could not explain what had happened, but we waited until we thought we heard sounds which indicated returning consciousness, then telling Ameen to reward the good porter with a liberal backsheesh, and bring us news of the patient on the morrow, we rode on our way to Neby Samwîl.
It was a glorious day, and we were glad to get away from the noise and dust of the city into the open country where quiet and beauty reigned.
The watch-tower on the top of Mizpeh, though three hours' distant, was plainly visible in the clear atmosphere. It thrilled us as we called to mind that it was on that spot Laban and Jacob made their covenant of amity and settled their differences for ever. There the judges had assembled the Israelites together in times of national danger or calamity. It was at Mizpeh the prophet Samuel anointed young Saul king of Israel. From its summit the Israelites, after humbling themselves before God, rushed into the plain, routed the host of the Philistines and discomfited them.
Through the very passes we were traversing and over those grey stony mountains had Samuel, Saul, David, and hosts of the famous men of old walked. If they could speak, what marvellous stories could those ancient hills tell of all they had heard and seen of triumph and defeat of great armies, of God's anger towards His stiff-necked people, of His unbounded love and forgiveness!
It was not easy riding. The flat smooth rocks were slippery footholds for our sturdy little horses; but they were hardy fellows and stepped over the most break-neck places with the ease and confidence of mountain goats.
We were enchanted with the gorgeous carpet of flowers spread out at intervals before us. Here was a patch of cyclamen, covering a space of about twelve feet, nestling under the eaves of a sullen brown rock. Masses of scarlet anemones, yellow flax, pheasant's eye, and many other lovely flowers disclosed their beauty to us, making up in their colouring and variety for the lack of trees and foliage.
The slopes of the hills were dotted with handsome, long-haired goats feeding side by side with the ungainly “fat-tailed” sheep. These sheep are far from pretty. Their tails, hanging like great bags, touch the ground as they move, giving them a most unsymmetrical appearance. The fat of the tail is considered a great luxury among the natives. It is made into “seminy”—a strongly-flavoured grease used in all native cooking and, to our taste, rancid and unpalatable.
The summit of Mizpeh was reached without further adventure. A few olive trees grew there, and the watch-tower seemed old; but, otherwise, there was nothing to remind us of the past.
We tied up our horses, and in a few minutes the kettle was singing merrily and we were enjoying a cup of tea, which was very refreshing after our long ride. Elias was made happy with a great piece of sugar, which he ate slowly, smiling upon us the while like a dusky cherub.
There was but little time to indulge our fancy, though the spot on which we sat teemed with memories. It was getting late—sunset would be upon us in an hour. If we did not wish to be benighted among those desolate mountains we must be up and going. So, as soon as tea was over, we mounted our horses and turned their heads homewards.
Before we were half way, the great sun left us suddenly (as if he were pressed for time and must make it up on his next journey), and we were plunged into darkness, for there is scarcely any twilight in the East.
It was a hard matter to keep Elias in sight; but, fortunately, the horses knew the way, and we rode with a loose rein. Soon the silver moon rose in the heavens and flooded the landscape with her brilliant light. A couple of hours later saw us cantering through the deserted streets of Jerusalem, throwing long shadows as we passed under the grey walls of David's Tower.
The ghastly Pool of Hinnom looked more ghastly in the moonlight; but the shining road gave no indication of the scene in which we had acted a few hours before. Ten minutes later we were dismounting at Miss K.'s hospitable door, well pleased to be back again among our friends.
S. E. Bell.
[BEAUTY IN WOMAN: FROM A MAN'S POINT OF VIEW.]
By “MEDICUS” (Dr. GORDON STABLES, R.N.).
“Shalt show us how divine a thing
A woman may be made.”
Wordsworth.
That I am an admirer of female beauty and loveliness goes without saying, nor would I care to take tiffin with a man who isn't.