# On the Desert - Recent Events in Egypt/Chapter 19

Contents
CHAPTER XIX.
RETURNING TO CIVILIZATION.
Although we had passed a quiet night, our experiences of the preceding day had not been of a character to make us wish to prolong our slumbers far into the morning. I was up at half-past four, which was generally understood in the camp to mean that there was no more rest for man or beast. By six o'clock we had had our breakfast, the tents were struck, and we were in the saddle. The sun was just rising over the vast undulating plains as we set out on our march. Who would not rise early for the exhilaration of such a morning ride? We were approaching the end of our journey; our long and toilsome marches were nearly ended; the Desert was behind us, and the Land of Promise was before us.
I have spent between four and five years of my life in foreign countries — a portion of the time in distant parts of the earth — and have had many and varied experiences, but nothing I think that imparted a sensation quite so exquisite as this coming up out of the desert — out of void and vacancy, out of vast spaces and solemn silences — into the world of life and sound and motion. The return is very gradual. Nature gives signs of the coming change by an occasional quiver in her frame; perchance a rill trickling in the sands marks where the life-current is flowing faintly in her veins; then a new vegetation shows itself, as familiar flowers peep out by the way, and the small grasses begin to appear — tokens of a new existence into which we ​are entering; we seem to be getting nearer to the heart of things, to the warm beginnings of life; the earth is not dead, but sleepeth; it begins to breathe with the breath of God.
Then there is a tender vibration in the world of sound; the note of a bird, faint as if she hardly dared to hear the voice of her own singing, quivers for an instant in the deep solitude; to which follow hours of marching, when is heard in the distance the bleating of sheep, and after another long march the lowing of cattle; and then
"There is a floating whisper on the hill";
there is a gentle murmur in the air; and on the straining ear comes the sweetest sound ever heard, that of human voices: and so we come back into the living, breathing world again.
I hardly know of anything to parallel this change, or wherewith to compare it. It is said that not far above the earth's surface it is intensely cold and dark; that the sun's rays must pass through the earth's atmosphere to give forth light and warmth. So it is that in passing into this new atmosphere we feel as if we were entering "the warm precincts of the cheerful day," to quote that exquisite line of Gray's Elegy, which seems as if written when the poet's eye was filled with "the light of setting suns." Indeed we may quote the whole stanza in exact reverse, as giving the perfect delineation of the change which comes over us:
For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey,
This pleasing, anxious being e'er resigned.
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day.
Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind?
Here "the warm precincts" are not behind, but before; the "longing" is not for that we leave, but for that we enter; and we return to "this pleasing, anxious being," which, however troubled with care, still is life — life never ​so dear as when we come up out of the desert, as out of the valley of the shadow of death.
To-day this feeling of a new existence was bounding in our veins. Everything conspired to kindle it — the dewy freshness of the morning air; the wide, open, rolling country, like the breezy downs of England. The wild flowers of Palestine were under our feet; the birds were all abroad, enjoying the freshness of the early Spring-time; the Syrian lark rose fluttering from the ground, and sang her sweetest carol to the coming day. This mingling of sights and sounds and sweet fragrances created an intoxication of the senses, in which we rode forward in a kind of ecstacy, when suddenly we heard behind us the tramp of a horseman coming at full speed. What could it be? Another robber-chieftain in swift pursuit? A messenger to forbid our passage through the country? In an instant dashed up beside us a man of fine, even noble aspect, mounted on a beautiful Arabian steed. He sprang from the saddle, and struck his spear into the ground, and the steed stood motionless, while his rider advanced toward us. He was unarmed; he had neither sword nor gun — nothing in his hand more formidable than a chibouque. We turned to receive him. He presented himself with a profound salaam, and no