every now and then; Bassorah has had its share in the visitation. A long
time ago Bassorah had a large population--as high as 800,000, they say,
but that is an Oriental way of saying it was very populous. But
pestilence, and war, and capture by the Persians, and recapture by the
Imam of Muscat for the Sultan, have reduced it to very modest
proportions indeed. The Turks founded it, to begin with. One of their
early Caliphs gave it the first start 'way back--let me see--in the
seventh century."
"Six hundred A.D.," put in Tom.
"Yes; the Turks wanted to keep the way open for trade to the Gulf. These
Turks generally know what they are about. But of course the best
business men in Bassorah are the Jews."
Here a curious coincidence occurred. A procession slowly approached,
coming down the narrow street.
"Jew funeral," said the Arab boatman.
The officers and our Tom gave way, crowding themselves against the
houses, as the procession advanced. In front of them it halted. The
corpse about to be buried lay in an open coffin placed on a bier hung
with black. The persons comprising the procession had been chanting
doleful funeral songs, but when they halted they ceased singing, and
instead repeated in a mournful monotone funeral prayers as they all
marched around the coffin. On the corpse was placed an urn, and as each
person passed it he threw into it a piece of money. Seven halts were
made, the routine being the same in each instance. At the final one the
priest who was conducting the ceremonies uplifted the urn and said, in
solemn tones: "We know that no one in the world is free from the sin
Sera Lebathalah. We therefore give to thee this money, in order that
thou mayst let his body and his soul rest in peace. In the name of the
Eternal and His Holy Word, and with the consent of the members of the
congregation here present, we lay upon thee the Anathema, which shall
compel thee to flee into wild and solitary regions, where thou canst no
more persecute any one."
As a matter of course Tom was completely mystified. The Lieutenant had
been studying his guide-book. "It's this way, Tom," he explained. "This
Jewish community have this curious custom peculiar to themselves. That
great long word Sera Lebathalah is the name of a mystic sin or spirit,
who is said to be the father of countless dark fiends who torment a man
after his death, under the pretext that they are his children and ought
to have part of his inheritance. Anathema is a Greek word, signifying
that a thing shall be condemned or devoted to destruction. So the
friends of the dead buy off this spirit as you have seen, and get rid of
him in that way."
"But what becomes of the money?" asked Tom.
"That's more than I can say," said his friend. "But here we are at the
grave."
The procession marched solemnly around the grave, and having placed the
body in it returned to the town.
Tom and the Lieutenant had quite a walk to take before they again fell
in with their companions. They discovered that the next feature on the
programme was a further pull up the canal, in accordance with which
arrangement they again embarked in the bellem. The canal was full of
other boats, which passed them going and coming, the boatmen singing
Arab ditties. Great loads of grain came down the stream.
"A good deal of that grain," said the Captain, "goes to Jeddah, and is
sold to the pilgrims arriving at that port for Mecca."
In places remote from the Shat-el-Arab or the Tigris it is difficult and
expensive to find means of transportation, so a large quantity of grain
is used for fuel, and some rots away, or is consumed by rats in the
granaries.
"Look at that," cried Mr. Jollytarre, pointing toward a warehouse close
to the river-bank, tottering to its fall, as though an earthquake had
suddenly overtaken it. "The rats have been having a fine time there."
As he spoke, the building he had pointed out fell with a loud crash.
"Pull ashore," cried the Captain. "We must see what all this means.
Jollytarre, you must be dreaming. Rats, indeed!" Hastily running ashore,
they came up against a sedate, imperturbable Turkish official, who
re-assured them: "It is only one of the government grain stores that has
fallen. It often happens. The rats undermine the walls to get at the
grain, and from time to time a building gives way."
"Extraordinary!" cried Tom's father. "Well, I don't see that we can do
anything here." So they re-embarked.
"These embankments are very well built," remarked some one, when they
were again moving up the creek.
The boatman told them they were built by Nassir, a powerful Sheik; that
he made a general levy of laborers for the purpose, without pay,
although, to be sure, the villages around were compelled to provide
food. The laborers made a strike for regular pay, whereupon Nassir built
a few of the refractory men into the embankment, and declared he would
construct it all of the bodies of the strikers if they did not at once
go on with their work. There the strike ended. "As well it might, with
such an employer," said the Captain. "And now," he added, "we'll turn
around, for if you propose to start for Bagdad to-morrow, Tom, you'd
better have a rest."
JOB'S TURKEY.
BY J. R. GALBRAITH.
"De ole speckle hane's done gone en keel ober, missus. Wot's we gwine
ter do wid de young turkey?"
