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The Days of Mohammed.

By ANNA MAY WILSON.

David C. Cook Publishing Company, Elgin, Ill., and 36 Washington St., Chicago.

Copyright, 1897, by David C. Cook Publishing Company.

CONTENTS

PREFACE.

In "The Days of Mohammed," one aim of the author has been to bring out the fact that it is possible to begin the heaven-life on earth. It is hoped that a few helpful thoughts as to the means of attaining this life may be exemplified in the career of the various characters depicted.

An attempt has been made, by constant reference to the best works on Mohammed and Arabia, to render the historical basis strictly correct. Especial indebtedness is acknowledged to the writings of Irving, Burton, and the Rev. Geo. Bush; also to the travels of Burckhardt, Joseph Pitts, Ludovico Bartema and Giovanni Finati, each of whom undertook a pilgrimage to the cities of Medina and Mecca; also to the excellent synopsis of the life and times of Mohammed as given by Prof. Max Müller in the introduction to Palmer's translation of the Koran.

As the tiny pebble cast into the water sends its circling wavelets to the distant shore, so this little book is cast forth upon the world, in the hope that it may exert some influence in bringing hope and comfort to some weary heart, and that, in helping someone to attain a clearer conception of Divine love and companionship, it may, if in never so insignificant a degree, perhaps help on to that time when all shall

"Trust the Hand of Light will lead the people,
Till the thunders pass, the spectres vanish,
And the Light is Victor, and the darkness
Dawns into the Jubilee of the Ages."

PRECEDING EVENTS—SUMMARY.

Yusuf, a Guebre priest, a man of intensely religious temperament, and one of those whose duty it is to keep alive the sacred fire of the Persian temple, has long sought for a more heart-satisfying religion than that afforded to him by the doctrines of his country. Though a man of kindliest disposition, yet so benighted he is that, led on by a deep study of the mysteries of Magian and Sabæan rites, he has been induced to offer, in human sacrifice, Imri, the little granddaughter of Ama, an aged Persian woman, and daughter of an Arab, Uzza, who, though married to a Persian, lives at Oman with his wife, and knows nothing of the sacrifice until it is over.

The death of the child, though beneath his own hand, immediately strikes horror to the heart of the priest. His whole soul revolts against the inhumanity of the act, which has not brought to him or Ama the blessing he had hoped for, and he rebels against the religion which has, though ever so rarely, permitted the exercise of such an atrocious rite. He becomes more than ever dissatisfied with the vagueness of his belief. He cannot find the rest which he desires; the Zendavesta of Zoroaster can no longer satisfy his heart's longing; his country-people are sunk in idolatry, and, instead of worshiping the God of whom the priests have a vague conception, persist in bowing down before the symbols themselves, discerning naught but the objects—the sun, moon, stars, fire—light, all in all.

Yusuf, indeed, has a clearer idea of God; but he worships him from afar off, and looks upon him as a God of wrath and judgment rather than as the Father of love and mercy. In his new spiritual agitation he conceives the idea of a closer relation with the Lord of the universe; his whole soul calls out for a vivid realization of God, and he casts about for light in his trouble.

From a passing stranger, traveling in Persia—a descendant of those Sabæan Persians who at an early age obtained a footing in Arabia, and whose influence was, for a time, so strongly marked through the whole district known as the Nejd, and even down into Yemen, Arabia-Felix,—Yusuf has learned of a new and strange religion held by the people of the great peninsula. His whole being calls for relief from the doubts which harass him. He is rich and he decides to proceed at once towards the west and to search the world, if necessary,—not, as did Sir Galahad and the knights of King Arthur's Table, in quest of the Holy Grail, but in search of the scarcely less effulgent radiance of the beams of Truth and Love.

The Days of Mohammed.

CHAPTER I.

YUSUF BEGINS HIS SEARCH FOR TRUTH.

"O when shall all my wanderings end,
And all my steps to Thee-ward tend!"

"Peace, oh peace! that thy light wings might now rest upon me! Truth, that thou mightest shine in upon my soul, making all light where now is darkness! Ye spirits that dwell in yon bright orbs far above me, ye that alone are privileged to bow before the Great Creator of the universe, ye that alone may address yourselves to the Great Omnipotent Spirit with impunity, intercede for me, I beseech you! Bow before that Great Sovereign of all wisdom and light, whom we worship through these vague symbols of fire and brightness; plead with him before whom I dare not come, in my behalf. Beseech of him, if he will condescend to notice his most humble priest, that he may lead him into light effulgent, into all truth, and that he may clear from his soul these vapors of doubt which now press upon him in blackest gloom and rack his soul with torment. If I sin in doubting thus, beseech him to forgive me and to lead me to a conception of him as he is. Ye that are his ministers, from your starry spheres guide me! Whether through darkness, thorns, or stony ways, guide me; I shall not falter if I may see the light at last! Oh, grant me peace!"

Thus prayed Yusuf, the Magian priest. He paused. No sound passed from his lips, but he still stood with upraised arms, gazing into the intense depths of the Persian sky, purple, and flecked with golden stars, the "forget-me-nots of the angels."

His priestly vestments were dazzlingly white, and upon his shoulders were fixed two snowy wings that swept downward to the ground. His black beard descended far over his breast, and from the eyes above shone forth the glow of a soul yearning towards the infinite unknown, whose all is God.

Behind him, near the altar of the rounded tower,—round in the similitude of the orbs of light, the sun, moon, and stars,—danced the sacred fire, whose flames were said to have burned unceasingly for nearly one thousand years. The fiery wreaths leaped upwards toward the same purple sky, as if pointing with long, red fingers, in mockery of the priest's devotion; and the ruddy glare, falling upon him as he stood so still there, enveloped him with a halo of light. It gleamed upon his head, upon his uplifted hands, upon the curves of the wings on his shoulders, silhouetting him against the darkness, and lighting his white habiliments until, all motionless as he was, he seemed like a marble statue dazzlingly radiant in the light of one crimson gleam from a sinking sun.

And so he stood, heeding it not, till the moon rose, soft and full; the mountain-tops shone with a rim of silver, the valleys far below the temple looked deeper in the shade, and the fire burned low.

Rapt and more rapt grew the face of the priest. Surely the struggle of his soul was being answered, and in his nearness to Nature, he was getting a faint, far-off gleam of the true nature of Nature's God. His glance fell to the changing landscape below; his arms were extended as if in benediction; and his lips moved in a low and passionate farewell to his native land. Then he turned.

The fire burned low on the altar.

"Sacred symbol, whose beams have no power to warm my chilled heart, I bid you a long farewell! They will say that Yusuf is faithless, a false priest. They will mayhap follow him to slay him. And they will bow again to yon image, and defile thine altars again with infants' blood, not discerning the true God. Yet he must be approachable. I feel it! I know it! O Great Spirit, reveal Thyself unto Yusuf! Reveal Thyself unto Persia! Great Spirit, guide me!"

For the first time, Yusuf thus addressed a prayer direct to the Deity, and he did so in fear and trembling.

A faint gleam shone feebly amid the ashes of the now blackening altar. It flared up for an instant, then fell, and the sacred fire of the Guebre temple was dead.

"The embers die!" cried the priest. "Yea, mockery of the Divine, die in thine ashes!"

He waited no longer, but strode with swift step down the mountain, and into the shade of the valley. Reaching, at last, a cave in the side of a great rock, he entered, and stripped himself of his priestly garments. Then, drawing from a recess the garb of an ordinary traveler, he dressed himself quickly, rolled his white robes into a ball, and plunged farther into the cave. In the darkness the rush of falling water warned him that an abyss was near. Dropping on his knees, he crept carefully forward until his hand rested on the jagged edge of a ledge of rock. Beside him the water fell into a yawning gulf. Darkness darker than blackest night was about him, and, in its cover, he cast the robes into the abyss below, then retraced his way, and plunged once more into the moonlight, a Persian traveler wearing the customary loose trousers, a kufiyah on his head, and bearing a long staff in his hand.

CHAPTER II.

A BEDOUIN ENCAMPMENT.

"The cares that infest the day
Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,
And as silently steal away."

—Longfellow.

