Since I first formed the resolution of writing this account of my journey, I have been at some pains to dip into the best histories of that country, and I find that in every instance my Tartar guide’s information was correct. Those santons, as well as other classes of dervises and sheihs, travel about the country and levy contributions on the inhabitants: some are really what they pretend to be, and are as pure and as pious as the monks of the primitive Christian church; but the santons are monsters, who exist only by the barbarous credulity and more than savage ignorance of the lower order of the people—though reprobated, and indeed execrated, by the better sort of Turks. They affect to be dementated (which with the Mahomedans is the greatest mark of sanctity), and under cover of that madness commit every excess and enormity, not merely with impunity, but with applause. Such is the melancholy state of degradation, to which the weight of superstition’s chains bends the mind of man! It is not long since I had a very pleasing discussion of this extraordinary subject, with a gentleman of my acquaintance, for whose veracity I have great respect. Superstition and credulity very naturally led to a consideration of the Turkish religion, and I expressed my satisfaction, that the worst excrescences of the Christian schisms could not be compared with the Turkish faith in their dervises. He said, that he agreed it did not go quite the length of the santons; but he related to me a conversation between him and a Roman catholic, not more than twenty-four miles from the enlightened city of Dublin, which surprised me much.
“I was,” said he, “when a youth, very free in censuring all religions, and chiefly Popery; for, being bred among Roman catholics, I had the greater opportunity of seeing their absurdities, which I treasured up as so much gain, without ever taking into account their many virtues, of which they have their share. One day I was on a party of pleasure, at a place called ——-, and in presence of a poor country fellow ridiculed the priesthood, attributing to them many vices, and particularly fornication and adultery. The man resisted me, and declared it was impossible. Then I suppose, said I, if a priest and a woman were locked up in a room together for a year, and the woman in a week after coming forth was brought to bed of a child, you would not believe it to be the priest’s. No, said he, I would not. Then how came the child? I don’t know, replied he—any way but by him. In short, he would believe it self-impregnation, or preternatural visitation, rather than allow a priest to be capable of fornication.”
“But,” said I, “you supposed a case—if the fellow was shrewd enough to say, no such case could at all happen, he would have put you down; that was what he meant, though he knew not how to go about expressing it.”
The difficulties and hazards of the journey, which seemed to thicken upon us as we advanced, made me pant for a speedy conclusion to it; and the adventure of the last day opened more clearly to my view the dangers we had to encounter, which were still likely to increase as we got to the eastward and southward, where the fury of bigotry raged without remorse; where the greater distance from the seat of government made the populace more lawless, and the magistrate more corrupt and tyrannical; where the total seclusion from all well ordered society rendered the manners barbarous; where strangers were seldom seen, and when seen fleeced and persecuted; and where particularly, I had reason to believe, scarcely any Englishman had ever set his foot; and above all, where the very winds that blew were charged with destruction, and carried instant death upon their wings. I therefore earnestly longed to reach Mosul, where the probability was, I should get at least the more comfortable and commodious conveyance of water carriage, and where I might refresh myself completely, after the fatigues of so many days journey; and, if there was occasion, claim a guard and protection, having along with me a letter to the Bashaw, which I might withhold or deliver, just as best suited my inclination or convenience.
I could not help viewing with a sad and melancholy eye my present state; wandering, I may say alone, unaccommodated and wretched, through an inhospitable region, and more inhospitable people; where danger beset me in a thousand forms, and every step I took, I took in hazard of my life; and comparing it with those scenes of opulence and comfort which I had once experienced, where every lawful wish met with its accomplishment; where every necessity was supplied, and every difficulty obviated; where tender love and attachment anticipated every desire, and soothed every care; where the mutual endearments and reciprocal accommodations of tender relatives, wife, children, faithful friends, and kindly intimates gave a zest to life, made me feel that my existence was of interest to others as well as to myself, and communicated a conscious importance which the isolated, solitary, selfish man can never feel: I could not help looking back with grief and mortification, to think that I once possessed those blessings, and should perhaps possess them no more; but, on the contrary, might perish unknown, unheeded, and unlamented, in an unknown corner of the wilds of an unknown hostile country, without one friend to solace or to cheer me, or tell to those who loved or took share in my concerns, the place where I lay, or the particulars of my fate.
Nor in this dismal train of reflections was Aleppo forgotten. It made the great connecting link between my former happiness and present misery; it was, as it were, the door through which I passed when I took my last farewell of comfort: when it closed and shut me out, the prospect was indeed gloomy; nor did I after feel one happy sensation, unless the convulsive transports of a laugh, and the boisterous fleeting mirth arising from the regularities of my guide, which, as the surge raised by the tempest above its proper height lifts up the shattered bark only to cast it on the beach and leave it shipwrecked, elevated my spirits for the moment beyond their proper pitch, to retire quickly, and leave them in the horrors of ten times deeper melancholy.
Perceiving how much cast down I was, my friendly Tartar began to rally me: “Jimmel,” said he, “the Santons have frightened you:—but don’t be afraid—Hassan Artaz is no boy: he can bring you through greater difficulties than those, should they befall us.”
“But how comes it,” said I, “Hassan, that you, who have so much power at the caravanseras, have not power to resist those rascally Santons, or the mobs of a village?”
“Why, as to the mob,” said he, “if I was by myself, or had only a true Believer with me, I would make them fly before me like the dust before the wind. As to the Santons, no one can resist them: the Great, who hate them, are obliged to shew them respect: and the Bashaw of Aleppo, nay the Commander of the Faithful himself, could not save you, if one of them called on the mob to stone you, or tear you to pieces. However, be of good cheer; for, please Alla, I will deliver you safe and sound to the Coja at Bagdad: besides, we shall very soon be at Mosul, from whence we will go down by water, which will be very pleasant: and the chief danger then will be in fair fighting, which is better than being cut off by Santons.—Should there be occasion,” said he, looking most ferociously and brandishing his whip—“should we be attacked by Curds or Robbers, you shall see—you shall see, Jimmel—Oh! holy Prophet, how I’ll fight!”