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