Many months after the departure of Yusuf from Persia a solitary rider on a swift dromedary reached the extreme northern boundary of El Hejaz, the province that stretches over a considerable portion of western Arabia. His face was brown like leather from exposure, and his clothes were worn and travel-stained, yet it scarcely required a second glance to recognize the glittering eyes of the Magian priest.

It seemed as if the excitement of danger and the long days of toil and privation had at last begun to tell upon his iron frame. His eye, accustomed by the fear of robbers to dart its dark glances restlessly, was less keen than usual; his head was drooped downward upon his breast, and his whole attitude betokened bodily fatigue. His camel, too, went less swiftly, and picked its way, with low, plaintive moans, over the rough and precipitous path which led into a wild and weird glen.

It was evening, and the shadows fell in fantastic streaks and blotches across the arid valley, through whose barren soil huge, detached rocks of various-colored sandstone rose in eerie, irregular masses, veritable castles of genii of the uncanny spot.

Yusuf looked uneasily around, but neither sight nor sound of life was near, and he again allowed his faithful beast to slacken its pace and crop a few leaves of the coarse camel-thorn, the only sign of vegetation in the deserted place.

A few trees, however, could be seen in the distance, and he urged his camel towards them in the hope of finding some water, and some dates for food. Reaching the spot, he found that a stagnant pool lay below, but there were no dates on the trees, and the water was brackish. A couple of red-legged partridges fluttered off, cackling loudly as they went. He would fain have had them for food, but their presence seemed like company to the poor wanderer, and he did not attempt to secure them; so, throwing himself at full length on the ground, he flung his arms across his eyes to shield them from the white glare of the sky.

Suddenly a step sounded near. Yusuf started to his feet and grasped his scimitar, but he was instantly beset by half a dozen wild Arabs, who dashed upon him, screaming their wild Arabian jargon, and waving their short swords over their heads.

Blows fell thick and fast. Yusuf had a dazed consciousness of seeing the swarthy, wrinkled visages and gleaming teeth of his opponents darting in confusion before him, of hacking desperately, and of receiving blows on the head; then a sudden gush of blood from a wound on his forehead blinded him, and he fell.

All seemed over. But a shout sounded close at hand. Several Arabs, splendidly mounted on nimble Arabian horses, and waving their long, tufted spears, appeared on the scene. The Bedouin robbers fled precipitately, and Yusuf's first sensation was that of being gently raised, and of feeling water from the pool dashed upon his face.

The priest had not been severely wounded, and soon recovered enough to proceed with the party which had rendered him such timely aid.

An hour's ride brought them to the head of another and more fertile glen or wady, through which a mountain stream wended its way between two bands of tolerably good pasturage. A full moon in all its brilliancy was just rising. Its cold, clear light flooded the wady, bringing out every feature of the landscape with remarkable distinctness. At some distance lay a group of tents, black, and pitched in a circle, as the tents of the Bedouins usually are. Camp-fires studded the valley with glints of red; and the barking of dogs and shouts of men arose on the night air above the hoarse moanings of the camels. Yusuf was indeed glad to see evidences of Arab civilization, and to look forward to the prospect of a good supper and a friendly bed.

The return of the party was now noticed by the men of the encampment. A group of horsemen, also armed with long spears tufted with ostrich feathers, left the tents and came riding swiftly and gracefully towards their returning companions.

An explanation of Yusuf's sorrowful plight was given, and he was conducted to the tent of the Sheikh, which was marked by being larger than the rest, and situated in the center of the circle, with a spear placed upright in the ground before the door.

The Sheikh himself received the stranger at the door of his tent. He was a middle-aged man, of tall and commanding appearance, though the scowl habitual to the Bedouins by reason of their constant exposure to the sun, rested upon his face. He wore a kufiyah, or kerchief, of red and yellow on his head, the ends falling on his shoulders behind in a crimson fringe. His hair was black and greased, and his eyes, though piercing, were not unkindly. His person was thin and muscular, but he wore gracefully the long abba or outer cloak, white and embroidered, which opened in front, disclosing an undergarment of figured muslin, bound by a crimson sash. And there was native grace in every movement when he came courteously forward and saluted Yusuf with the "Peace be with you" of the Arabs. He then extended his hand to help the traveler to dismount, and led him into the tent.

"Friend," he said, "a long journey and a close acquaintance with death are, methinks, a good preparation for the enjoyment of Bedouin hospitality, which, we sincerely hope, shall not be lacking in the tents of Musa. Yet, in truth, it seems to us that thou art a fool-hardy man to tempt the dangers of El Hejaz single-handed."

"So it has proved," returned the priest; "but a Persian, no more than an Arab, will draw back at the first scent of danger. Yet I deplore these delays, which but hinder me on my way. I had hoped long ere this to be at the end of my journey."

"We will hear all this later," returned the Bedouin with quiet dignity; "for the present, suffice it to keep quiet and let us wash this blood from your hair. Hither, Aswan! Bring warm water, knave, and let the traveler know that the Arab's heart is warm too. Now, friend-stranger, rest upon these cushions, and talk later, if it please you."

With little enough reluctance, Yusuf lay down upon the pile of rugs and cushions, and, while the attendants bathed his brow, looked somewhat curiously about him.

By the light of a dim lamp and a torch or two, he could see that the tent was divided into two parts, as are all Bedouin tents, by a central curtain. This curtain was occasionally twitched aside far enough to reveal a pair of black eyes, and, from the softness of the voices which sounded from time to time behind the folds, he surmised correctly that this apartment belonged to the chief's women.

Several men entered the tent, all swarthy, lithe and sinewy, with the scowling faces and even, white teeth characteristic of the typical Arab. They gesticulated constantly as they talked; but Yusuf, though thoroughly familiar with the Arabic language, paid little attention to the conversation, giving himself up to what seemed to him, after his adventures, perfect rest.

Presently the chief's wife entered. She was unveiled, and her features were distinctly Hebrew; for Lois, wife of the Bedouin Musa, had been born a Jewess. She was dressed in a flowing robe of black confined by a crimson girdle. Strings of coins and of blue opaque beads hung upon her breast and were wound about her ankles, and she wore a black head-dress also profusely decorated with beads and bangles of silver.

On a platter she carried some cakes, still smoking hot. These she placed on a low, circular table of copper. A wooden platter of boiled mutton was next added, along with a caldron filled with wheat boiled in camel's milk, and some cups of coffee.

Yusuf was placed at the table, and Musa, after sipping a little coffee, handed the cup to him; the chief then picked out the most savory bits of mutton, and, according to Arabian etiquette, handed them to his guest.

Several men gathered around to partake of the banquet. They crouched or reclined on the ground, about the low table; yet, savage-looking though they were, not one of the Bedouins ventured an inquisitive question or bestowed a curious glance on the Persian.

Among them, however, was a little, inquisitive-looking man, whose quick, bird-like movements attracted Yusuf's attention early in the evening. His round black eyes darted into every place and upon every one with an insatiable curiosity, and he talked almost incessantly. He was a Jewish peddler who traded small wares with the Arabs, and who was constantly somewhere on the road between Syria and Yemen, being liable to appear suddenly at the most mysterious times, and in the most unlikely places.

In his way, Abraham of Joppa was a character, and one may be pardoned for bestowing more than a passing glance upon him. Though permitted to eat at the table with the rest, it was evident that the Arabs looked upon him with some contempt. They enjoyed listening to his stories, and to his recital of the news which he picked up in his travels, but they despised his inquisitiveness, and resented the impertinence with which he coolly addressed himself even to the Sheikh, before whom all were more or less reserved.

The Persian was, for the present, the chief object of the little Jew's curiosity, and as soon as the meal was over he hastened to form his acquaintance.

Sitting down before the priest, and poising his head on one side, he observed:

"You are bound for the south, stranger?"

"Even so," said Yusuf, gravely.

"Whither?"

"I seek for the city of the great temple."

"Phut! The Caaba!" exclaimed the Jew, with contempt. "Right well I know it, and a fool's game they make of it, with their running, and bowing, and kissing a bit of stone in the wall as though 'twere the dearest friend on earth!"