more startling message than an invitation to the Howadjis to do him the honor to accompany him to his tent, and join him in his morning repast. I have no doubt that he had killed a sheep to prepare us a feast. This was a complete surprise. Here indeed was Oriental hospitality. We were strangers in the land, simply passing through it, and this chieftain (for such he appeared to be) went out of his way to show us courtesy. We responded with profuse acknowledgments to the invitation, which in other circumstances we should have been delighted to accept, but explained that this was our last ​day's march; that we were pressing on to Gaza, in hope to be able to communicate with our families, from whom we had been long separated. He listened with evident regret, and still pressed us gently but earnestly, when suddenly it dawned upon us that there was a reason for this extraordinary urgency. It appeared that he was the mudir of the tribe through which we had passed the day before, and was anxious to efface from our minds the impression of the little "unpleasantness" which had marred our passage through his territory. This occurrence touched him not merely in his honor and the honor of his people, but in another way. By the Eastern law, he was responsible for his tribe, as the father of a family for his household. If a crime is committed, and the offender cannot be found or brought to justice, the chief of the tribe may be held responsible. But if he could have beguiled us to his tent — if we had once broken bread and eaten salt with him — that would have condoned the offence, and we should have been estopped from seeking other reparation. When we discovered this, Dr. Post took a different tone. Though still polite, he gave the mudir to understand very plainly that we had suffered a great outrage in passing through his territory, which ought to be punished; that we did not wish to be hard upon him, if he would produce the real offender; that, in short, if he would restore the money which had been extorted from our dragoman, and the sword which had been taken from our old soldier, and more than all, bring the black ruffian, who was the leader in the attack, to Gaza, and deliver him up to the authorities, we would take no further measures; otherwise we should be obliged to report the matter to the Governor immediately on our arrival This was just what he feared, and he tried to deprecate our anger. He pleaded that the man might have escaped, and the sword be hidden so that ​it could not be found. In such a case he thought we ought to show a little consideration and forbearance. "Would we come to his tent to talk it over?" He was very humble, and came up to my saddle and kissed my hand — a great act of humiliation for the mudir of a powerful tribe, I felt humbled for him, that he should be so humbled before me, and if I could have followed my impulse, would have fallen on his neck, and not only forgiven him, but pledged him eternal friendship. But Dr. Post insisted that this was no light matter; that other travellers were exposed to the same indignity and insult; and that for their protection it was our duty to make an example. I could but acknowledge that he was right at least so far as this, that the man should be severely punished. With this stern sense of duty, the Doctor waved away the proffered hospitality as if it had been a guilty temptation; we resumed our march, the camels took their long strides, leaving the mudir standing in the path, to return to his tent "a sadder and a wiser man."
We now quickened our steps across the valley, and up the hill. The view on every side was enchanting. The sun had just risen, but as it was behind us, it did not dazzle us, but cast a soft light on the green fields that waved round us like a sea; and as it shone along a chain of mountains on our right, it brought out in alternate sunlight and shadow their projecting masses and their more retired recesses. That was the Hill Country of Palestine! Could we but stand on the top of that ridge, and look down on the other slope, we should see nestled among the hills the city of Hebron, where David reigned seven years before he removed to Jerusalem, and where an aged tree still bears the name of Abraham's oak. There is the burying-place of the patriarchs in the Cave of Machpelah, to which Jacob, dying in Egypt, charged his children to ​carry his bones, saying "There they buried Abraham and Sarah his wife; there they buried Isaac and Rebekah his wife; and there I buried Leah." So near were we in the country over which we were passing to the scenes of sacred history, and even to patriarchal times.
