By early dawn, on October thirtieth, we had breakfasted and had bidden good-by to all the servants about the hotel, (many of whom I did not know to exist, but who, somehow, had learned of me, and had risen thus early to witness my departure and to ask a fee for services that I am quite sure some of them had had no part in rendering,) and had ordered the driver to lose no time in reaching the station of the Damascus-Hauran Railroad, about two miles distant.  But, notwithstanding the early hour, the streets were already crowded with people, mules, donkeys, dogs, and other things.  It was only with great effort that we could make any headway, and at times it seemed that the crowd, angered at our persistence, would stop us entirely in our struggle to pass through.  We did the best we could, but we missed the train.  Since there were only three trains A week on that road, it meant that I must go back to that same hotel and spend two more days in Damascus at the rate of ten dollars a day, and then, again, on leaving, must fee those same servants for service that I did not want, and, generally speaking, did not get.  But, though the disappointment was great, it brought additional opportunity to study the wonders and ways of the wonderful city wherein I was forced to remain.

A second time my dragoman prepares food for our journey; and again, on the morning of November first, we hurry to the station.  This time we do not miss the train—­we wait for it—­and we wait a long time; but with the waiting there is contentment, for, if the train move south, I, too, am sure of going.

“Through Bashan”

CHAPTER II.

At the time of this writing there is a railroad extending from Damascus to Mecca, but at the time of my visit the terminus was at Mezarib, a small town about fifty miles south of Damascus, near the northern boundary-line of Gilead.  It was in my plan to travel that distance by rail; hence my presence at the city railroad station.

The ride to Mezarib, through Bashan, especially that part of it now known as the Hauran, is one of more than ordinary interest.  For the first twenty-five miles the land is literally covered with black basaltic rocks, as is also part of the remaining distance.  How it is cultivated I can scarcely understand, for I am sure that the American horse could not be made to serve well here.  But I was told that the natives do cultivate it, and that they raise excellent crops of grain.  When I looked upon them at work with their crude wooden plows and brush harrows, and then heard that they raise excellent crops of grain, I was satisfied that the land must be very fertile; and I was reminded of a certain humorist’s remark about the fertility of some land in Kansas, of which he said, “All you need to do is to tickle the ground with a hoe, and it will laugh with a big harvest.”  Farther on the rocks almost entirely disappear, and there is spread out a beautiful valley, extending far to the south, whose fertility and pasturage attracted the Israelites on their march to Canaan, and which, ever since, has caused the name “Bashan” to be a synonym for “plenty.”  And, because of its abundant production of grain, which finds a ready market in Damascus, it has been aptly called the “granary of Damascus.”