"But they worship—"

"A statue of our father Abraham, and one of Ishmael, principally. A precious set of idolaters they all are, to be sure!"

Yusuf's heart sank. Was it only for this that he had come his long and weary way, had braved the heat of day and the untold dangers of night? In searching for that pure essence, the spiritual, that he craved, had he left the idolatrous leaven at home only to come to another form of it in Mecca?

"But then," he thought, "this foolish Jew knows not whereof he speaks: one with the empty brain and the loose tongue of this wanderer has not probed the depths of divine truth."

"You cannot be going to Mecca as a pilgrim?" hazarded the little man. "The Magians and the Sabæans worship the stars, do they not?"

"Alas, yes!" said the priest. "They have fallen away from the ancient belief. They worship even the stars themselves, and have set up images to them, no longer perceiving the Great Invisible, the Infinite, who can be approached only through the mediation of the spirits who inhabit the starry orbs."

"Methinks you will find little better in Mecca. What are you going there for?" asked the Jew abruptly.

"I seek Truth," replied the priest quietly.

"Truth!" repeated the Jew. "Aye, aye, the Persian traveler seeks truth; Abraham, the Jew, seeks myrrh, aloes, sweet perfumes of Yemen, silks of India, and purple of Tyre. Aye, so it is, and I think Abraham's commodity is the more obtainable and the more practical of the two. Yet they do say there are Jews who have sought for truth likewise; and they tell of apostles who gave up their trade and fisheries to go on a like quest after a leader whom many Jews will not accept."

"Who were the apostles?"

"Oh, Jews, of course."

"Where may I find them?"

"All dead, well-nigh six hundred years ago," returned the Jew, indifferently.

Yusuf's hopes sank again. He longed for even one kindred spirit to whom he could unfold the thoughts that harassed him.

"I do not know much about what they taught," continued the Jew. "Never read it; it does not help in my business. But I got a bit of manuscript the other day from Sergius, an old Nestorian monk away up in the Syrian hills. I am taking it down to Mecca. I just peeped into it, but did not read it; because it is the people who live now, who have gold and silver for Abraham, that interest him, not those who died centuries ago; and the bit of writing is about such. However, you seem to be interested that way, so I will give it to you to read."

So saying, the Jew unpacked a heavy bundle, and, after searching for some time, upsetting tawdry jewelry, kerchiefs, and boxes of perfume, he at last succeeded in finding the parchment.

He handed it to the Persian. "I hope it may be of use to you, stranger. Abraham the Jew knows little and cares less for religion, but he would be sorry to see you bowing with yon heathen Arab herd at Mecca."

"Dog! Son of a dog!"

It was Musa. Able to restrain his passion no longer, he had sprung to his feet and stood, with flashing eyes and drawn scimitar, in resentment of the slur on his countrymen.

With a howl of fear, the little Jew sprang through the door and disappeared in the darkness.

Musa laughed contemptuously.

"Ha, lack-brained cur!" he said, "I would not have hurt him, having broken bread with him in mine own tent! Yet, friend Persian, one cannot hear one's own people, and one's own temple, the temple of his fathers, desecrated by the tongue of a lack-brained Jew trinket-vender."

"You know, then, of this Caaba—of the God they worship there?" asked the priest.

Musa shook his head, and made a gesture of denial.

"Musa knows little of such things," he replied. "Yet the Caaba is a name sacred in Arabian tradition, and as such, it suits me ill to hear it on the tongue of a craven-hearted Jew. In sooth, the coward knave has left his trumpery bundle all open as it is. I warrant me he will come back for it in good time."

A dark-haired lad in a striped silk garment here passed through the tent.

"Hither, Kedar!" called the Sheikh. "Recite for our visitor the story of Moses."

The lad at once began the story, reciting it in a sort of chant, and accompanying his words with many a gesture. The company listened breathlessly, now giving vent to deep groans as the persecution of the children of Israel was described, now bowing their heads in reverence at the revelation of the burning bush, now waving their arms in excitement and starting forward with flashing eyes as the lad pictured the passage of the Red Sea.

Yusuf had heard some vague account of the story before, but, with the passionate nature of the Oriental, he was strangely moved as he listened to the recital of how that great God whom he longed to feel and know had led the children of Israel through all their wanderings and sufferings to the promised land. He felt that he too was indeed a wanderer, seeking the promised land. He was but an infant in the true things of the Spirit. Like many another who longs vainly for a revelation of the working of the Holy Spirit, his soul seemed to reach out hopelessly.

But who can tell how tenderly the same All-wise Creator treasures up every outreaching of the struggling soul! Not one throb of the loving and longing heart is lost;—and Yusuf was yet, after trial, to rejoice in the serene fullness of such light as may fall upon this terrestrial side of death's dividing line.

Poor Yusuf, with all his Persian learning and wisdom, had, through all his life, known only a religion tinctured with idolatry. Almost alone he had broken from that idolatry, and realized the unity of God and his separation from all connected with such worship; but he was yet to understand the connection of God with man, and to taste the fullness of God's love through Christ. He had not realized that the finger of God is upon the life of every man who is willing to yield himself to Divine direction, and that there is thus an inseparable link between the Creator and the creature. He was not able to say, as said Carlyle in these later days, "A divine decree or eternal regulation of the universe there verily is, in regard to every conceivable procedure and affair of man; faithfully following this, said procedure or affair will prosper.... Not following this,... destruction and wreck are certain for every affair." And what could be better? Divine love, not divine wrath, over all! Yusuf had an idea of divine wrath, but he failed to see—because the presentation of the never-failing Fatherhood of God had not yet come—the infinite love that makes Jesus all in all to us, heaven wherever he is, and hell wherever he is not.

Since leaving Persia, this was the first definite opportunity he had had of listening to Bible truth.

"Kedar knows more of this than his father," explained Musa. "'Tis his mother who teaches him. She was a Jewess, of the people of Jesus of Nazareth, but I fear this roving life has caused my poor Lois to forget much of the teaching of her people."

"You speak of Jesus of Nazareth. I have heard something of him. Tell me more."

Musa shook his head slowly. "I know nothing," he said. "But I shall call Lois. The men have all gone from the tent, and mayhap she can tell what you want."

So saying, he entered the women's apartment, and sent his wife to Yusuf.

"You wish to know of Jesus of Nazareth?" she said. "Alas, I am but a poor teacher. I am unworthy even to speak his name. I married when but a child, and since then I have wandered far from him, for there have been few to teach me. Yet I know that he was in very truth the Son of God. He was all-good. He healed the sick on this earth, and forgave sin. Then, woe, woe to me!—he was crucified,—crucified by my people! And he went up to heaven; his disciples saw him go up in the white clouds of a bright day."

"Where dwells he now? Is he one of the spirits of the stars?"

"I know not. He is in heaven."

"And does he stoop to take notice of us, the children of earth?"

"Alas, I know not! There was once a time when Jesus was more than a name to me. When I knelt, a child, beside my mother on the grassy hills of Hebron, it seemed that Jesus was, in some vague way, a reality to me; but long years of forgetfulness have passed since then. Stranger, I wish you well. Your words have brought back to me the desire to know more of him. If you learn aught of him, and it ever lies in your way to do so, come and tell us,—my Musa and me,—that we too may learn of him."

Rising to her feet, the woman saluted the Persian and left him. Musa entered to conduct him to the rugs set apart for his couch, and soon all was silent about the encampment.

But ere he fell asleep, Yusuf went out into the moonlight. The night was filled with the peculiar lightness of an Oriental night. The moon blazed down like a globe of molten silver, and a few large stars glowed with scarcely secondary brilliance. In the silvery brightness he could easily read the manuscript given him by the Jew. It was the story of the man with the withered hand, whose infirmity was healed by Jesus in the synagogue. And there, in the starlight, the priest bowed his head, and a throng of pent-up emotions throbbed in his breast.

"Spirits of the stars, show me God. If this Jesus be indeed the Son of God, show me him. Give me faith, such faith as had he of the withered hand, that I too may stretch forth my hand and be made whole; that I may look, and in looking, see."

This was his prayer. Ah, yet, the "spirits of the stars" were as a bridge to the gulf which, he fancied, lay between him and Infinite Mercy.

