In Bsherreh, which contains from 1,200 to 1,500 inhabitants, all were on foot; they pressed and pushed each other, in order to kiss our hands or clothes. The women began their piercing cries; clapped their hands, and danced; my brave boy remained still by my side, and so, at last, we got step by step through the thick crowd, who now saluted us as friends, and reached the house of the sheikh, of whom my guide was a younger brother. We were led up the stone steps, across the hall, into the roomy chamber where we were to lodge. I passed almost the whole evening with the sheikh of the village, Jûsef Hanna Dâhir, a full-grown young man with a serious, gentle countenance, which invited confidence. His father had been killed in battle under Ibrahim Pasha, who will be considered yet as a saint here, if the present detestation of the Turk continues much longer. Sheikh Jûsef was the eldest son of this numerous and old family, in which the office of sheikh is hereditary. He related to me with full openness, tranquillity, and judgment, everything that was passing among them; how they had determined to deliver up their arms, which were demanded, but had altered this determination when they had heard of the shameful acts which had been perpetrated by the Turkish soldiery in the southern districts. Now they had the number of thirty-four villages united, and all sworn in their churches, not to give up their arms, but to use them against the dogs of Turks. When I asked him if, since the death of their common leader, Emir Beshir, they had any prospect of being able to defend themselves against a disciplined army, he reckoned up in Bsherreh alone 3,000, and in the whole united district 13,000 combatants, as much as the whole Turkish military force in the country; besides these, they had their mountains, their snow, and rain, their defiles, and hiding-places, which would render all the cavalry and cannon of the Turks useless. Added to this, said I, a friendly consul in Berut, who will mediate to prevent the worst. This has, as I learned afterwards, happened; the French General-Consul, Bourré, has negotiated in their favour with the Pasha. But I fear that all has been too late, and that over my good host in Bsherreh the storm of war has already burst, and they will not be more merciful to them and their children, than they were to their less powerful neighbours. I rejoiced much on that evening to be able to render a service to the young Sheikh, whose quiet dignity had so much prepossessed me, in dressing and binding up a wound, better than was possible with the means they had, and I supplied him with linen and lint. He told me that we could not go the next day, as he must prepare a feast for us, roast a sheep, and show us that he was our friend; I however refused the kindly-meant invitation.