An hour or two afterwards M. Beaudin awoke, and, looking from under his cloak, saw, to his utter astonishment, that his mare was gone. He sprang up, and accused the miller, who was still at work, of connivance in the theft. The poor man seemed as much astonished as M. Beaudin at the audacity of the thieves, and ran out immediately in pursuit of them; but they were already far away: and, although Beaudin strongly suspected the miller of being a party in the crime, it was afterwards proved that he was altogether innocent.
The night was dark and stormy: M. Beaudin resolved, nevertheless, to gain the town of Tyre, and hire a horse to pursue his journey. Accordingly, desiring the muleteer, as soon as it should be daylight, to go forward on the Acre road, he set off on foot by himself for Tyre, distant about three miles from Ras-el-ayn. He knew that the way by the sea-shore was the surest in the dark; but he had not proceeded far, when he found himself embarrassed among several rivulets; and, inclining inland to avoid walking through them, he lost his way. He had a brace of pistols at his girdle, heavy Turkish trousers, and an abah or cloak. The weight of his clothing was increased by the rain, which continued to fall, while its pattering drowned the roaring of the surf, and prevented him from regaining the sea-shore. He wandered about for some time, until at last he came to a sugar-loaf hill, well known to such persons as have passed near Tyre, which stands in the middle of the plain, and has on it a mosque crowned with a double dome, called, from the similarity of the two, El Ashûk w’el Mashûk (the lover and the beloved). This mound formerly was the site of some ancient edifice, as there are portions of an aqueduct still remaining which led from old Tyre to it, whilst vast stones which lie scattered about its foot bear evidence of masonry of no modern date.
From El Ashûk a road leads to Tyre. M. Beaudin followed it, and arrived at the gates of the town before they were opened. He seated himself on the outside, and waited patiently until daylight, when he obtained admittance. He then proceeded to the motsellem or governor, and informed him of what had happened. The motsellem despatched people in search of the horse and robbers, while M. Beaudin hired a mule and continued his journey to Acre. On arriving there, Mâlem Häym, the pasha’s minister, was informed of his loss. M. Beaudin (after he had executed his commission at Acre), was about to depart for Mar Elias when he was furnished with a buyurdy or government order to the motsellem of Tyre, enjoining that officer to give him his own horse until the stolen one should be found. The particular horse so assigned was twice as valuable as M. Beaudin’s, who, therefore, politely told the motsellem that he did not require the pasha’s order to be executed to the letter, and accordingly received a common horse for present use, until his own could be recovered. Whilst delayed at Tyre in these arrangements, he received a small scrap of paper from Lady Hester, whom he had informed by a letter from Acre of his loss. Upon this scrap of paper was written, “Si vous avez perdu votre jument trouvez-la.” The motsellem promised, and was bound, to make every exertion to bring the robbery to light. M. Beaudin then proceeded to Mar Elias, and had a severe reprimand from her ladyship for his negligence!
Some months elapsed, and M. Beaudin still rode the motsellem’s horse, when it happened that he was despatched by Lady Hester on business to Damascus; and, on his way back, was stopped by the snow, which had blocked up the roads. He formed part of a caravan; and, as he was sitting in the caravansery, during the evening, conversing with a horseman who was one of the number, to pass the time he related the story of the loss of his mare. A muleteer, who was listening, asked him to describe her, and then said he thought he knew where she was.
It appeared that the robbers had immediately taken her from Tyre to Damascus, where, in the public bazàr, they sold her to a Persian for 600 piasters (about £30). The laws of the bazàr are, that every horse sold there must be warranted as known not to have been stolen; and responsibility, to its full value, falls on the company of delàls. So the stealers, unable to produce a security, had her returned on their hands. In selecting a Persian, who might be setting off immediately for his own country, they thought to have evaded this requisition: but the dealers, who have their eyes on everybody and everything that passes, felt that they might be called upon for the money, and so prevented the sale. The stealers tried a second and a third time, but without success. At last an aga or gentleman, who had seen the mare more than once in the bazàr, and who suspected something wrong in the business, pretended to bid for her, and inquired where she was brought from. The stealers mentioned a village in the Metoualy country: but, as some persons were known to the aga in that very village, he put some questions respecting them; and, when he found that the stealers could not give correct answers, he seized the mare’s bridle, and said—“My friends, I take this mare home to my stable. When you can prove to me that you came by her fairly, I will then restore her.” Guilt, we may suppose, made the men fearful: for, after some words, the aga led the mare away without any resistance.