CHAPTER III.

YUSUF MEETS AMZI, THE MECCAN.

"Mecca's pilgrims, confident of Fate,
And resolute in heart."

—Longfellow.

The next morning, Yusuf, against the remonstrances of Musa and his wife, prepared to proceed on his way. Like the Ancient Mariner, he felt forced to go on, "to pass like night from land to land," until he obtained that which he sought.

When he was almost ready to depart, a horseman came galloping down the valley, with the news that a caravan, en route for Mecca, was almost in sight, and would make a brief halt near the stream by which Musa's tents were pitched. Yusuf at once determined to avail himself of the timely protection on his journey.

Presently the caravan appeared, a long, irregular line—camels bearing "shugdufs," or covered litters; swift dromedaries, mounted by tawny Arabs whose long Indian shawls were twisted about their heads and fell in fringed ends upon their backs; fiery Arabian horses, ridden by Arabs swaying long spears or lances in their hands; heavily-laden pack-mules, whose leaders walked beside them, urging them on with sticks, and giving vent to shrill cries as they went; and lastly a line of pilgrims, some trudging along wearily, some riding miserable beasts, whose ribs shone through their roughened hides, while others rode, in the proud security of ease and affluence, in comfortable litters, or upon animals whose sleek and well-fed appearance comported with the self-satisfied air of their riders.

A halt was called, and immediately all was confusion. Tents were hurriedly thrown up; the pack-mules were unburdened for a moment; the horses, scenting the water, began to neigh and sniff the air; infants, who had been crammed into saddle-bags with their heads out, were hauled from their close quarters; the horsemen of Musa, still balancing their tufted spears, dashed in and out; while his herdsmen, anxious to keep the flocks from mixing with the caravan, shrieked and gesticulated, hurrying the flocks of sheep off in noisy confusion, and urging the herds of dromedaries on with their short, hooked sticks. It was indeed a babel, in which Yusuf had no part; and he once more seized the opportunity of looking at the precious parchment To his astonishment, he perceived that it was addressed to "Mohammed, son of Abdallah, son of Abdal Motalleb, Mecca," with the subscription, "From Sergius the Monk, Bosra."

Here then, Yusuf had, in perfect innocence, been entrapped into reading a communication addressed to some one else, and he smiled sarcastically as he thought of the inquisitiveness of the little Jew who had taken the liberty of "just peeping in."

It remained, now, for Yusuf to find the Jew and to put him again in possession of his charge. He searched for him through the motley crowd, but in vain; then, recollecting that the peddler's bundle had been left behind, he sought Musa, to see if he had heard anything of the little busybody.

Musa laughed heartily. "Remember you not that I said his trumpery would be gone in the morning? I was no false prophet. The man is like a weasel. When all sleep he finds his way in and helps himself to what he will: when all wake, no Jew is to be seen; trumpery and all have gone, no one knows whither."

So the priest found himself responsible for the delivery of the manuscript to this Mohammed, of whom he had never hitherto heard; and, knowing the contents, he was none the less ready to carry out the trust, hoping to find in Mohammed some one who could tell him more of the same wondrous story. He therefore placed the parchment very carefully within the folds of his garment, bade farewell to Musa and his household, and prepared to leave with the caravan, which had halted but a short time on account of the remarkable coolness of the day.

"Peace be with you!" said the Sheikh; "and if you ever need a friend, may it be Musa's lot to stand in good stead to you. I bid you good speed on your journey. We have no fears for your safety now, besides the safety of numbers, the holy month of Ramadhan[1] begins to-day, and even the wildest of the Bedouin robbers usually refrain from taking life in the holy months. Again, Peace be with you! And remember that the Bedouin can be a friend."

Yusuf embraced the chieftain with gratitude, and took his place in the train, which was already moving slowly down the wady.

As it often happens that in the most numerous concourse of people one feels most lonely, so it was now with Yusuf. There seemed none with whom he cared to speak. Most of the people were self-satisfied traders busied with the care of the merchandise which they were taking down to dispose of at the great fair carried on during the Ramadhan. A few were Arabs of the Hejaz, short and well-knit, wearing loose garments of blue, drawn back at the arms enough to show the muscles standing out like whip-cords. Some were smoking short chibouques, with stems of wood and bowls of soft steatite colored a yellowish red. As they rode they used no stirrups, but crossed their legs before and beneath the pommel of the saddle; while, as the sun shone more hotly, they bent their heads and drew their kufiyahs far over their brows. Many poor and somewhat fanatical pilgrims were interspersed among the crowd, and here and there a dervish, with his large, bag-sleeved robe of brown wool—the Zaabut, worn alike by dervish and peasant—held his way undisturbed.

Yusuf soon ceased to pay any attention to his surroundings, and sat, buried in his own thoughts, until a voice, pleasant and like the ripple of a brook, aroused him.

"What thoughts better than the thoughts of a Persian? None. Friend, think you not so?"

The words were spoken in the Persian dialect, and the priest looked up in surprise, to see a ruddy-faced man smiling down upon him from the back of a tall, white Syrian camel. He wore the jubbeh, or cloak, the badge of the learned in the Orient; his beard was turning slightly gray, and his eyes were keen and twinkling.

"One question mayhap demands another," returned Yusuf. "How knew you that I am a Persian? I no longer wear Persian garb."

"What! Ask an Arab such a question as that!" said the other, smiling. "Know you not, Persian, that we of the desert lands are accustomed to trace by a mark in the sand, the breaking of a camel-thorn, things as difficult? The stamp of one's country cannot be thrown off with one's clothes. Nay, more; you have been noted as one learned among the Persians."

Yusuf bent his head in assent. "Truly, stranger, your penetration is incomprehensible," he said, with a touch of sarcasm.

"No, no!" returned the other, good-humoredly; "but, marking you out for what you are, I thought your company might, perchance, lessen the dreariness of the way. I am Amzi, the Meccan. Some call me Amzi the rich Meccan; others, Amzi the learned; others, Amzi the benevolent. For myself, I pretend nothing, aspire to nothing but to know all that may be known, to live a life of ease, at peace with all men, and to help the needy or unfortunate where I may. More than one stranger has not been sorry for meeting Amzi the benevolent, in Mecca. Have you friends there?"

"None," said Yusuf. "Yet there is a tradition among our people that the Guebres at one time had temples even in the land of Arabia. Have you heard aught of it?"

"It is said that at one time fire-temples were scattered throughout this land, each being dedicated to the worship of a planet; that at Medina[2] itself was one dedicated to the worship of the moon and containing an image of it. It is also claimed that the fire-worshipers held Mecca, and there worshiped Saturn and the moon, from whence comes their name of the place—Mahgah, or moon's place. The Guebres also hold here that the Black Stone is an emblem of Saturn, left in the Caaba by the Persian Mahabad and his successors long ago. But, friend, Persian influence has long since ceased in El Hejaz. Methinks you will find but few traces of your country-people's glory there."

"It matters not," returned the priest. "The glory of the fire-worshipers has, so far as Yusuf is concerned, passed away. Know you not that before his eyes the sacred fire,[3] kept alive for well-nigh one thousand years, went out in the supreme temple ere he left it? May the great Omniscient Spirit grant that Persia's idolatries will die out in its ashes!"

"And think you that there is no idolatry in Mecca? Friend, believe me, not a house in Arabian Mecca which does not contain its idol! Not a man of influence who will start on an expedition without beseeching his family gods for blessing!"

"And do they not recognize a God over all?"

"They acknowledge Allah as the highest, the universal power,—yet he is virtually but a nominal deity, for they deem that none can enter into special relationship with him save through the mediation of the household gods. In his name the holiest oaths are sworn, nevertheless in true worship he has the last place. Indeed, it must be confessed that neither fear of Allah nor reverence of the gods has much influence over the mass of our people."

"What, then, is the meaning of this great pilgrimage, whose fame reached me even in Persia? Does not religious enthusiasm lead those poor wretches, hobbling along behind, to take such a journey?"

