The unlucky journey to Syria almost cost me my life. The climate is
absolute poison to consumptive people. In ten days after I arrived the
doctor told me to settle my affairs, for I had probably only a few days
to live, and certainly should never recover. However I got better, and
was carried on board the steamer, but am too weak for anything. We were
nearly shipwrecked coming back owing to the Russian captain having his
bride on board and not minding his ship. We bumped and scraped and
rolled very unpleasantly. At Beyrout the Sisters of Charity wouldn't
nurse a Protestant, nor the Prussians a non-Lutheran. But Omar and
Darfour nursed me better than Europeans ever do. Little Blackie was as
sharp about the physic as a born doctor's boy when Omar was taking his
turn of sleep. I did not like the few Syrians I saw at all.