A Christian community which shows the strength and ability to organize and conduct such enterprises as these has certainly a degree of vitality which gives us every confidence in its growth and advance in the future.
One of the greatest misfortunes, as it appears to me, in the situation of the subject races in Turkey, is their inability to appreciate the value and meaning of the word "loyalty." I have failed to find an Arabic word in common use which conveys the fullness of what we mean by that word "loyalty," and it seems to be because the people have had no occasion to express the idea. It is an inestimable loss to a people to live in such conditions, for there is an inevitable reaction upon character and a blighting effect on all the relations of life. This condition of things has grown rapidly in recent years, and most evidently during the reverses of the Balkan war. It is an everyday experience, in passing along the street, to hear people exclaiming against the oppression and injustice of Turkish rule, with the expression, "Anything would be better than the present condition." Nor are such expressions any more frequent from Christians than from Moslems. A member of one of the leading Mohammedan families was recently quoted to me as saying: "We want an end of this business. We want the English to come and take charge of us." One day as a merchant was taking a bag of small coins from his safe to make a payment, he was warned not to accumulate any large amount of these small coins, as they would depreciate in value, if anything serious should happen to the Turkish Government. With a look of disgust, he said, "I would gladly lose them all and the silver coins, too, to be wholly rid of Turkey, once for all." On another occasion a simple carriage driver expressed his views in rough style, by saying, "Sir, the Devil himself would be an improvement on the present state of things." Then more seriously, he said, "We know we are not fitted for self-government, and what we want most of all is England, or if that is impossible, then France." On a railroad train there was one other passenger in the compartment with me. While stopping at a station, something occurred to excite my companion to violent abuse of the government. When he paused I said to him, "Sir, how is it that you speak so, although you wear the fez?" He turned to me and spoke most earnestly, but with no trace of excitement, saying, "Yes, I am a Turk, and I am a Mohammedan, and nevertheless, I have no words strong enough to express my contempt for the Turkish Government." All these things are exceedingly sad, for it is an immeasurable loss to a people if they cannot love and respect those whom they must obey.
Chapter XI INTERRUPTIONS
Our life in Syria has been, on the whole, quiet, but it has not been without its shadows. There is no life without its sorrows and unexpected experiences. The comparative isolation of missionary life brings into very close fellowship those who are cut off from the closer relationship to friends in the homeland. One Sunday afternoon in the fall of 1906, I was standing in the back of our chapel, awaiting the closing exercises of the Sunday school. The telegraph messenger appeared at the door and handed me a telegram, for which I signed without serious thought. When I opened the paper and read the wholly unexpected message, all strength seemed to leave me, and I hastened to a seat, lest I fall to the floor. The message told of the sudden death of my brother-in-law, Rev. W. K. Eddy of Sidon, while away from home on a tour. We had considered him one of the most vigorous men in the mission, for whom years of active service might be expected, and now in a moment he had been called away, leaving his family and his work to others. It took time to realize the situation but some things had to be done at once. I called my servant and sent him to secure an animal, as I had to start at once for Sidon. Arrangements had to be made for my absence, and the sad news had to be broken to the Tripoli circle of friends. By five o'clock I was ready to start, and I shall never forget that night's ride. The first twenty miles were covered in the early evening hours, on horseback over a rough, stony road, while the question kept ringing through my mind, "Why should this be?" About ten o'clock I reached the carriage road where I could take a more comfortable and speedy conveyance. All through the dark night, as I jolted over the road, trying to get a little rest in preparation for the hard day before me, I could not turn my mind from the many problems connected with this sad experience. Who would take up the work thus suddenly dropped? What plan would be made for the family of growing children? The night was dark, but the dawn was approaching. The way seemed dark, but the Father's love had brought us to this point and he would not leave us to walk alone. In the early dawn, I reached Beirut and found the missionary friends there ready to start for Sidon, and so we all went on together, reaching the darkened home about noon. The large assembly hall was filled in the afternoon for the funeral services, and a great crowd of all classes of people marched out to the cemetery, where the mortal remains of our loved brother and fellow worker were laid away. Those are precious spots where we do the last service on earth for those we have loved, but they are doubly precious on the mission field where the distance from the great body of family friends and relatives is so deeply felt. But these occasions strengthen the ties that bind us to the hearts and lives of those among whom we live and whom we serve.
We had scarcely adjusted ourselves to this sorrow when another of the hard experiences of life came upon us. The season had been one of exceptionally heavy work and continuous strain, which showed in a decided break in health. The doctors said work must be dropped at once and the winter be spent in Egypt, if a more serious break were to be avoided. It was not exactly a pleasure excursion on which we started during the Christmas holidays. There was no time to write ahead and make inquiries or arrangements, so we set out to a strange land among strangers, in search of health. Finding no place which seemed suitable in lower Egypt, we decided to go up the river to Assiyut, and wrote a letter to Dr. Alexander, president of the United Presbyterian College at that place. We had no personal acquaintance and no claim upon him, but he was a missionary, and that was enough.
It was a long ride and Egyptian railroads are nothing if not dusty. Our spirits had not begun to rise yet, and we felt rather tired and wholly disreputable in appearance, when we left the train at Assiyut, ready to ask our way to the Greek hotel. But before we had a chance to do anything, we saw a bright, cheery face, bearing an evident welcome, and a hearty voice assuring us that the owner was Dr. Alexander and that he had come to take us in charge. It was the first encouraging incident, and lifted a weight from us at once. As we walked along he told us they had held a conference over our case, and, having decided that we could not be comfortable in the hotel, had placed at our disposal a rest room provided in the hospital for members of their own mission or other foreigners who needed rest and medical attention. A more perfect provision for our need could not have been devised. We enjoyed the companionship of the corps of foreign nurses, sharing their table and home life. We had the constant companionship as well as the professional services of the four medical missionaries. Is it a wonder that I began to gain at once? After nine weeks we returned to our work, made over and with a new lease of life, a new sense of the solidarity of Christian fellowship, and a new realization of the heavenly Father's tender care.
Such experiences as that winter at Assiyut show how entirely denominational differences are forgotten on the mission field. In social intercourse, in the prayer circle, in discussion of mission problems, in the church service, in the pulpit, there was never anything to remind us that we were only Presbyterians while our kind hosts were United Presbyterians. It was a delightful opportunity for the cultivation of fellowship, and for the observation of other forms and methods of mission work, under conditions very different from ours in Syria. The work in Egypt is relieved from many of the problems so insistent in Turkey. There is no hostile government, always suspicious of every move made by a foreigner. There is no such inefficiency in the government as makes the lives of Turkish subjects always insecure and travel dangerous. But, on the other hand, the climatic conditions in Egypt are far more trying than in Syria, as the heat is extremely enervating for most of the year. These climatic conditions undoubtedly account to some extent for the less virile, independent character of the people. But whatever the differences in climate, whatever the differences in the character of the people, whatever the differences in governmental relations, we came back from Egypt more than ever impressed with the fact that the conflict is one, the object aimed at is one, and the body of workers is one, under the direction of our one Lord and Master.