The Thistle and the Cedar of Lebanon. Habeeb Risk Allah

and I had well nigh forgotten all my regrets at leaving Lebanon and the hospitable abode of my uncle, when the unexpected event alluded to in the foregoing chapter, transpired.

      It was on Palm Sunday, in, I think, the year 1828. The harbour had been deserted for some few days; there was not even an Arab boat at the anchorage: and on the eventful evening I am now describing, the eye might have vainly swept the horizon seeking for indications of an approaching sail. This, however, was no uncommon event in those days, when the commerce of Beyrout was yet in its infancy. None imagined, on retiring to rest that night, that impending danger was so close at hand. Midnight had, however, scarcely chimed, and the last occupant of the latest open coffee-house crept home to his hovel, when a tumult arose, and the night air was filled with shrieks and lamentations, mingled with the startling reports of fire-arms. There was a rush in the streets of many people running for their lives; and all the inmates of my father’s household being now thoroughly awakened, ran out also, and joined the flying multitude. The Bab Yacoob, leading to Damascus and Lebanon, was open and unguarded. We fled with the concourse towards the mountains, favored in our retreat by the obscurity of the night; nor did any one think of stopping to breathe or repose till they had gained the summit of one of the neighbouring hills. Here, finding no signs of pursuit, and the clamour and report of fire-arms having died away in the distance, the frightened populace halted anxiously to await the first dawn of day, which was to enable them to secure their retreat to the neighbouring villages. All were totally ignorant as to the cause of the sudden panic, but many laboured under the absurd notion that the place had been attacked by Russian troops. None, however, stopped to be better informed on the subject; but, renewing their flight with the first light of morning, each betook himself and family to that village with which he was best acquainted; and for the next few weeks the Lebanon district was inundated with the scared refugees from Beyrout.

      As for ourselves, we directed our steps to Shuay-fât, and accomplished the journey as best we could; arriving there weary and half-famished, to the utter astonishment and dismay of my uncle’s household, who were at first quite at a loss to account for our sudden appearance in so pitiable a condition. Soon after our arrival, official intelligence reached the mountains of what had transpired. A ruffianly horde of piratical Greeks, allured by the hopes of meeting with rich booty, had made this sudden descent upon the peaceful and unsuspecting inhabitants. They had entered the town without resistance, and once in possession of the Quai, had unhesitatingly commenced the work of despoliation. Whole warehouses were stripped—money and rich jewellery carried off—murder and every atrocious crime, the offspring of villany, had been perpetrated. To secure the gold coins and jewellery worn by the women on their heads, wrists, and ankles, the wretches never hesitated to make use of the knife; and ear-rings were wrenched forcibly from the ears of the hapless victims. When the pirates were satiated with plunder, they broke and destroyed what was left; and then, setting fire to different parts of the town, they betook themselves with their booty to their boats, and thus disappeared. Luckily for house-owners, most of the buildings were constructed of solid masonry, with domes and vaulted roofs, so that the fire, even where it had ignited, speedily exhausted its impotent rage. The Moslem rabble, disguised as Greeks, also joined in the general foray.

      By this calamity all the residents at Beyrout suffered more or less. Many were utterly ruined; and my poor father’s losses were so severe, that he at first wholly relinquished the idea of ever returning to that place. For many months afterwards we resided at Shuay-fât; but here also an outbreak amongst the mountaineers disturbed us again, and we were compelled to retrace our steps to Beyrout, which place, from that day forward, became my home.

      With regard to the marauders, they escaped scot-free and were neither detected nor punished, as this took place at the time of the Greek revolution and the battle of Navarino, when the government were doubtless too much occupied to notice it.

CHAPTER III.

       DESCRIPTION OF DAMASCUS.

       Table of Contents

      It now became necessary that I should seek out and steadfastly follow up some fixed profession or calling in life. There was more than one motive that urged this measure upon me as a necessity: in the first place, my father’s resources had been sadly crippled by the piratical affair; besides, I was of an age when youths in Syria earn their own livelihood, and my education was sufficiently advanced to enable me to enter upon the duties of life. I could read and write my own language; and this was all that was expected, and much more than many youths of my age could boast. I had no thought then of acquiring a knowledge of foreign languages. To escape from the thraldom of school is always a source of great delight to schoolboys.

      As far as my own views went, I was bent upon going to Damascus; and though my dear parents opposed this wish at first, I gradually coaxed them into a consenting mood; and perhaps the greatest inducement for them to yield to my wishes, was the fact of our having a wealthy and influential friend, then residing at Damascus, who had been a fellow-katib of my uncle’s, and who occupied a high post in the service of the Pasha.

      To this worthy man’s care I was confided; and, taking leave of my dear parents, and accompanied by their blessing, I left Beyrout, and proceeded to Damascus; a city which existed before the patriarch Abraham’s time, being referred to as a well-known place, in Gen. xiv. It was the chief city of Syria, founded by Rezin, and was sacked by Jeroboam II., king of Israel. It is still a comparatively thriving and populous city, and has those natural resources of climate, soil, and abundance of water, which cannot fail to perpetuate its fame as the garden of the East. Here, shortly after my arrival, I was fortunate enough, through the influence of our friend, to procure a lucrative and rising situation. At this place I remained a considerable time, delighted with its climate and beauty, as also well pleased with my office and with my associates.

      No pen can give an adequate idea of the delights of Damascus. The nearest approach I can hope to make to a truthful description, will be simply to depict what I saw and experienced; and this perhaps will give the stranger a better conception of the place than the flowery rhapsodies of many of those writers, whose experience, resulting from a visit of a few days, has been skilfully converted into some dozen chapters of post octavo.

      Damascus, like most Eastern towns, has nothing to boast of in the outside appearance of its rough unwhitewashed houses. Its streets are narrow, dark and intricate—crowds of people—caravans of camels—mules—and troops of donkeys—are all perpetually on the move, though not with that rapidity of locomotion so striking to a foreigner on his first visit to London.

      The stranger is struck dumb with amazement and disappointment. He has heard so much and he sees so little, that his first exclamation is sure to be, “Can this really be Sham-al Sharif?—the much praised Damascus;—the so-styled paradise of the East!” Yes, stranger, this is the justly celebrated Damascus; but the secret cause of your amazement lies hid as the kernel in the shell of a nut, the outer surface of which is the walls of the houses, while within lies concealed the sweet kernel. Open the street-door of rough and unpolished wood; and after carefully closing the same, as if by magic, the whole train of your thoughts and your discontentment will be diverted into another channel, and you will be struck with surprise and admiration, as the hidden beauties of the city will then burst upon your view. The same may be said with regard to the ladies of Damascus, notoriously the handsomest women in the East—Houris, whose bright eyes have afforded an endless theme for the poet’s song! Forms carefully enveloped in white and coloured izars—features muffled up and completely disguised by white veils! That man must needs be a magician who could identify even his own wife or sister from amidst the herd of ghostly figures continually flitting to and fro in the streets; though now and then some Eastern akruti (coquette), may even here be found slily contriving to allow the light of her sparkling eyes to beam through this dark screen. Here also is the same mystery, and the beauty lies concealed within the outer shell.

      Now standing in a spacious quadrangle, exquisitely paved with marble, we take a hasty survey of all around us. In the centre is a square basin of clear crystal-like water, in which gold and silver fish are playfully swimming about; and in the middle of this birkat