These words were addressed to me one fine spring morning by a small and
very black boy, whose name was Job. Job always took a great interest in
the poultry, and, indeed, was of no little assistance to me in its care.
To be sure, he sometimes caused a great deal of trouble, when the
chickens were hatching, by his great anxiety to know how they were
getting on. He would lift up the hens to see if the little chicks were
all out of their shells, and would even try to assist them in breaking
the latter open, by which kind-hearted operation he invariably caused
their death.
The speckled hen to which he referred that morning had been so
unfortunate as to lose all her brood of young turkeys except one, and
now she herself was dead. What to do with the young turkey was indeed a
puzzling question. It was too young to take care of itself, and none of
the other hens would take it, because their broods were not of the same
age.
"Well, Job," I said, "I really do not know what we will do with the poor
little thing: there is no mother for it."
"Dat's so," said Job; "but it make me feel moughty bad ter see dat
leetle turkey a-cryin' roun' de dade hane. De ole rooster-cock he go er
crowin' roun' jes ez big ez ef nuffin ain't done gone en happen. Oh,
he's a precious vilyen, is dat same ole rooster-cock!"
I reflected a few moments, and then I said, "Job, you may have that
little turkey, and when it gets big enough to sell, you can have the
money all for your own."
"You don't mean dat, do you, missus?"
"Yes."
"Well, den, dat ar turkey ain't gwine ter die, not ef dis chile kin help
it."
Any one who is familiar with poultry knows what delicate little things
young turkeys are, and how difficult they are to raise under the most
favorable circumstances. What, then, were Job's chances? Not one in a
thousand.
[Illustration: JOB WATCHING HIS TURKEY.]
Job went at once and put the young turkey in a coop by itself. He then
procured some soft grass, with which he covered the floor; and having
placed some water and food where the little thing could get at them, he
spent the remainder of the day in lying on the ground before the coop,
looking in at his new possession.
That night when I went out to superintend the feeding of the young
chickens, which duty had devolved upon Job, he informed me that it was
necessary to be very careful in regard to the rooster, and from what he
said I inferred that he believed that fowl entertained some wicked
scheme against not only all the young of its own kind, but all young
poultry in general.
"De ole rooster-cock," said Job, as we paused before the coop that held
the young turkey, "he come up en look through de slats at dat ar
turkey--he did, sho. I hez ter keep a moughty close watch out, I duz.
'Member de time w'en he picked de young goslin' en de leetle chicken ter
def, kaze dey wanted ter foller him. He'd do jes dat ar way wid de
turkey ef he had half a chance. Oh, he's a precious vilyen, is dat same
ole rooster-cock!"
To the surprise of us all, Job's turkey lived to be a full-grown bird,
and, unlike the traditional Job's turkey, grew as plump and fat as any
turkey need wish to be.
Yes, it lived and grew fat, but perhaps, after all, it was an unenviable
kind of life, for it lost that which is the pride of all young
gobblers--its tail. There was not a single feather of it left. Job in
catching it had so often pulled out so many tail feathers that at last
they were all gone.
Nor was this the only trial it had to bear. Job was continually shutting
it up, and then changing his mind and letting it out again. One morning,
when his mother was picking geese, Job caught his turkey, and gave it to
his grandmother to hold until he could fix a coop to put it in. His
grandmother, who was entirely blind, thinking that it was a goose,
picked almost every feather from its body.
One day Job's father invited a few friends to take dinner with him. The
dinner was to be given on the Fourth of July, and Job was very much
afraid that his turkey would be sacrificed to the occasion.
"I's moughty feerd dat pap is gwine ter kill dat turkey," he said. "Ef
he do, I won't hab no way ter git no money, kaze I won't hab nuffin ter
sell w'en de hux'er comes roun'. I hope you won't let him kill dat
turkey, missus, he am sich a fine gobbler. Ef 'twas de ole rooster-cock
I wo'dn't keer, kaze eberybody knows he ain't no 'count. All he duz is
ter walk roun' en 'tend like he's foun' suthin, en scratch up de groun'.
Ef he'd git inter de yard, he'd scratch up all de flowers--he wo'd,
sho."
"Oh, I guess he'll hardly kill your turkey, Job," I said, trying to
re-assure him.
"I don' know," said Job; "I's feerd he will. Yuther day Elder Sales wuz
ter our house, en a-readin' outer de Bible 'bout Job. Pap he tole me ter
lissen how de man wot I woz named after wuz 'flicted. Den presently he
axed de elder whar wuz de passage wot tole 'bout 'Job's turkey.' De
elder said he didn't know jes zactly, but he 'lowed he'd soon fin' it.
