At twelve o’clock our train stopped.  I was quickly introduced to him who had been awaiting us, and who was now to join our party—­ “Haleel,” of Jerusalem.  He was dressed in typical Eastern fashion, wearing the wide pantaloons, flowing robe, and “kufiyeh”; he was apparently twenty-five years old, dark-skinned, and blind in one eye; he could not speak a word of English; and he was a devout Mohammedan.  “Haleel, of Jerusalem!” Notwithstanding his fantastic appearance, the name and place of residence seemed to me a blending of mystery and sacredness.  I did not hesitate to extend a cordial greeting, and his smile of confused interest as I tried to shake hands with him while he tried to give me an Oriental salutation won me to him.  It was his only intelligible language to me, but it was sufficient to give me assurance of his friendship, and I was beginning to feel that from that hour I should need friends.  The salutation that Haleel offered to me was a quick, graceful movement of his hand toward my feet, next to his lips, and then lightly to his forehead.  I had seen the natives do this in exchanging salutations, and now that it had been offered to me I sought an interpretation.  My guide explained that Haleel meant to tell me that he felt so honored in meeting me, that he “would take the dust from my feet, would kiss it, and then place it on his forehead.”  Beautiful sentiment!  Had I ever previously in my life been so honored in meeting any one!

The greeting over, I noticed unusual movements about the station.  Many Turkish soldiers were there.  They stood about in groups engaged in animated conversation.  Upon inquiry I learned that the feuds so common in that region were again “on,” and that the soldiers were there to quell lawlessness.  As I was the only tourist there I became an object of special interest.  Some of the men came to my dragoman, and only a few words had passed until I knew that I was the subject of their conversation.  I could occasionally catch the word “hawadje,” which means “master,” and I knew they were referring to me.  Then they would look at me and shake their heads.  I was anxious to know what it all meant, but had to be content with what my guide was pleased to tell of it.  He seemed to have gained his point, but he told me nothing except to prepare for a hard trip, as a day’s distance must be covered, if possible, before nightfall.  As we had already lost two days in Damascus, I was not averse to trying something strenuous in order to make up in part for that loss.  I felt quite equal to the task, (though it proved to be a severe ordeal,) when it was explained to me that it would require a ride of more than forty miles to reach a safe halting-place for the night.  My guide had planned it; and I was committed to the plan.