Harper's Young People, January 25, 1881. Various
before he was thrown from his seat, and when the body of the wagon had come down upon the hard road, the entire structure had been wrecked.
The monkeys, thus suddenly released from their confinement, had scampered off in every direction, and, by a singular chance, Toby's aged friend started for the woods in such a direction as to bring him directly upon the boy's senseless body. As the monkey came up to Toby he stopped, through the well-known curiosity of his kind, and began to examine the body carefully, prying into each pocket he could reach, and trying to open the half-closed eyelids in order to peep in under them.
Fortunately for Toby, he had fallen upon a mud-bank, and was only stunned for the moment, having received no serious bruises, even though he had been thrown such a distance. The attentions bestowed upon him by the monkey served the purpose of bringing him to his senses; and after he had looked around him in the gray light of the coming morning, it would have taken far more of a philosopher than ever old Ben was to have persuaded the boy that monkeys did not possess reasoning faculties.
The monkey was picking at his ears, nose, and mouth, as monkeys always do when they get an opportunity, and the expression of his face was as grave as possible. Toby firmly believed that the monkey's face showed sorrow at his fall, and he believed that the attentions which were being bestowed upon him were for the purpose of learning whether he had been injured or not.
"Don't worry, Mr. Stubbs," said Toby, anxious to reassure his friend, as he sat upright and looked about him. "I didn't get hurt any, but I would like to know how I got 'way over here."
It really seemed as if the monkey was pleased to know that his little friend was not hurt, for he seated himself on his haunches, and his face expressed the liveliest pleasure that Toby was well again – or at least that was the way the boy interpreted the look.
By this time the news of the accident had been shouted ahead from one team to the other, and all hands were hurrying to the scene for the purpose of rendering some aid. As Toby saw them coming, he also saw a number of small forms, looking something like men, hurrying past him, and for the first time he understood how it was that the aged monkey was at liberty, and knew that those little dusky forms were the other occupants of the cage escaping to the woods.
"See there, Mr. Stubbs! see there!" he exclaimed, quickly, pointing toward the fugitives; "they're all going off into the woods. What shall we do?"
The sight of the runaways seemed to excite the old monkey quite as much as it had the boy. He jumped to his feet, chattered in the most excited way, screamed two or three times as if he was calling them back, and then started off in vigorous pursuit.
"Now he's gone too," said Toby, disconsolately, believing the old fellow had run away from him; "I didn't think Mr. Stubbs would treat me this way."
A LITTLE ARAB GIRL'S MISSION
Many of the readers of Harper's Young People will be both surprised and sorry to learn that there are parents who are not only willing to sell their baby girls for a few pennies, but when this can not be done, to cast them out upon the highways to perish either by the wild beasts that prowl about at night, or by the fiercely glaring sun that heats the sand so that even a dog will not venture out at noonday for fear of burning his paws.
"Where do these cruel people live, and who are they?" I hear a bright little girl ask.
They are the Arabs who inhabit the deserts of Kabylia and the Sahara, in and south of Algiers, the most northern country in Africa.
"Ah, but the Arabs live in Arabia, don't they?" objects my young friend.
Yes, they do; but centuries ago the Arabians, or Saracens – desert dwellers, as they were then called, Sara meaning desert – sent out large armies to conquer other nations. These Saracens swept victoriously through Northern Africa up to the heart of Spain.
Algiers is now a French province, but the greater part of its people are descendants of its ancient inhabitants, called Moors, and their conquerors, the Arabs, together with negroes from Soudan, French colonists, and a sprinkling of Turks, Maltese, and Spaniards.
Neither the Moors nor the Arabs think much of little girls. The latter – especially the poor ones – are sorry when one is born; but when a boy baby comes, they make him presents, and a bowl of "mughly" – a compound of rice flavored with sugar and spices, and sprinkled with delicious nuts – is given to each relative.
A Moorish girl of even rich parents is considered well enough educated if she can make preserves, and dye her finger-nails with henna leaves. She is not treated as unkindly, however, as the little Arab damsels, who are compelled when quite young to work very hard. They have to draw water from the wells in heavy leathern buckets; to churn; to feed and water the young camels and horses: in fact, they live more like slaves than daughters of the family.
The subject of my sketch, little Maria Immanuel, is a young Arabian girl twelve years of age, who, accompanied by a French Missionary Sister, or nun, has been all through Europe, and is now travelling through this country, on a curious but praiseworthy mission: she is trying to raise money to buy and support little Arabian children who are sold or cast out on the desert.
Maria Immanuel was herself one of these unfortunates. When a mere baby, not yet two years old, she was picked up on the highway by some good women, and taken to their mission-house, where she has lived ever since.
I dare say my readers would like to know just how she looks, so I will describe her to the best of my ability.
Imagine a dark-complexioned, plump young girl, with rather heavy but pleasant features; fluffy, dark, silken hair floating around her head and overshadowing her eyes like a little cloud; red lips and milky-white teeth; and eyes that light up her whole face, so soft are they, yet brilliant and full of mischievous fire.
Immanuel – for so her friends call her – is very like many American girls in disposition, being intensely lively, merry as a cricket, and a great tease when in the society of children of her own age.
She has two accomplishments – she speaks French fluently, and sings sweetly, having a fine contralto voice.
Immanuel dresses just as she did at the mission-house in the desert of Kabylia, wearing an Arab cloak of white wool, called a "burnoose," with a hood for stormy weather, over a white cashmere gown, which hangs in folds to her ankles, and is made with a yoke at the neck, and full flowing sleeves. A double row of scarlet and white beads; a girdle, or sash, of scarlet, blue, and yellow silk, knotted at the waist, and falling in long fringed ends in front; and a scarlet "fez," or cap, ornamented with a band of embroidery and a golden tassel, complete her gay and picturesque costume. Dark or solemn colors offend an Arab's eye, for he regards them as omens of misfortune.
There are two sorts of Arabs among whom the missionaries work – the farmer Arabs, who live in mud villages, and the Bedouins, who dwell in tents, and roam the deserts a little farther south, and keep large flocks of sheep and camels.
These shepherd Arabs despise the milder farmers, but condescend to visit them, after harvest-time, to barter camels and goats for their barley and other grains, for they never stoop to till the soil or do work of any kind; their girls and women – at least such as they see fit to rear – do all their necessary work, such as cooking, sewing tent and saddle cloths, making mats, dyeing wool, and tending the animals, with which they live almost in common, and which are often ranked above them.
The shepherd Arabs live in tents, removing in winter to the farther south, but the farmer Arabs live in mud houses, called "gourbis." The "gourbis," like all native dwellings, are only one story high, on account of earthquakes; they are made of branches of trees and stones, cemented together by mud, a thick layer of which covers the roof. Sometimes forty or more of these houses are united in a village, and hedged in by tall cactus plants armed with sharp thorns.
The animals live under the same roof with the family; so what with this and the smoke, the smell of cookery, and the want of ventilation, you may imagine the "gourbis" anything but a pleasant place to visit.
The mission-houses, some of them in the neighborhood of these miserable villages, and some farther south, are square wooden buildings, with a court-yard