But our musings were cut short by a sight which now burst upon us: for as we rose above the crest of the hill, before us lay the Mediterranean! We had already snuffed the sea breeze, but now we saw the great waters, the white caps rolling in on the long sandy beach. I am afraid there was a little choking in the throat, and some tears crept into the eyes, as we beheld the sea which at once separated and united us with the living world to which we belonged. On the shore was a town — the very one which had been our destination ever since we rode out of the gate of the Convent of Mount Sinai. It was yet two hours away, but little mattered that since it was in view, and every step brought us nearer. Once more trees appeared in the landscape, and patches of ground became more richly cultivated. To open fields of grain succeeded orchards and gardens, divided by hedges of cactus, through which we made our way. As we approached the city, the domes of mosques rose into view, and minarets lifted their tall and slender pinnacles in air. But suddenly my eye caught another sight, which fixed it more than any dome or minaret — it was a line of telegraph! I had always thought telegraph-poles the ugliest objects with which man ever deformed the fair face of nature; but when I saw the slender line that ran along their tops, and thought of the messages winged by lightning that flew over it, these gaunt, ungainly objects took a sudden and strange attraction, and I looked up to them almost with reverence as the long legs of civilization, with which it goes striding over hill and valley, over island and continent, to unite together all the ​kindreds of mankind. If that first telegraph-pole had been
"The mast of some great admiral,"
or a flagstaff, bearing proudly the banner of my country, it could not have sent a keener thrill through my heart. It was the sign that we were coming home: that we were no more strangers and pilgrims, or even exiles, but fellowcitizens in the great commonwealth of humanity, which by this token seemed to open its arms and receive us to its bosom.
At the entrance of Gaza is an open space, which is the usual camping-ground of parties, where we left word for the baggage-train to halt and pitch our tents, while we went forward into the town. As we came to the narrow streets, hardly wide enough for the camels, we dismounted, and leaving them to the men, pushed forward in search of the telegraph office. Following the poles, we soon found where the wires led into a building. It was a strange sensation, in coming out of the desert, to be in such an office, and hear the click of the telegraph again. Dr. Post found in the operator a former pupil at Beirut, who received him with great warmth, and took a personal interest in hastening our messages. It was but a few minutes before his family were informed of his safety. The dragoman also sent a message to Jaffa to have horses and mules sent down to take us to Jerusalem, for the days of our camel-riding were over. Then came my turn: "How long will it take to get a message to Florence?" "We can send it in either of two ways — by Constantinople, in which case it will reach Florence some time this afternoon; or by Alexandria, from which it will go by submarine cable, and be subject to no detention, and ought to arrive at the longest within an hour; but a message by this route costs double that by Constantinople." "Never mind the cost; ​send it by the quickest way." And the tidings of our safety were soon flying to Egypt, and diving under the sea.
Then for the first time we had a moment of rest, and set off to find an English clergyman, Rev. A. W. Schapira, whom Dr. Post knew. We found him at his school, and he gave us a welcome such as I have never failed to receive from missionaries in any part of the world. "Where are your tents?" he asked. We told him. "Do not stay there, for you will be surrounded by a crowd, and may be subjected to great annoyance. Have them pitched in my garden." We sent back a messenger in haste, who found that the camels had arrived and been unloaded, and that the tents were already up; but at the word they were taken down, and the camels loaded up again, and in an hour they came lumbering into the missionary's "compound," where we could pass a Sabbath in quietness and peace.
When at last our tents were pitched, and the camels were stretched on the ground, chewing the cud of sweet content, and the men were round the camp-fire cooking their food, we felt that we had gained a victory. We had accomplished the object with which we set out from Nukhl on Monday morning; we had reached our destination by a series of forced marches, in spite of discontented men and frightened dragoman; in spite of weather, of lowering clouds, threatening cold and rain; in spite of sickness and of robbers. At last we were safe; we had reached our desired haven, and looked back over the long way as the sailor, hardly escaped from shipwreck, looks back over a stormy ocean.
Our journey ended to our satisfaction, there came the settling of accounts. The old soldier, who was the only one of the Arabs that could read, had been entrusted by his master, the sheikh, with the contract and authority to ​receive the balance due at the end, for a portion must always be kept back till the journey is completed, lest perchance, finding that they had all their money, they might leave us on the desert. The agreement had now been fulfilled to the letter, and the grizzled soldier was well pleased as the golden napoleons dropped into his hand; while a liberal backsheesh distributed among the men, made all smiling and happy.