Dey look en dey look, but dey didn't fin' whar 'twas. 'Well,' sez pap
atter a while, 'I knows a boy wot's got a turkey, ennyhow, en it's dat
ar _Job_ dar; en a moughty fine fat one too. It'll make a good ros' fer
us some dese yere days.'"
From a remark that I overheard Old Dick make, I found that he actually
did intend to kill Job's turkey. It was too bad, after the trouble the
boy had taken to raise it. So that evening when I saw Old Dick, I told
him not to kill Job's turkey, and that I would give him one. He bowed
and made a great to-do thanking me.
"I'll kill de turkey to-morrow ebenin', so's ter hab it all ready in
good season."
Job, who had been weeding a flower bed near by, came up just in time to
hear this, and I noticed a peculiar expression on his face, but thought
nothing of it at the time. Old Dick then made a low bow, and making Job
do the same, the two departed in the direction of their cabin.
Everything went on as usual until about dusk the next day, when Old Dick
made his appearance at the sitting-room window, and informed me that Job
was missing.
"I's looked ebery whar, high en low, en I can't fin' de po' boy no'ers,"
he said.
"Oh, he will turn up before long; don't be frightened," I said. "Very
likely he has climbed up into the haymow and fallen asleep. You remember
we found him there once."
"I clar, missus, I's done look all fro de barn; but I'll go look agin ef
yer say so. I 'members now I didn't look in de ole mangers in de
wagon-house; but I don't reckon he'd git in dem hardly."
I went about my work, having little doubt but that Job would turn up all
right, as he always had done before. But in a few minutes, happening to
glance out of the window, I saw Old Dick running toward the house,
having lost his hat, and making wild gestures with his arms. As soon as
he caught sight of me he commenced to cry: "Oh, missus! Oh! oh! oh!
Joby's done gone en fell in de barn well."
I ran out to him at once. "You must be mistaken," I said.
"Oh dear no, missus; I wisht I wuz. De bucket wuz hangin' down de well,
en I jes let it down inter de water, thinkin' I'd draw up a leetle, w'en
I heerd him a-splashin' roun' down dar."
"It was only the bucket when it struck the water."
"Oh no, 'twan't; I drawed de bucket up, en could atterwa'ds hear de po'
boy. Can't nobody help me git him out? De po' boy is drownin' down
dar--he is sho'. Whar _is_ Mr. Williams? Oh, missus, whar _is_ Mr.
Williams?"
Great excitement ensued. Dinah, the cook, having seen Old Dick come
running toward the house, had come out to see what was the matter. Now
she ran back to my husband's study, and addressed him in these words.
"De Lord help us, Marster Williams, Job's done gone en fell in de barn
well."
He jumped up at once, and came running out in his dressing-gown, which,
being of light material, was taken up by the wind and floated out behind
him like a streamer. We three repaired to the well, where Old Dick had
preceded us. Dinah was armed with the rolling-pin, my husband had the
notes of a prospective sermon in his hands, which were scattered to the
four winds, and I had some fancy-work, which, in my excitement, I had
forgotten to lay aside. Truly we were well equipped for extricating a
drowning boy from a well.
When we arrived at the well, it had begun to grow dark, and when we
looked down into it, it appeared a deep black hole that might extend to
the centre of the earth. Old Dick was leaning over the frame gazing into
the dark depths below.
"Joby," he cried, "jes keep yo' hade 'bove water till we git down to
yer. Hole onter de stones on de side, Joby. Does yer hear me, honey?"
No response from the well.
"Joby," he cried, in a louder voice, "does yer hear me?"
This was succeeded by a confused splashing at the bottom of the well.
"Oh, de po' boy!" cried Old Dick, wringing his hands; "he'll be drown',
sho! Joby, o-o-oh, Joby, does yer hear me, honey?"
[Illustration: "HE WOULD HAVE PITCHED HEADLONG INTO THE WELL."]
Here Old Dick leaned so far over the well frame that if Mr. Williams had
not caught him he would have pitched headlong into the well.
Mr. Williams, having detached the rope from the bucket, fastened it
around his waist, and telling Old Dick to hold on to the crank and let
the rope unwind slowly, began to descend into the well, holding on to
the sides with his hands and feet.
"Oh, dear me!" muttered Old Dick, as he unwound the rope; "ef he wuz ter
lose his holt, en de cord wuz ter break, wot wo'd become ob po' Joby
den?"
"Here he is!" Mr. Williams cried from the bottom of the well.
"Dade, I reckon?" said Old Dick.
"No," said Mr. Williams; "for a wonder he is alive. Wind up the rope,
Richard."