Amzi nodded his head slowly. "Religious incentives may move the few," he said. "But, friend, can you not see that barter is the leading object of the greater number—of those well-to-do pilgrims who are superintending the carriage of their baggage so complacently there? The holy months, particularly the Ramadhan, afford a period of comparative safety, a long truce that affords a convenient season for traffic. Alas, poor stranger! you will be sad to find that our city, in the time of the holy fast, becomes a place of buying and selling, of vice and robbery—a place where gain is all and God is almost unknown."

"But you, Amzi; what do you believe of such things?"

"In truth, I know not what to think. Believe in idols I cannot; worship in the Caaba I will not; so that my religion is but a belief in Allah, whom I fear to approach, and whose help and influence I know not how to obtain, a confidence in my own morality, and a consciousness of doing good works."

"Strange, strange!" said the priest, "that we have arrived at somewhat the same place by different ways! Amzi, let us be brothers in the quest! Let us rest neither night nor day until we have found the way to the Supreme God! Amzi, I want to feel him, to know him, as I am persuaded he may be known; yet, like you, I fear to approach him. Have you heard of Jesus?"

"A few among a band of coward Jews who live in the Jewish quarter of Mecca, believe in One whom they call Jesus. The majority of them do not accept him as divine; and among those who do, he seems to be little more than a name of some one who lived and died as did Abraham and Ishmael. His teaching, if, indeed, he taught aught, seems to have little effect upon their lives. They live no better than others, and, indeed, they are slurred upon by all true Meccans as cowardly dogs, perjurers and usurers."

Yusuf sighed deeply. It seemed as though he were following a flitting ignis-fatuus, that eluded him just as he came in sight of it.

The rest of the day was passed in comparative silence. The evening halt was called, and it was decided to spend the night in a grassy basin, traversed by the rocky bed of a mountain stream, a "fiumara," down which a feeble brooklet from recent mountain rains trickled. Owing to the security of the month Ramadhan, it was deemed that a night halt would be safe, and the whole caravan encamped on the spot.

As the shades of the rapidly-falling Eastern twilight drew on, Yusuf sat idly near the door of a tent, looking out listlessly, and listening to the chatter of the people about him.

Not far off a Jewish boy, a mere child, of one of the northern tribes, as shown by his fair hair and blue eyes, sang plaintively a song of the singing of birds and the humming of bees, of the flowers of the North, of rippling streams, of the miraged desert, of the waving of the tamarisk and the scent of roses.

Yusuf observed the child-like form and the effeminate paleness of the cherub face, and a feeling of protective pity throbbed in his bosom as he noted the slender smallness of the hand that glided over the one-stringed guitar, showing by its movements, even in the fading evening light, the blue veins that coursed beneath the transparent skin. He called the lad to his side, and bade him sing to him. Not till then did he notice the vacancy of the look which bespoke a slightly wandering mind. Yusuf's great heart filled with sympathy.

"Poor lad!" he said, "singing all alone! Where are your friends?"

"Dumah's friends?" said the child, wonderingly. "Poor Dumah has no friends now! He goes here and there, and people are kind to him—because Dumah sings, you know, and only angels sing. He tells them of flocks beside the pool, of lilies of Siloam, of birds in the air and angels in the heavens—then everyone is kind. Ah! the world is fair!" he continued, with a happy smile. "The breeze blows hot here, sometimes, but so cool over the sea; and the lilies blow in the vales of Galilee, and the waves ripple bright over the sea where he once walked."

"Who, child?"

"Jesus—don't you know?" with a wondering look. "He sat often by the Lake of Galilee where I have sat, and the night winds lifted his hair as they do mine, and he smiled and healed poor suffering and sinful people. Ah, he did indeed! Poor Dumah is talking sense now, good stranger; sometimes he does not—the thoughts come and go before he can catch them, and then people say, 'Poor little Dumah is demented.' But if Jesus were here now, Dumah would be healed. I dreamed one night I saw him, and he smiled, and looked upon me so sweetly and said, 'Dumah loves me! Dumah loves me!' and then I saw him no more. Friend, I know you love him, too. What is your name?"

"Yusuf."

"Then, Yusuf, you will be my friend?"

"I will be your friend, poor Dumah!"

"Oh, no, Dumah is not poor! He is happy. But his thoughts are going now. Ah, they throng! The visions come! The birds and the mists and the flowers are twining in a wreath, a wreath that stretches up to the clouds! Do you not see it?" and he started off again on his wild, plaintive song.

Yusuf's eyes filled with tears, and he drew the lad to his bosom, and looked out upon the grassy plot before the door, where a huge fire was now shedding a flickering and fantastic glare upon the wrinkled visages of the Arabs, and lighting up the scene with a weird effect only to be seen in the Orient.

Caldrons were boiling, and a savory odor penetrated the air. Men were talking in groups, and a little dervish was spinning around nimbly in a sort of dance. Yusuf looked at him for a moment. There seemed to be something familiar about his figure and movements, but in the darkness he could not be distinctly seen, and Yusuf soon forgot to pay any attention to him.

He drew the boy, who had now fallen asleep, close to him. What would he, Yusuf, not give to learn fully of that source from whence the few meagre crumbs picked up by this poor child were yet precious enough to give him, all wandering as he was at times, the assurance of a sympathetic God, and render him happy in the realization of his presence! What must be the joy of a full revelation of these blessed truths, if, indeed, truths they were!

The longing for such companionship filled Yusuf, as he lay there, with an intense desire. He could scarcely define, in truth he scarcely understood, exactly what he wanted. There was a lack in his life which no human agency had, as yet, been able to satisfy. His heart was "reaching out its arms" to know God—that was all; and he called it searching for Truth.

Far into the night the Persian pondered, his mind beating against the darkness of what was to him the great mystery; and he prayed for light. He thought of the Father, yet again he prayed to the spirits of the planets which were shining so brightly above him. But did not an echo of that prayer ascend to the throne of grace? Was not the eye of Him who notes even the sparrows when they fall, upon his poor, struggling child?

And the end was not yet.

CHAPTER IV.

WHEREIN YUSUF ENCOUNTERS A SAND-STORM IN THE DESERT, AND HAS SOMEWHAT OF AN EXPERIENCE WITH THE LITTLE DERVISH.

"A column high and vast,
A form of fear and dread."

—Longfellow.

With but few events worthy of notice the journey to Mecca was concluded. After a short halt at Medina, the caravan set out by one of the three roads which then led from Medina to Mecca.[4]

The way led through a country whose aspect had every indication of volcanic agency in the remote ages of the earth's history. Bleak plains—through whose barren soil outcrops of blackened scoriæ, or sharp edges of black and brittle hornblende, appeared at every turn—were interspersed with wadies, bounded by ridges of basalt and green-stone, rising from one hundred to two hundred feet high, and covered with a scanty vegetation of thorny acacias and clumps of camel-grass. Here and there a rolling hill was cut by a deep gorge, showing where, after rain, a mighty torrent must foam its way; and, more rarely still, a stagnant pool of saltish or brackish water was marked out by a cluster of daum palms.

On all sides jackals howled dismally during the night; and above, during the day, an occasional vulture wheeled, fresh from the carcass of some poor mule dead by the wayside.

Such was the appearance of the land through which the caravan wound its way, beneath a sky peculiar to Arabia—purple at night, white and terrible in its heat at noon, yet ever strange, weird and impressive.

But one incident worth recounting occurred on the way. Yusuf, Amzi, and the boy Dumah had been traveling side by side for some time. The way, at that particular spot, led over a plain which afforded comparatively easy traveling, and thus gave a better opportunity for conversation. The talk had turned upon the Guebre worship, and the priest was amazed at the knowledge shown by Amzi of a religion so little known in Arabia.

"I can tell you more than that," said Amzi in a low tone. "I can tell you that you are not only Yusuf the Persian gentleman of leisure, but Yusuf the Magian priest, accustomed to feed the sacred fire in the Temple of Jupiter. Is it not so? Did not Yusuf's hand even take the blood of Imri the infant daughter of Uzza in sacrifice? Can Yusuf the Persian traveler deny that?"

Yusuf's head sank; his face crimsoned with pain, and the veins swelled like cords on his brow.

