The August sun burned down on the stone walls of 'Akka as
the sailboat rocked roughly into the harbor. The Baha'is had come a long way.
They were hot, hungry, and thirsty. But Mirza Ja'far was happy - he was with
Baha'u'llah!
The townspeople yelled at them from the streets, from
windows and doorways, as they passed. Mirza Ja'far had walked through hateful
mobs before. He had been hungry, tired, and hot before. These things did not
matter. He was happy.
The guards at the mighty stone prison gave them little to
eat and drink. But Mirza Ja'far thanked God. His dark, narrow cell seemed like
a sweet-smelling rose garden with Baha'u'llah close by.
Then, one day, Mirza Ja'far fell sick. How could it be? They
had crossed deserts and climbed mountains together. Eager always to help, Mirza
Ja'far never complained, and he never seemed to need rest. He was the one who
went with 'Abdu'l-Baha to find supplies while others rested.