Old Dick slowly wound up the rope. We were leaning over the well frame,
peering anxiously into its black depths, when Mr. Williams came in
sight, bearing in his arms poor Job? No. What? Job's turkey.
Dinah and I shouted with laughter, but Old Dick looked more distressed
than ever.
"Where's Joby?" he cried. "You ain't gone en lef him dade at de bottom
ob de well?"
"No," said Mr. Williams; "he is not there."
Old Dick could not seem to realize this at first. When he did, his
features broadened into a smile. "Well, I thought," he said. Then he
suddenly became grave again, as he remembered that, after all, we had
not found Job.
We hunted all over the premises, and Old Dick went around to the
neighbors and made inquiries, but it was all in vain. Job was nowhere to
be found.
The next day, as I was passing through an unoccupied room at the back
part of the house, I thought I heard a noise, like something falling, in
a long disused closet. I opened the door to see what it was. All that I
could see was a pair of bright eyes peering out from the cave-like
blackness of the closet. I started back in fear.
"Don't be skeered, missus."
"Job!" I cried.
The boy tumbled out on to the floor at my feet.
"Don't whip me, missus, please don't whip me."
"Whip you, Job? of course not."
"Is de turkey alibe, missus?"
"Yes. What ever put it into your head to play such a trick as this?"
"Well, yer see, missus, I heerd pap say he wuz gwine ter kill dat turkey
las' night. I had tole him 'twa'n't no fittin' time ob year ter eat
turkey, but he boun' ter kill it er bust. Well, I seed dat dar wuz water
nuff drawd fer de hoss, en I jes cotch dat turkey, en chuck him in de
well bucket tight, so he can't git out, en let him down de well."
When Old Dick was informed of Job's whereabouts it was with great
difficulty that I prevailed upon him not to whip the boy. He, however,
at length consented to let him off that time.
"But ef eber I heers ob sich cuttins up agin I'll larrop him sho. A
pirty-lookin' creeter he is, a-skeerin' his mammy en me half outen our
senses!"
Job's turkey lived without any more adventures until he sold it for a
good price to the huxter. He took the money and bought himself a pair of
red-top boots, and when he put them on and walked about the yard he was
indeed a happy boy.
[Illustration]
KITTY'S DREAM.
Little Kitty Martin
Had a vision in her slumbers
Of little cherub kitty cats
In most prodigious numbers.
They looked just like her own gray pets--
She saw them all quite clearly;
And still she wasn't frightened,
Because she loved them dearly.
[Illustration: OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.]
Ever so many letters, which the Postmistress reads with great pleasure,
have to be left out of Our Post-office Box every week. The little
writers must not be discouraged, but try again. The Postmistress has
many a hearty laugh over droll letters for which she can not find room
in print; and sometimes she cries, all by herself, over some that are
sorrowful, wishing so much that she could help the dear children who
have troubles of their own to bear.
* * * * *
BUTTERNUT, WISCONSIN.
I live on a beautiful lake five miles long, but I do not know quite
how wide. Our mountain-ash tree has been just lovely, all in bloom.
I wish I could send you all the flowers I have seen this summer.
What kind of a school-house do you think I go to? A little
log-cabin--not hewed logs either--with unplaned seats and desks,
and a floor which has large cracks in it. We have a "scoop roof,"
and for a teacher's desk we have a large box, and for a water bench
only a block of wood. There are two windows and one door. We had in
the city a red brick school-house, and everything was very nice
there. Oh! I forgot to tell you how many scholars we have--six
girls and three boys. My sister Fannie and I both go. I would like
to have a photograph of you, the one who likes to darn stockings,
for I do too. Our lake is pretty rough to-day.
KATE BELLE M.
Well, dear, there are more luxurious school-houses than yours, but some
of the best and greatest men our country has ever had, and those whose
names we most honor, attended just such plain, homely little
school-houses. It is the sort of teaching and of learning which goes on
in school which is of the most importance. A dunce would not gain much
on a velvet carpet and at a rose-wood desk, and a bright, diligent girl
may learn much that is worth knowing, even in a rough, unplaned
building. I think that you girls and boys might coax your papas and big
brothers to plant vines and shrubs around the school-house, and make a
garden in front of it. The teacher's desk might be covered with
maroon-colored muslin, on which bright pictures might be pasted. Wreaths
of evergreen, and after a while garlands of autumn leaves, might be hung
upon the bare walls. Train some German ivy, which grows rapidly, around
the windows. If I were there, I could help you make the place pretty I
am sure. I am glad you are fond of darning stockings, but I can not send
you my photograph, because I am one of the people who never happen to
get a good likeness when I sit down before the camera.