"Alas, Amzi, it is but too true!" he said. "Yet, upon the most sacred oath that a Persian can swear, I did it thinking that the blessing of the gods would thus be invoked. The rite is one not unknown among the Sabæans of to-day, and common even among the Magians of the past. Amzi, it was in my days of heathendom that I did it, thinking it a duty to Heaven. It was Yusuf the priest who did it, not Yusuf the man; yet Yusuf the man bears the torture of it in his bosom, and seeks forgiveness for the blackest spot in his life! How knew you this, Amzi?—if the question be an honorable one."

"Amzi knows much," returned the Meccan. "He knows, too, that Yusuf can never escape the brand of the priesthood. See!"

He leaned forward, and drew back the loose garment from the Persian's breast. A red burn, or scar, in the form of a torch, appeared in the flesh. As Yusuf hastened to cover it, a head was thrust forward, and two bead-like eyes peered from a shrouded face. It was the little dervish.

The priest was annoyed at the intrusion. He determined to take note of the meddler, but the occurrence of an event common in the desert drove all thought of the dervish from his mind.

The cry "A simoom! A simoom!" arose throughout the caravan.

There, far towards the horizon, was a dense mass of dull, copper-colored cloud, rising and surging like the waves of a mad ocean. It spread rapidly upwards toward the zenith, and a dull roar sounded from afar off, broken by a peculiar shrieking whistle. And now dense columns could be seen, bent backward in trailing wreaths of copper at the top, changing and swaying before the hurricane, yet ever holding the form of vapory, yellow pillars,—huge shafts extending from earth to heaven, and rapidly advancing with awful menace upon the terrified multitude.

The Arabs screamed, helpless before the manifestation of what they believed was a supernatural force, for they look upon these columns as the evil genii of the plains. Men and camels fell to the ground. Horses neighed in fear, and galloped madly to and fro. But the hot breath of the "poison-wind" was upon them in a moment, shrieking like a fiend among the crisping acacias. The sand-storm then fell in all its fury, half smothering the poor wretches, who strove to cover their heads with their garments to keep out the burning, blistering, pitiless dust.

Fortunately all was over in a moment, and the tempest went swirling on its way northward, leaving a clear sky and a dust-buried country in its wake.

In the confusion the dervish had escaped to the other end of the caravan, and was forgotten.

At the end of the tenth day after leaving Medina the caravan reached the head of the long, narrow defile in which lies the city of Mecca, the chief town of El Hejaz. It was early morning when the procession passed through the cleft at the western end; and the sun was just rising, a globe of red, above the blue mountains towards Tayf, when Yusuf stopped his camel on an eminence in full view of the city. There it lay in the heart of the rough blackish hills, whose long shadows still fell upon the low stone houses and crooked streets beneath.[5]

The priest's eager glance sought for the Caaba. There it was, a huge, stone cube, standing in the midst of a courtyard two hundred and fifty paces long by two hundred paces wide, and shrouded from top to bottom by a heavy curtain of dark, striped cloth of Yemen.

There was something awe-inspiring in the scene, and the priest felt a thrill of apprehensive emotion as he gazed upon what he had fondly hoped would prove the end of his long journey. Yet his eye clouded; he covered his face with his mantle and wept, saying to his soul, "Here, too, have they turned aside to worship the false, and have bowed down to idols! My soul! My soul! Where shalt thou find truth and rest?"

Amzi touched him on the arm. "Why do you weep, friend? Thou art a false Guebre, truly! Know you not that even they hold the Caaba in high reverence?"

There was a tone of good-natured raillery in the voice, and the speaker continued: "Arouse yourself, my friend. See how they worship in Mecca. They are at it already! See them run! By my faith 'tis a lusty morning exercise!"

Yusuf looked up to see a great concourse of people gathering in the court-yard. Many were rushing about the Caaba, and pausing frequently at one corner of the huge structure.

"Each pilgrim," explained Amzi, "holds himself bound to go seven times about the temple, and the harder he runs the more virtue there is in it—performing the Tawaf, they call it. Those who seem to pause are kissing the Hajar Aswad—the Black Stone, which, the Arabs say, was once an angel cast from heaven in the form of a pure white jacinth. It is now blackened by the kisses of sinners, but will, at the last day, arise in its angel form, to bear testimony of the faithful who have kissed it, and have done the Tawaf faithfully. And now, friend, come to the house of Amzi, and see if he can be as hospitable as Musa the Bedouin."

Yusuf gratefully accepted the invitation, and the camels were urged on again down the narrow, crooked street.

"Know you aught of one Mohammed?" asked the priest. "A roguish Hebrew left me, with scant ceremony, in possession of a manuscript which must be given to him."

"Aye, well do I know him," said Amzi. "Mohammed, the son of Abdallah the handsome, and grandson of Abdal Motalleb, who was the son of Haschem of the tribe of the Koreish—a tribe which has long held a position among the highest of Mecca, and has, for ages past, had the guardianship of the Caaba itself. Mohammed himself is a man of sagacity and honor in all his dealings. He is married to Cadijah, a wealthy widow, whose business he has long carried on with scrupulous fairness. He, too, is one of the few who, in Mecca, have ceased to believe in idols, and would fain see the Caaba purged of its images."

"There are some, then, who cast aside such beliefs?"

"Yes, the Hanifs (ascetics), who utterly reject polytheism. Waraka, a cousin of the wife of Mohammed, is one of the chief of these; and Mohammed himself has, for several years, been accustomed to retire to the cave of Hira for meditation and prayer. It is said that he has preached and taught for some time in the city, but only to his immediate friends and relatives. Well, here we are at last,"—as a pretentious stone building was reached. "Amzi the benevolent bids Yusuf the Persian priest welcome."

Amzi led the priest into a house furnished with no small degree of Oriental splendor.

"Right to the carven cedarn doors,
Flung inward over spangled floors,
Broad-based flights of marble stairs
Ran up with golden balustrade,
After the fashion of the time."

A meal of Oriental dishes, dried fruit and sweetmeats was prepared; and, when the coolness of evening had come, the two friends proceeded to the temple.

Entering by a western gate, they found the great quadrangle crowded with men, women and children, some standing in groups, with sanctimonious air, at prayers, while others walked or ran about the Caaba, which loomed huge and somber beneath the solemn light of the stars. A few solitary torches—for at that time the slender pillars with their myriads of lamps had not been erected—lit up the scene with a weird, wavering glare, and threw deep shadows across the white, sanded ground.

A curious crowd it seemed. The wild enthusiasm that marked the conduct of the followers of Mohammed at a later day was absent, yet every motion of the motley crowd proclaimed the veneration with which the place inspired the impressionable and excitable Arabs.

Here stood a wealthy Meccan, with flowing robes, arms crossed and eyes turned upward; there stalked a tall and gaunt figure whose black robes and heavy black head-dress proclaimed the wearer a Bedouin woman. Here ran a group of beggars; and there a number of half-naked pilgrims clung to the curtained walls. Once a corpse was carried into the enclosure and borne in solemn Tawaf round the edifice.

"Look!" cried poor Dumah. "The son of the widow of Nain! The son of the widow of Nain! Oh, why does not he whom Dumah sees in his dreams come to raise him! But then, there are idols here, and he cannot come where there are other gods before him."

On surveying the temple, Yusuf discovered that the door of the edifice was placed seven feet above the ground. Amzi informed him that the temple might be entered only at certain times, but that it contained an image of Abraham holding in its hand some arrows without heads; also a similar statue of Ishmael likewise with divining arrows, and lesser images of prophets and angels amounting almost to the number of three hundred.

Passing round the temple to the north-eastern corner, Yusuf looked curiously at the Black Stone, which was set in the wall at a few spans from the ground, and which seemed to be black with yellowish specks in it.[6] Many people were pressing forward to kiss it, while many more were drinking and laving themselves with water from a well a few paces distant,—the well Zem-Zem,—believing that in so doing their sins were washed off in the water.

"This," said Amzi, pointing to the spring, "is said to be the well which gushed up to give drink to our forefather Ishmael and Hagar his mother, when they had gone into the wilderness to die."

Yusuf sighed heavily. Such empty ceremony had no longer any attraction for him, and he turned his eyes towards the mountain Abu Kubays, towering dark and gloomy above the town, its black crest touched with a silvery radiance by the light of the stars shining brilliantly above.