The missionary now led the way into his house, which, like all Eastern houses, had a central court, enclosed by a wall, within which the sound of a fountain gave a delicious sense of coolness during the heats of Summer. In the rooms all was very plain and simple, and yet there was a neatness and modest taste, that I have found in all parts of the world, to mark the missionary's home, making it a type of Christian civilization. Within is order, comfort, and intelligence, while without is poverty and filth, vice and degradation, in their most disgusting forms.
Mr. Schapira and his excellent wife kept us to dinner, after which he accompanied us to call on the Governor to make our complaint of the attempted robbery. Yusuf Effendi is one of the most enlightened statesmen in Turkey, a man of European education, speaking both French and English, He was a member of the "Parliament" which the Sultan called after the Russian war, in which he was a leader of the small party of progress and reform. Indeed he was altogether too liberal for the latitude of Constantinople, for which he received a kind of honorable banishment to the small post of Governor of Gaza. But his time may yet come. He is not a Turk, but an Arab of the purest blood, of the tribe of the Koreishites, in which Mahomet himself was born. Should there rise up in the Empire an Arab party as opposed to the Turkish, there will again be an opportunity for his great abilities. It was ​quite an Oriental scene as we entered the Serai, the Governor's residence, in the court of which was a swarm of officials, and of soldiers waiting for orders. In the courtyard was the prison, with many bad faces looking out from behind the bars. I think Dr. Post pleased himself to think of the hideous negro, with his teeth like tusks, behind those bars, and that he would not have been overmuch grieved to see his feet made fast in the stocks, or even subjected to the bastinado.
We ascended the steps and entered the room in which the Governor sits to give audience to those who come to him with wrongs to be redressed. He received us with all courtesy, an attendant brought coffee and pipes, and we presented our grievance. Our old soldier was on hand, with fire in his eye and vengeance in his heart, to tell the story of his wrongs. The case was a very plain one, and the Governor, after hearing it, called an attendant and ordered five horsemen to mount and ride in hot haste to the Arab village and demand the return of the money extorted, the soldier's sword, and above all, the body of the negro who had stopped our progress and dragged down our camels. Away they galloped over hill and dale, but the issue proved as the mudir had said: before they reached the Arab camp, some message had gone that they were coming, and the culprit betook himself to flight; and the horsemen, after a long search, returned without their prisoner. But the watch was kept up a long time. At Beirut a letter reached Dr. Post from Mr. Schapira, saving that he had had a visit from the mudir, who begged as a great favor that, if the rascal were taken, he might be punished by the tribe instead of being delivered up to the authorities at Gaza. Thus the wholesome scare which they had received partly answered the ends of justice.
After returning through the town, and visiting the ​bazaars and the principal mosque, where we ascended the minaret to take a view of the city and the sea, we returned to our tents weary, but with the feeling that at last we had reached a place of rest. We found how good it was to come back to the society of one's fellow beings, to what Charles Lamb calls "the sweet security of city streets."
And now, as the result of all my wanderings on the desert, I have attained to this piece of philosophy, which I leave for the benefit of posterity, that civilization is good enough for me! If any young man, full of the fire of ambition, and with the hot blood of youth in his veins, desires to set out to-morrow for the North Pole or the heart of the Sahara, let him depart in peace: only for myself I will say with Wisdom, Henceforth "I dwell in the habitable parts of the earth, and my delights are with the sons of men."
Meanwhile no answer came to my telegram to Florence. Dr. Post had heard from Beirut that all was well, but the afternoon wore away and I had no response. I began to feel anxious and troubled. At last, weary and exhausted, I retired to my camp-bed and fell asleep, when at eleven o'clock the tent door was softly opened, and some one stole in. I recognized the dragoman's voice, who spoke: "Dr. Field, here is a telegram for you." He struck a light, while I read, as well as I could amid the blinding tears, the sweetest words in the language, "All well." That was enough. "Thank you, Yohanna: Good night: Leave me now, and shut the door of the tent." For who would not be left to his own thoughts when his heart is swelling and running over with thanksgivings to the Great Preserver and Protector? My cup was full, and amid the manifold occasions for gratitude, last but not least, this was sure to return: Blessed be civilization!