M. Beaudin was informed by the muleteer of the residence of the aga; but, on account of the inclemency of the weather, deferred going thither at that moment. He returned to Mar Elias; and, in a few days, went after the mare. The aga, on hearing his story, delivered her to him; and information was laid against the pretended owners. They were apprehended, convicted of being the stealers, and one of them was hanged, without any law expenses whatever. The peculiar variations, from beginning to end, in the suspicions, discovery, and punishment of the theft, compared with a similar event in England, are too obvious to make it necessary to point them out to the reader.
To return to my narrative, I was much surprised to find Mâlem Musa at Damascus; and, knowing that an express messenger had, as I have before mentioned, been sent off to him to Hamah, I told him of it, and repeated from memory the letter, the contents of which I knew, as having been privy to the writing of it. The conduct of Musa on this occasion will show how wary Levantines are in incurring the suspicion of being in secret correspondence with Europeans. Although the business concerned nobody but himself, and was known to nobody else, he immediately communicated it to the Jew seràfs, Mâlem Yusef and Rafáel, pretending that he was all astonishment at what Lady Hester could mean by wanting him. I, however, judged it proper to send off a letter to her ladyship, informing her that he was here, and begging a corroboration, under her hand, of the communication I had made him. The muleteer was, on the 10th of February, despatched with this letter, and with another from Mâlem Musa. During his absence, which was six or seven days, I completed the purchases I had to make. When Sulymán (that was the muleteer’s name) returned, Mâlem Musa received permission from the pasha to go to Acre, where he was to meet Lady Hester; and, having finished my business, I set off for Mar Elias.
Much snow had fallen in the interim. There were two mule loads of baggage, and I was mounted on my newly-purchased mare. The highest part of the Antilebanon is very elevated ground; and we suffered greatly from the wet and cold, when, on the first night, we arrived at Halwell, where I slept almost under my horse’s legs, in a place no better than a shed. The second night we reached Jûb Genýn, where we were informed that the pass of Mount Lebanon was impracticable, owing to the snow. However, as my return, I knew, was waited for impatiently by Lady Hester, I resolved to attempt it on the following day.
From Jûb Genýn we arrived at the foot of the mountain early in the day, when we began to ascend; and at noon we had reached the part where the snow lay. There was no fresh track, by which we plainly understood that none but ourselves had made the trial that day. We had nearly reached the summit, when, as we were advancing, a storm of snow, or what is called on the Alps a tourmente, came on, and in a moment the view around us was bounded to fifteen or twenty paces. Sulymán was a daring and resolute Drûze, and promised yet to carry me through it. We had advanced about a hundred yards, when one of the mules slipped into a hole, which the snow had covered, fell, and could not, from the weight of his load, rise again. We unloaded him; and, when extricated, replaced his burden on his back. We had not advanced much farther when my mare sunk in up to her belly; and, in plunging about, caught the end of my cloak in her fore-foot, and pulled me off. The mule, that had fallen before, at the same time swerved from the path, and rolled over. Being unable to rise, the girths were cut to relieve her.
It has been mentioned more than once, that stockings and gloves are not worn in Syria. Mbárak, from the exertion he had used in assisting the muleteer, became afterwards very cold, and now complained that his feet and hands felt almost frozen. We made many ineffectual attempts to reload the mule, but the snow and wind were so rigorously sharp, that we began to think, if we delayed any longer, we should be lost altogether. I therefore resolved on abandoning the luggage, which was accordingly put together in a heap on the snow; and on the heap was a species of otter, alive in a box, which I had brought from Damascus as a curiosity. As we had evidently lost the track, we took the direction which we thought would bring us to it; when, after wandering about for half an hour, every moment tumbling into holes and over stumps of trees, we found ourselves, to our dismay, close to the luggage again. Sulymán’s courage now became desperation, and, drawing his yatagán, he was going to stab his mules, saying it was better to kill them outright than leave them to be frozen to death. This design I prevented, insisting that we must now try to retrace our steps to the plain of the Bkâ as the only chance we had of saving our lives. Mbárak, by this time, had begun to complain most bitterly, and could scarcely be persuaded to advance. We were unable any longer to discern the footsteps we had ourselves made in coming; for the snow had already effaced them. Fortunately, the bend of the trees, caused by the prevalence of a constant wind, suggested to Sulymán the direction we ought to take, and, guided by this, we slowly returned. Providence assisted us. We had gone on for about half an hour, when the tourmente ceased, and a comparative serenity in the atmosphere enabled us to regain the path by which we had ascended: but Mbárak was now helpless, and we had much ado in keeping him from sitting down, for I opposed his riding, as the only chance of preventing the fatal effects of the cold on his extremities.