Was this, then, the Caaba? Was this what he had fondly hoped would fill his heart's longing? Was there any food in this empty ceremonial for a hungering soul? Why, oh why did the truth ever elude him, flitting like an ignis-fatuus with phantom light through a dark and blackened wilderness!

Amzi was talking to someone in the crowd, and Yusuf passed slowly out and11 bent his way down a silent and deserted street. No one was in sight except a very young girl, almost a child, who was gliding quickly on in the shadows. Once or twice she seemed to stagger, then she fell. Yusuf hurried to her, and turned her face to the starlight. Even in that dim light he could see that it was contorted with pain. Yusuf heard the murmur of voices in a low building close at hand, and, without waiting to knock, he lifted the girl in his arms, opened the door, and passed in.

CHAPTER V.

NATHAN THE JEW.

"I shall be content, whatever happens, for what God chooses must be better than what I can choose."—Epictetus.

The same evening on which Yusuf visited the temple, a woman and her two children sat in a dingy little room with an earthen floor, in one of the most dilapidated streets of Mecca. The woman's face bore traces of want and suffering, yet there was a calm dignity and hopefulness in her countenance, and her voice was not despairing. She sat upon a bundle of rushes placed on the floor. No lamp lighted the apartment, but through an opening in the wall the soft starlight shone upon the bands of hair that fell in little braids over her forehead. Her two beautiful children were beside her, the girl with her arm about her mother, and the boy's head on her lap.

"Will we have only hard cake for breakfast, mother, and to-morrow my birthday, too?" he was saying.

"That is all, my little Manasseh, unless the good Father sees fit to send us some way of earning more. You know even the hairs of our heads are numbered, so he takes notice of the poorest and weakest of his children, and has promised us that there will be no lack to them that fear him."

"But, mother, we have had lack many, many times," said the boy thoughtfully.

The mother smiled. "But things have usually come right in the end," she said, "and you know 'Our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory.' We cannot understand all these things now, but it will be plain some day. 'We will trust, and not be afraid,' because our trust is in the Lord; and we know that 'he will perfect that which concerneth us,' if we trust him."

"And will he send father home soon?" asked the boy. "We have been praying for him to come, so, so long! Do you think God hears us, mother? Why doesn't he send father home?"

The woman's head drooped, and a tear rolled down her cheek, but her voice was calm and firm.

"Manasseh, child," she said, "your father may never return; but, though a Jew, he was a Christian; and, living or dead, I know he is safe in the keeping of our blessed Lord. Yes, Manasseh, God hears the slightest whisper breathed from the heart of those who call upon him in truth. He says, Jesus says, 'I know my sheep, and am known of mine.' Little son, I like to think that our blessed Savior, who 'laid down his life for the sheep,' is here—in this very room, close to us. Sometimes I close my eyes and think I see him, looking upon us in mercy and love from his tender eyes, and he almost seems so near that I may touch him. No, he will never forsake us. Little ones, my constant prayer for you is that you may learn to realize the depths of his love, and to render him your hearts in return; that you may feel ever closer to him than to any earthly parent, and prove yourselves loving, faithful children of whom he may not be ashamed."

The woman's voice trembled with emotion as she concluded, and a glow of happiness illuminated her thin features.

"Well, mother, I was ashamed to-day," said little Manasseh. "I got angry and struck a boy."

"Manasseh! My child!"

"You cannot understand, mother; you are so good that you never get angry or wicked. But the anger keeps rising up in me till it seems as if my heart would burst; the blood rushes to my face, my eyes flash—then—I strike, and think of nothing."

She stroked his hair gently. "Manasseh, my boy's temper is one enemy which he has to conquer. But he must not try to conquer it in his own strength. We have an Almighty Helper who has given us to know that he will not suffer us to be tempted beyond that we are able, and has bidden us cast all our care upon him. He will be only too willing to guide us and uphold us by his power, if we will but let him keep us and lead us far from all temptation."

"Then what would you do, mother, if you were in my place when the anger comes up?"

She stooped and kissed him. "I would say, 'Jesus, help me,' and leave it all to him."

Just then a step sounded at the door. Some one entered, and a cry of "Father! Oh, father!" burst from the children. The mother sprang, trembling, to her feet. It was the long-lost husband and father!

Then the lamp was lighted, and the traveler told his loved ones the story of his long absence; how he had embarked at Jeddah on a foist bound for the head of the Red Sea; how he had been shipwrecked; had become ill of a fever as the result of exposure; and how he had at last made his painful way home by traveling overland.

As they thus sat, talking in ecstasy of joy at their reunion, the door opened and Yusuf entered with the girl in his arms.

Water was sprinkled upon her face and she soon recovered. She placed her hand on her brow in a dazed way, then sprang up, and, just pausing for an instant in which her wondrous beauty might be noted, dashed off into the night.

"It is Zeinab, the beautiful child of Hassan," said the Jewess. "She will be well again now. The paroxysms have come before."

"Sit you down, friend," said her husband to Yusuf. "We were just about to break bread. 'Tis a scanty meal," he added, with a smile. "But we have been enjoined to 'be not forgetful to entertain strangers,' because many have thus entertained angels unawares. We shall be glad of the company."

There was a manly uprightness in the look and tone of Nathan the Jew which caught Yusuf's fancy at once, and he sat down without hesitation at the humble board.

And there, in that little, dingy room, he saw the first gleam of that radiant light which was to transform the whole of his after life. He heard of the trials and disappointments, of the heroic fortitude born of that trust in and union with God which he had so craved. He received his first glimpse of a God, human as we are human, who understands every longing, every doubt, every agony that can bleed the heart of a poor child of earth.

He scarcely dared yet to believe that this God was one really with him at all times and in all places, seeing, hearing, knowing, sympathizing. He scarcely dared to realize the possibility of a companionship with him, or the fact that the mediation of the planet-spirits was but a myth. Yet he did feel, in a vague way, that the light was breaking, and a tumultuous, undefined, hopeful ecstasy took possession of his being. Yusuf's heart was ready for the reception of the truth. He was unprejudiced. He had cast aside all dependence upon the tenets of his former belief. He had become as a little child anxious for rest upon its father's bosom. He sought only God, and to him the light came quickly.

There was an infinity of blessed truth to learn yet, but, as he went out into the night, he knew that a something had come into his life, transforming and ennobling it. The divinity within him throbbed heart to heart with the Divinity that is above all, in all, throughout all good. Though vaguely, he felt God; he knew that now, at last, he had entered upon the right road.

Then he thought of Amzi. He must try to tell him all this. Surely Amzi the learned, the benevolent, would rejoice too in hearing the story of Jesus' life on earth, of his coming as an expression of the love of God to man, that man might know God.

Through the dark streets he hastened, thinking, wondering, rejoicing. He sought the bedside of Amzi on the flat roof.

"Amzi, awake!" he cried.

"What now, night-hawk?" said the Meccan, in his good-natured, half-railing tone. "Why pounce upon a man thus in the midst of his slumbers?"

"Amzi, I have heard glorious news of him—that Jesus of whom we have talked!"

"Well?"

"He seems indeed to be the God for whom I have longed. They have been telling me of his life, yet I realize little save that he came to earth that men might know him; that he died to show men the depth of his love; and that he is with us at every time, in every place—even here, now, on this roof! Only think of it, Amzi! He is close beside us, seeing us, hearing us, knowing our very hearts! There is no need more of appealing to the spirits of the stars. Ah, they were ever far, far off!"

"And where learned you all this, friend priest?" There was an indifferent raillery in the tone which chilled Yusuf to the heart.

"From Nathan, a Christian Jew, and his wife—people who live close to God if any one does."

"In the Jewish quarter?"

"Even so."

Amzi laughed. "Truly, friend, you have chosen a fair spot for your revelation—a quarter of filth and vice. A case of good coming out of evil, truly!"

"Will you not grant that there are some good even in the Jewish quarter?"

"Some, perhaps; yet there are some good among all peoples."

"Amzi, can you not believe?"