* * * * *
I have been sick a long time, and am not able to get out of bed, so
I have not much to do but read or paste stamps in my book, when I
have them. One of my friends lends me HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE. I
would like to exchange an Indian, a Hong-Kong, a Cape of Good Hope,
or a Brazilian stamp, for a 10, 24, 30, or 90 cent of the 1869
issue, the 24 or 90 cent of the 1870-71 issue of U.S. stamps, or
the 10, 30, or 90 cent unpaid letter stamps, or any of the U.S.
periodical, State, Navy, or Treasury Department stamps except the
lowest denominations.
D. J. HAINES,
Cheltenham, Montgomery Co., Penn.
* * * * *
BROOKLYN, NEW YORK.
I am not a girl, but a boy ten years old. I saw in Our Post-office
Box of No. 139 a letter from a little girl who wanted to know what
kind of a pet she should have. I think a bird or a cat would be the
thing. I wish the Postmistress would please tell Jimmy Brown to
write some more of his stories.
JOSEPH A. B.
* * * * *
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS.
It is very nice where I live. There are trees in front of every
house on the block. We have cool winds from Lake Michigan. Chicago
has a great many gardens, and it is called the Garden City of the
West. I have three pets. Their mother is a rat terrier; her name is
Fanny. I like them very much. They have their eyes open already.
They are very fat, and have little feet that can hardly carry their
bodies about. I go to school, and learn reading, arithmetic,
geography, spelling, and writing. I am just half-way through the
school. This is a very large school; it has twenty rooms in it.
There is a building in Chicago that is eleven stories high. We will
have vacation in a few days, and then all the school-children will
be glad. We boys go down to the lake and bathe ourselves, and have
a jolly time. We are allowed to fish in Humboldt Park on Saturday;
I go there almost every Saturday. It has a very clear lake; there
are sunfish, trout, and bull-heads in it.
ALVIN H.
Of course you are now in the full tide of vacation. Is Saturday the only
day when the boys are allowed to fish, or do you go to the Park on other
days, now that school is over for a while?
* * * * *
DETROIT, MICHIGAN.
We have a canary-bird, and a dog, and some chickens. The dog's name
is Dan, and he chases the chickens all over the yard. We have the
darlingest baby you ever did see. She is so sweet! She loves the
chickens. I am nine years old.
R. J. R.
* * * * *
LITTLE PATTY.
Cross little Patty sat under a tree,
As fretful as ever a child could be.
"Keep still!" to a singing-bird she said;
"You are out of tune, and you hurt my head."
"Do stop!" she cried, to a dancing brook.
A lamb and a pussy cat came to look
At cross little Patty beneath the tree,
As fretful as ever a child could be.
The pussy cat wondered to see her pout,
And the frisky lambkin skipped about;
But the brook tripped on over stones and moss,
And never found out that Patty was cross.
The bird in the tree-top sang away,
And these were the words she meant to say:
"You poor little girl, why can't you see
That there's nothing at all the matter with me?
"Mend your manners, my dearie, soon,
Or you'll find the whole world out of tune."
Somehow the wind in the leafy tree,
And the rippling water so wild and free,
The bird on the bough, and the snow-white lamb,
And the gentle pussy so mild and calm,
Made Patty ashamed of her naughty mood;
She shook herself well, and said, "I'll be good."
And, presto! the Patty beneath the tree
Was just as sweet as a child could be.
* * * * *
BRANDY STATION, VIRGINIA.
I am nine years old, but will soon be ten. I thought I would tell
Kate E. what pet to get. I think a pony would be very nice. I have
written to HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE several times, but my letters
never have been printed. I hope you will print this. My sister was
taken sick yesterday. I have no pets, but my sister Emily has a pet
cat. It is very cunning. Papa is having the porch fixed up.
Good-by.
RENA LOUISA S.
* * * * *
EDEN, DAKOTA TERRITORY.
My papa came here thirteen years ago, when only savages inhabited
this part of Dakota. I can remember, when a very small child, how
the Indians used to come to our house, and beg for corn and fresh
meat, for we used to kill lots of pigs. Papa named this town. Eden
is situated in the southeastern part of Dakota, on the Big Sioux
River, fifty miles above Sioux City. I have only one sister, nine
years old, and I am eleven. Mamma promised me a birthday party, but
as I have an invalid grandpa, and my birthday comes in the cold,
cold month of December, and we could not go out-of-doors to play,
mamma said I might have a lawn party instead this summer, as we
have a beautiful grove to play in. I have taken HARPER'S YOUNG
PEOPLE for nearly two years, and am very much pleased with it.
M. ELSIE W.
* * * * *
HOWE, ILLINOIS.