Memorials of the Faithful

him onto the ship. Once he was on board, his condition grew so much worse that the captain insisted we put him off the ship, but because of our repeated pleas he waited till we reached Smyrna. In Smyrna, the captain addressed Colonel ‘Umar Bayk, the government agent who accompanied us, and told him: “If you don’t put him ashore, I will do it by force, because the ship will not accept passengers in this condition.”

We were compelled, then, to take Jináb-i-Múníb to the hospital at Smyrna. Weak as he was, unable to utter a word, he dragged himself to Bahá’u’lláh, lay down at His feet, and wept. On the countenance of Bahá’u’lláh as well, there was intense pain.

We carried Jináb-i-Múníb to the hospital, but the functionaries allowed us not more than one hour’s time. We laid him down on the bed; we laid his fair head on the pillow; we held him and kissed him many times. Then they forced us away. It is clear how we felt. Whenever I think of that moment, the tears come; my heart is heavy and I summon up the remembrance of what he was. A great man; infinitely wise, he was, steadfast, modest and grave; and there was no one like him for faith and certitude. In him the inner and outer perfections, the spiritual and physical, were joined together. That is why he could receive endless bounty and grace.

His grave is in Smyrna, but it is off by itself, and deserted. Whenever this can be done, the friends must search for it, and that neglected dust must be changed into a much-frequented shrine,1 so that pilgrims who visit there may breathe in the sweet scent of his last resting-place.