"No, no, friend Yusuf; I am glad for your happiness—believe what you will. But it is foreign to Amzi's nature to accept on hearsay that which he has not inquired into—probed to the bottom even. He cannot accept the testimony of any passing stranger, however plausible it may seem. Rejoice if you will, Yusuf, in the spring of a night-tune, but leave Amzi to seek for the deep waters still."

Amzi was now talking quickly and impressively.

Yusuf was amazed. The light was beginning to shine so brightly in his own soul that he could not comprehend why others could not see and believe likewise. He talked with his friend until the dawn began to tint the top of Abu Kubays, but without effect. At every turn he was met by the bitter prejudice held by the Meccans against the whole Jewish race, a prejudice which kept even Amzi the benevolent from believing in anything advocated by them.

"Why do they not show Christ in their lives, then?" he would say.

"You cannot judge the whole Christian band by the misdeeds of a few, who are, indeed, no Christians," Yusuf pleaded.

"True; yet a religion such as you describe should appeal to more of them, and would, if it were all you imagine it to be. A perfect religion should be exemplified in the lives of those who profess it."

"I grant you that that is true," was Yusuf's reply. "And as an example let me bring you to Nathan and his family. Nobody could talk for one hour to them without feeling that they have found, at least, something which we do not possess. This something, they say, is their God."

"Well, well. I shall do so to please you," said Amzi indifferently, "but I hope that a longer acquaintance may not spoil your trust in these people."

Further expostulation was vain. Yusuf retired to his own apartment, and prayed long and fervently, in his own simple way, offering thanks for the light which was breaking so radiantly on his own soul, and beseeching the loving Jesus to touch the heart of Amzi, who, he knew, though less enthusiastic than he, also desired to know truth.

And before he lay down for a short rest, he said:

"Grant, O Jesus, thou who art ever present, that I may know thee better, and that Amzi, too, may learn to know thee. Reveal thyself to him as thou art revealing thyself to me, that we may know thee as we should."

The priest's face grew radiant with happiness as he concluded.

And yet, in that same city, vice held sway; for, even as the priest prayed, a dark figure emerged from an unused upper attic in the house of Nathan the Jew, and, escaping by a window, descended a garden stair and disappeared in the darkness. Even in that dim light, had one looked he might have noted that the mysterious prowler wore the dress of a dervish.

CHAPTER VI.

YUSUF'S FIRST MEETING WITH MOHAMMED.

"A person with abnormal auditory sensations often comes to interpret them as voices of demons, or as the voice of one commanding him to do some deed. This hallucination, in turn, becomes an apperceiving organ, i.e., other perceptions and ideas are assimilated to it: it becomes a center about which many ideas gather and are correspondingly distorted."—McLellan, Psychology.

Upon the evening of the following day, Amzi and Yusuf set out in quest of Mohammed, to whom the manuscript had not yet been given. Stopping at the house of Cadijah, a stone building having some pretensions to grandeur, they learned that Mohammed had left the city. Accordingly, thinking he would probably be found in the Cave of Hira, they took a by-path towards the mountains.

The sun was hot, but a pleasant breeze blew from the plains towards the Nejd, and, from the elevation which they now ascended, Yusuf noted with interest a scene every point of which was entirely different from that of his Persian home—different perhaps from that of any other spot on the face of the earth; a scene desolate, wild, and barren, yet destined to be the cradle of a mighty movement that was ere long to agitate the entire peninsula of Arabia, and eventually to exercise its baneful influence over a great part of the Eastern Hemisphere.[7]

Below him lay the long, narrow, sandy valley. No friendly group of palms arose to break its dreary monotony; no green thing, save a few parched aloes, was there to form a pleasant resting-place for the eye. The passes below, those ever-populous roads leading to the Nejd, Syria, Jeddah, and Arabia-Felix, were crowded with people; yet, even their presence did not suffice to remove the air of deadness from the scene. Of one thing only could the beholder be really conscious—desolation, desolation; a desolate city surrounded by huge, bare, skeleton-like mountains, grim old Abu Kubays with the city stretching half way up its gloomy side, on the east; the Red mountain on the west; Jebel Kara toward Tayf, and Jebel Thaur with Jebel Jiyad the Greater, on the south.

Yusuf watched the people, many of whom were pilgrims, swarming like so many ants below him towards the Caaba, which was in full view, standing like a huge sarcophagus in the center of the great courtyard. In the transparent air of the Orient, even the pillars supporting the covered portico about the courtyard were quite visible. Yusuf had observed the great system of barter, the buying and selling that went on beneath the roof of that long portico, within the very precincts of the temple set apart for the worship of the Deity, and, as he watched the pigmy creatures, now swarming towards the trading stalls, now hastening to perform Tawaf about the temple, he almost wept that such sacrilege should exist, and a great throb of pity for these erring people whose spiritual nature was barren as the vast, treeless, verdureless waste about them, filled his breast.

Amzi directed his attention towards the east, where the blue mountains of Tayf stood like outposts in the distance.

"There," said he, "at but a three days' journey is the district of plenty, the Canaan of Mecca, whence come the grapes, melons, cucumbers, and pomegranates that are to be seen in our markets. There are pleasant dales and gardens where the camel-thorn gives way to a carpet of verdure; where the mimosa and acacia give place to the glossy-leaved fig-tree, to stately palms, and pomegranates of the scarlet fruit; where rippling streams are heard, and the songs of birds fill the air. There is a tradition that Adam, when driven out of the Garden of Eden, settled at Mecca; and there, on the site of the temple yonder, and immediately beneath a glittering temple of pearly cloud, shimmering dews, and rainbow lights said to be in Paradise above,—the Baît-el Maamur of Heaven,—was built, by the help of angels, the first Caaba, a resplendent temple with pillars of jasper and roof of ruby. Adam then compassed the temple seven times, as the angels did the Baît above in perpetual Tawaf. He then prayed for a bit of fertile land, and immediately a mountain from Syria appeared, performed Tawaf round the Caaba, and then settled down yonder at Tayf. Hence, Tayf is even yet called 'Kita min el Sham'—a piece of Syria, the father-land."

"So then, this Caaba, according to tradition, is of early origin?"

"The Arabs believe that when the earthly Baît-el Maamur was taken to heaven at Adam's death, a third one was built of stone and mud by Seth. This was swept away by the Deluge, but the Black Stone was kept safe in Abu Kubays, which is, therefore, called 'El Amin'—the Honest. After the flood, a fourth House was built by our father Abraham, to whom the angel Gabriel restored the stone. Abraham's building was repaired and in part restored by the Amalikah tribe. A sixth Caaba was built by the children of Kahtan, into whose tribe, say the Arabs, Ismail was married. The seventh house was built by Kusay bin Kilab, a forefather of Mohammed, and I have reason to believe that he was the first who filled it with the idols which now disgrace its walls. Kusay's house was burnt, its cloth covering (or kiswah) catching fire from a torch. It was rebuilt by the Koreish (Qurâis) a few years ago. It was then that the door was placed high above the ground, as you see it, and then that the movable stair was constructed. Then, too, the six columns which support the roof were added, and Mohammed, El Amin, was chosen to determine the position of the Black Stone in the wall. So, friend, I have now given you in part, the history of the Caaba."

Bestowing a last look upon the temple, the friends walked for some distance northward across the slopes of Mount Hira, until a low, dark opening appeared in the face of a rock.

Drawing back a thorny bush from its door, they entered the cave. A low moaning noise sounded within. For a moment, the transition from the white glare without to the twilight of the cave blinded them, then they saw that the moans proceeded from Mohammed, who was lying on his back on the stone floor. His head-dress was awry, his face was purple, and froth issued from his mouth.

Amzi seized an earthen vessel of water, and bathed his brow.

"Poor fellow!" he said, "how often he may have suffered here alone! It has been his custom for years to spend the holy month of Ramadhan here in prayer and meditation. He has often taken these fits before; but, if what is said be true, he knows not that he is suffering, for angels appear to him during the paroxysms."

"It seems to me much more like a fit of epilepsy," said Yusuf, rather sarcastically. "See, he begins to come to himself again."

Mohammed had stopped moaning, and his face began to regain its natural color.