Yes, it is well; the morning cometh!"
Having given myself up to reverie and to communing with the SPIRIT
OF HISTORY, as it were, I was for a time forgetful of my
surroundings. The twilight had deepened when I again turned my
thoughts to the village and its people. I look up at some of the
houses near me and see a number of the natives in their dark robes
standing like statues on the flat roofs of their homes, yet
watching every movement of the stranger that has so unexpectedly
appeared in their midst. I do not fear them, but somehow a feeling
of unrest steals over me; they seem like shades of departed
Israelites back again from their long sleep. In the gathering
gloom I pass quickly into the mission-house near by.
This proves to be an evening full of interest to me. I learn that
a mission-service is soon to begin, and that a number of the
villagers will be here for the service. I am impressed with the
quiet (save for the barking of dogs) that prevails in these Arab
villages. I see no drunkenness, and there is no boisterous
rudeness of other sort.
In a little while a score or more of men come quietly to the
mission-house, remove their sandals, pass into the room, and seat
themselves on the earthen floor against the walls. Mrs. Mitry
beckons to me to come to the door; she wanted me to see that row
of forty sandals. She said in her broken way that it was
interesting to her, and she thought it would interest me.
It is only a little while until Mr. Mitry enters and takes his
place at a small table in the center of the room. A half hour or
more is spent in smoking cigarettes - almost every native smokes.
Here it seems that the habit is in no sense considered a vice.
Indeed, the missionary himself, not only smokes, but assists in
making cigarettes for the others. They smoke and smoke until the
room is so darkened that we see each other but dimly through the
haze. I am surprised that I can endure it. The tobacco must be
different from that used in America, for ordinarily a single
cigarette is more offensive to me than was the smoke of nearly
fifty on that evening - for some of the men smoked two or three
apiece in that close room.
After the smoking was over black coffee was served in small cups
holding about one-fourth as much as the average teacup. They sip
this slowly and talk. I note that frequently they are saying
something about "hawadje," and then they fix their eyes upon me.
My dragoman tells me that he has been explaining our hard trip to
Gerasa, that they were skeptical about it, but that he has
convinced them of its verity.
But now it is time for the service. Mr. Mitry opens his Bible and
reads in Arabic the story of Moses' invitation to Hobab. Then he
expounds the Scripture for some time while the men listen with
rapt attention. There are some questions and answers. I understand
only a word now and then, but it is a picture of more than
ordinary interest to me to look upon the expectant, and then the
satisfied faces of these natives.
When the lesson was over a request came from the men for me to
speak to them. Through my dragoman as interpreter I spoke a little
while on the theme of the evening, which meant much to me there
where the migration of Moses was in a measure felt by the early
inhabitants. They listened attentively, and when I had finished
they told my guide to say to "hawadje" that they wanted him to
stay and make his home with them. Then, the meeting over, they
moved out into the darkness with graceful "salaams," and with the
promise of one of their number to accompany us on the morrow. They
said we must not go on alone.
The service-room is now to be my bed-room. A pallet is brought to
me, and on it I am soon trying to sleep. But the beautiful sun-
set, the vision of the past of this region, the mission-service,
the stillness of the night - so still that the very silence seems
audible - keep me awake for some time. I am lying by the "watch-
tower of Gilead." I seem to see the Spirit of Prophecy standing on
its broken battlements, wrapped in the shadows of the night,
looking hopefully toward the place of sun-rising. I call to him,
"Watchman, what of the night?" In sweet tones of assurance comes
the answer, "The morning cometh! The story of the Christ will yet
transform the darkness that rests here into the brightness of
noonday." Then a sweet peace seemed wafted into my soul from out
the unseen somewhere, - but certainly from Him who "giveth his
beloved sleep."
"Down to the Jordan"
CHAPTER VII.
It was early on the following morning when our horses were led
around to the door of the mission-house, but notwithstanding the
early hour a dozen or more of the natives were standing in line to
receive medical attention from the missionary. A few were there
who seemed to have come to witness our departure. Our guide,
promised the night before, was on hand, mounted, ready to lead the
way over what proved to be by far the roughest part of my trip.
For that day my party consisted of four persons. Our new leader,
whose name I did not learn, was a man of about fifty years, and
was a genuine Arab in appearance and dress. But he wore nothing on
his feet - not even sandals. I felt better satisfied, knowing that
he would lead the way on that day, for my dragoman was not
familiar with that part of Gilead.
